‘Good morning!’ She was friendly and affable to them. ‘I wondered if you’d be here. But do you know . . .’ She glanced carefully at Hildersham. ‘Jack, may I present Mr. Barlow? And Mrs. Barlow? She’s my half-cousin. The Earl of Hildersham.’
She had said enough, and for a moment there was almost a forgetting of manners as heads turned to look. Then Hildersham put the finishing touch to it. A man who had been leaning against the counter at the end came strolling nonchalantly up, and Hildersham lifted an eyebrow. He glanced quickly at Mary, and a gleam of amusement came to his eyes as he saw the chance.
‘ ‘Morning, George! Glad to see you. Mary dear . . .’ He paused to let that sink in. ‘Do you know George Curry--of the Blues? George--Lady St. Hollith.’
‘Honoured.’ Captain Curry clicked his heels with a fine precision. ‘Is it--er--Charles . . . ?’
‘That’s it, George.’
‘Damned nice fellow. Sorry he went. Servant, ma’am. Do you drink this tipple?’
‘No.’ She laughed as she spoke. ‘I’ve heard of you, Captain Curry. You’ll have known my father . . .’
She led him into talk, and the buzz of it broke quietly from the company again as they remembered that they must not be seen to stare. Nor must they be overheard as they discussed this shift in the hierarchy. For shift it was. Lady St. Hollith was now at the top of the scale, almost with Hildersham, and ladies began to think excitedly of introductions.
Then it was the turn of Sir Michael Murphy. He was known to all of them, at least by sight, for his good looks and genial ways, but he had been thought of so far merely as an impoverished Irishman of no great importance. Now, however, he came lounging forward to fall into easy talk with Hildersham, who plainly knew him, and after a minute or two of this he was taken to Lady St. Hollith, with whom he was quickly on laughing terms. So once more there was some reappraising, this time, perhaps, by the men, and Mr. and Mrs. Barlow, in talk with both Hildersham and Curry, were having a morning to remember. It would be a tale worth telling when they were home again.
But there was even more to come. Interest shifted suddenly as a stranger entered the room, a woman who stood elegantly in the doorway, looking round as if she expected to see someone. Hildersham turned his head, and at once a quick smile lighted her face. He acknowledged it with a lift of his hand, glanced quickly round, and, after a whispered word to Curry, went slowly towards her. She stood waiting, slight, dark, and vivacious, not at all disturbed by the thought of every eye upon her, and her smile for him was charming. There was another whispered word, and then he turned and brought her up the room. Captain Curry, who had moved to meet them, was presented, and Hildersham spoke clearly: ‘Mrs. Masters, an old friend.’ The whole room heard her name, and it confirmed the quick appraisal they had already made of her. Mrs. Masters was of the
haut ton,
and they looked at her with even greater interest. Only Lady St. Hollith did not look. She was still in talk with Sir Michael, standing with her back to the door, and she kept it so, even when he smilingly asked leave and then stepped forward to be presented in his turn to Mrs. Masters.
Again Hildersham was affable. ‘Ah, Marion, here’s Sir Michael Murphy, who’s a friend to all of us--Mrs. Masters.’
‘Delighted indeed, ma’am.’ Sir Michael was his own genial self. ‘We’ll be better acquainted soon, I hope.’
‘My hope also, sir. I’m quite a stranger here.’
‘That will not be for long, surely.’
‘You’re very kind--as I was told you would be.’
Her voice was fresh and clear, perhaps a little careful, not one to be forgotten, and Lady St. Hollith turned sharply as she heard it. Then she stood very still, looking steadily at Mrs. Masters, and Hildersham was for once not quick enough. He did not, indeed, attempt another introduction. He had sense enough for that, but he did not seem to have noticed anything, as perhaps he might have done.
‘Marion’s a stranger,’ he said, ‘so I’m giving her what introductions I can.’
‘Marion?’ Her ladyship spoke quietly, too quietly for the room to hear. ‘She must have changed the spelling. It was Mary Ann when last I knew her.’
Hildersham was quick enough this time. He had been taken surprise, plainly with no knowledge of this, and for an instant he stiffened. He spared one darting glance for Mrs. Masters, now standing rigid with her lips pressed tight, and then he was looking again at Mary. He spoke as quietly as she had done.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Or I wouldn’t have . . .’
He stopped, as if he knew there was no more to say and he must leave this to her. She nodded slightly, and for a moment her eyes moved round the room and the attentive faces. She looked again at Mary Ann, still in suspense, and then her face eased. She looked back to Hildersham.
