Alice Lauder/Part 2/Chapter 4

MY dear child, where have you been?” exclaimed Clare in a Cassandra-like voice. She was, to all outward view, reposing in the lap of luxury in her favourite easy-chair before a small wood fire (Clare’s health required a fire on most evenings), but her tone seemed to bespeak some impending calamity. “I could not have believed you would go out as soon as my back was turned, and I am afraid you will be very ill after it.”

They were in the dining parlour, a long apartment framed in dark crimson; the firelight glistened on silver and damask, and on a bunch of flaming, feathery heads of gladioli gathered together in a brown jug and falling over the white cloth with a vivid effect of colour, like the brilliant plumage of a macaw. Mead was laying the table, visibly prepared to stand by Miss Alice with a silent moral support, but conscious at the same time that he only represented a strong ​opposition in the house; the real head of the government was engaged at the moment in holding a red-hot salamander over a little dish of scalloped oysters, which sent out a pleasant crispy odour, like a cheerful presentiment, all over the house.

“It was the pulsatilla. It did me so much good; so don't be vexed, dear. And besides, I know Mead wanted to get Corkscrew exercised. Didn’t you now, Mead?”

“’Deed and I did, Miss. The ould vagabond is fit to jump over a church now, he’s getting so fresh. Will I bring dinner in now, mam?” he concluded, with a marked glance at Alice’s habit, which said as plainly as words could say, “Make your escape now while you can, and I will engage the enemy on your behalf.”

“Oh yes, do, Clare, have dinner in! I’m perfectly starving. It must be the pulsatilla, for I had nothing else. And tell me how you enjoyed the party. And did you play kiss-in-the-ring and hunt the slipper?”

“Well, I’ve no doubt those good old English sports were in full swing in some part of the grounds, judging by the noise I heard. But I knew I should be ill if I walked about, so I sat in the library most of the time and talked to Mr. Campbell. He tells me he knows you, Alice.”

​“Oh yes, I met him coming home just now; but never mind him—tell me all about the others. Did Mrs. Granby say, ‘How do you do?—What a very warm day!’ just as if she were making the responses in church? And did la belle Lizzie rush about with her young men, as usual?”

“Well, they do say that she is so taken up with this Mr. Campbell that no one else can get a word with her. All I can say is that he seemed quite pleased to sit beside me and talk sensibly. I see nothing to rave about in your Mrs. Austin, though she certainly has a nice nose. She was very much en évidence to-day in a white flannel suit—Redfern, I should say—didn’t suit her a bit. Mrs. Burton tells me that she can’t live without admiration for a single minute. And there was a young fellow, Swanny, I think they call him, or it may have been Goosey, for all I know———”

“Yes—yes—Captain Swan. Was he very much in the foreground too?”

“Oh, just hung round all the time, and allowed her to snub him before everybody. Arthur Campbell won’t put up with that sort of thing—she will find that out pretty soon. It turns out I know a lot of his cousins—Cranmers in Surrey—very nice people, and with heaps of money—​just swimming in it; but the daughters are very plain, poor things—six of them, too. However, we had quite a nice talk, and it was a relief to have some real conversation after that everlasting chitter-chatter of this little place. Fancy, he told me that Lord Lancey has broken off his engagement with that barmaid sort of girl he got engaged to, and also that Mrs. Winkes, who was all the rage in London last year, has gone off so terribly that she has had to dye her hair, and it is thought that she enamels her complexion now, for she has never smiled again—for fear of its cracking, we suppose.”

“Ah, well, it is a comfort to have a little intellectual conversation with a London man again. But didn’t he talk about India at all?”

“No, he hadn’t time. But I was hearing from some one else about him. Let me see, was it Mr. Granby, or that other man with the red nose? No, I think it must have been our host. He was very attentive, too, and took me into refreshment ever so often—and they really did things well. I had some capital pistachio cream. I think the Granbys are a nice quiet family, Alice, though you do make fun of them. Yes, and what was I going to tell you about?”

“Oh, about India, perhaps. I was wondering how Mr. Campbell has got on.”

​“Oh, very well, indeed. He did get into hot water once with some great person there over a report he wrote about rice-fields or something—but don’t ask me what it was all about! And, as Mr. Granby says, it’s rather a good thing for a man to have a little hot water sometimes—wakes him up. He thought Mr. Campbell had been rather shunted home—given leave of absence, you know; but said it would be all right when he went back; and they all said he was a rising man. I think it’s rather a pity he should be left to Mrs. Austin altogether, and I asked him to come to dinner some day soon.”

“Yes?” said Alice, dreamily. “And then we can have some more of that chocolate soufflé that Mrs. Mead never will make when we are alone. You do mean a little dinner, don’t you, Clare? Not only the feast of reason and the flow of soul over your London scandals?”

“Dinner is served, mam!” reported Mead, in his sternest military tones, as he drew back a heavy chair from the head of the table with an ominous creak that spoke volumes for the premier’s temper if they allowed her Palestine soup to get cold; and the discussion of the latest Green Street gossip was adjourned pro tem. in the presence of more important matters of state.