‘Very well’ There was even a hint of amusement now. ‘I’ll accept it as you say. As for--Marion--I’ll wish her success in Cheltenham.’
‘I--I thank you ladyship.’
It came quickly, and sounded strangely earnest, and for a moment they were eye to eye. Then suddenly she sank into a curtsey, perhaps to the surprise of the company. It brought a quick smile of acknowledgement, and then Hildersham took command. He was himself again now, smiling with relief.
‘Splendid! I wish her success myself--and a most happy stay in Cheltenham. But now . . .’ He glanced sharply at the clock. ‘Perhaps we should go to breakfast, Mary?’
‘I think so. It will be a little time before they serve it here.’
‘Then let’s go. Murphy, you’ll see to Marion--you and Curry?’
‘To be sure we will. And breakfast too.’
‘That’s good. Well, then . . .’
They went out together, leaving an interested company to learn what they could of Mrs. Masters, who was now all smiling confidence. Mary said so, and Hildersham nodded brusquely.
‘So she should be. We’ve dealt the cards for her, and it’s a hand she can play. But, Mary, you were good about it, and I’m grateful.’
‘I didn’t see much choice, unless I were to set the whole town talking.’
‘They’ll talk anyway, but I’m still grateful. It would have made
me
look silly, too. But I take it you know her?’
‘Used to.’
‘I’d no idea of that.’
‘I’m sure you hadn’t. How well do you know her?’
‘Only three weeks. I was introduced.’
‘I won’t ask details.’
‘Perhaps not. Who is she?’
‘A parlour-maid.’
‘The devil she is! I must say she hides it well. What’s her name?’
‘Mary Ann Masheter. And if you want to know any more, you’d better ask my brother. He--er--had some dealings with her, and that’s another reason I didn’t want a scene. I didn’t know what would come out.’
‘Perhaps nothing. I doubt if she’s that sort. I’m surprised she was a parlour-maid, though.’
‘I’m
surprised that she’s--Marion. It’s a little awkward, all the same. Is she to stay in Cheltenham?’
‘For some weeks, I’m afraid. Of course, I didn’t know ...’
‘I’m just wondering what happens when we meet. We’re more or less bound to, in a small place like this.’
‘Don’t worry. She’ll show some manners. So couldn’t you just accept it quietly, and say nothing?’
‘I suppose I’ll have to. I can’t help admiring her, in a way, for what she’s made of herself. I wonder how she did it?’
‘They don’t tell us these things.’
‘Why should they? It was shocking bad luck for her, though, to meet
me
on her first morning here.’
‘I’d have said the opposite--it was uncommonly good luck. You were generous to her.’
‘Was I?’ She turned to him with a smile of appreciation. ‘You’ve a happy trick of sounding as if you mean it.’
‘I do mean it.’
‘Well--thank you.’ The smile was becoming a laugh. ‘Now come along. The least I can do after that is to see that you get some breakfast.’
‘I’m quite ready.’
‘I’m more concerned to know if Barford’s ready.’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Perhaps not. Though there’s a point to explain.’
She let it drop until they were in the house, and she did not seem disappointed that Lord Barford had not yet appeared for breakfast. They settled themselves comfortably in the room that in this small house must serve for every meal, and had a table that would not have seated more than ten. But it was a cheerful room, gay and new, with the sunlight in the open window, and a trim young parlour-maid--though not as trim as Mary Ann--ready at a mahogany sideboard that was set with the essentials of breakfast: tea, coffee, milk, cream, muffins, toast, rolls, marmalade, black-currant jam, potted beef, potted chicken, ham, tongue, eggs, anchovies, and the like. It was some minutes later, when he had taken the first edge from his appetite, that she returned to what seemed to be troubling her.
‘It’s a trifle delicate,’ she said carefully. ‘What’s Barford going to say when his eye lights on Mary Ann?’
‘You think he’ll meet her?’
‘He meets everyone who’s talked about. He makes a point of it, and Mary Ann means to be talked about. So what’s he going to say?’
‘From what I’ve heard, he’s pretty broad-minded.’
‘I’ve occasionally suspected that he has a need to be--though, of course, it’s something that nobody would tell
me
about. But this time, Jack, it isn’t merely a question of being broad-minded. He might overlook the parlour-maid--but she happens to have been
his
parlour-maid.’
‘Oh hell!’
‘Exactly. So do we tell him? Or don’t we?’
Lord Barford thought he should care for his health, and he was therefore in Cheltenham for more than the social round. He meant to drink the waters, and he was not to be put off by-having missed his three half-pints before breakfast. He would have them later in the day, and probably at Montpellier, where the chalybeated saline seemed to suit him. He said so when he came to breakfast, and Mary looked at Hildersham. There would no doubt be a crowd at Montpellier, and quite a chance of meeting Mary Ann.
‘Hmm!’ said Hildersham. ‘I was telling you, sir, that Mrs. Masters was there this morning. Did I say that Mary--er--thought she knew her?’
Between them they explained it to him, and Barford sat back over his coffee with an expression that could have been amused or annoyed, or possibly both.
‘You mean that maid I had? Little dark-haired thing?’
‘Precisely.’
‘What the devil did you bring her here for?’
‘I’d no idea who she was, sir. Truly I hadn’t. I’m sorry if I’ve caused you embarrassment.’
‘I’m not embarrassed by a chit of that age. I’m just surprised.’
‘She asked to come to Cheltenham---‘
‘Of course she did. In a place like this, with half London coming, you can expect the Cyprians too. There’ll be a whole platoon of them by next month, and there’s nothing odd about that. But what do I do when I meet her?’
He flung that at Mary, and she looked steadily back at him.
‘What
I
did was to say nothing. I let her be Mrs. Masters.’
‘Probably wise of you. You don’t want a scene. Besides---‘ He broke off thoughtfully, and stirred his coffee. ‘It was John who took her to London, wasn’t it? I wonder how he parted from her?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Of course one doesn’t ask, but all the same . . .’ He turned to Hildersham. ‘Can you help us at all?’
‘I’m afraid not. She was merely introduced to me, and as you say, sir, one doesn’t ask questions. If it’s any help, it was the Anstey who introduced her.’
‘Anstey?’ There was surprise in his tone. ‘The leading Cyprian? And our Mary Ann? What do you make of it?’
‘It does seem odd, but I’m afraid I hadn’t thought of it. Shall I ask her?’
‘Oh, no no. We don’t do that. It’s mere curiosity, anyway, and it doesn’t matter how she got here.’ A shrug of the shoulders seemed to dismiss Mary Ann. ‘Well, what do you mean to do today?’
‘Mary speaks of a tea-garden--whatever that is--in a place called Prestbury, a little way out. So if my horses are rested . . .’
‘We’ll send for them.’
The barouche was at the door an hour later, and Mary was on the box with Hildersham as it went rolling away. Lord Barford walked out a few minutes later, but he did not make for Montpellier. He had apparently decided to have his hair cut, and the careful informality of a spa allowed him to do it like anybody else, without thought of being a Peer of the Realm. He turned into Mr. Wilson’s establishment, which, having a commanding position at the corner of the Colonnade, was also an excellent centre for the picking up of gossip; and when his lordship emerged, half an hour later, he knew rather more than he had done about Mrs. Masters, including the detail that she had left the Long Room that morning in the company of Captain Curry and Sir Michael Murphy. He stood for a moment, and then strolled up the High Street as far as the tobacconist at the corner of Winchcomb Street. Here he filled his snuff-box and learned that Captain Curry was at the George Hotel and Sir Michael at the Royal.
Again he emerged into the High Street, standing thoughtfully while he made the proper play with a pinch of snuff. Then he saw her. Across the street, just below the Plough, was the shop of Riviere, the jeweller and watchmaker, and outside it, entranced by its glittering window, was Mary Ann. Even with her back to him he was sure of it, and the snuff-box clicked as he snapped it shut. He crossed the road purposefully.
‘Good morning, Mary Ann!’
She gave a little squeal, perhaps of panic, as she whipped round and saw him next to her, his hat politely raised, and for a moment she was his parlour-maid again. Habit compelled her, and he reached forward to press her arm in reassurance. He was almost paternal now.
‘Be at ease,’ he told her. ‘This is Cheltenham, and you’ve risen in the world. Mrs. Masters, I’m told?’
‘Yes.’ She was recovering now, and trying to regain her poise. ‘Marion Masters if--if you please, sir.’
‘By all means. Perhaps I’d better call you Marion?’
‘Oh, please.’
‘I shall be delighted. However . . .’ He looked quickly at his watch. ‘You’ve not had your chocolate yet? It’s proper in Cheltenham, and I want a word with you. Come over here.’