The Prophet of Berkeley Square Part 57

"Hush, my love! Remember that--"

"Dr. Birdie Soames!" interposed the vibrant ba.s.s of the footman.

"The physiognomy lady from the Common!" said Mr. Sagittarius, on the point of breaking down under the emotion of the moment. "Scot! Scot!

Great Scot!"

Mrs. Bridgeman was now completely surrounded by a heterogeneous ma.s.s of very remarkable-looking people, among whom were peculiarly prominent an enormously broad-shouldered man, with Roman features and his hair cut over his brow in a royal fringe, a small woman with a pointed red nose in bead bracelets and prune-coloured muslin, and an elderly female with short grizzled hair, who wore a college gown and a mortar-board with a scarlet ta.s.sel, and who carried in one hand a large skull marked out in squares with red ink. These were Verano, the Irish palmist from the Downs; Mrs. Eliza Doubleway, the soothsayer from Beck; and Dr. Birdie Soames, the physiognomy lady from the Common. Immediately around these celebrities were grouped a very pale gentleman in a short jacket, who looked as if he made his money by eating nothing and drinking a great deal, a plethoric female with a mundane face, in which was set a large and delicately distracted grey eye; and a gentleman with a jowl, a pug nose, and a large quant.i.ty of bra.s.s-coloured hair about as curly as hay, which fell down over a low collar, round which was negligently knotted a huge black tie. This trio comprised Mr. Bernard Wilkins, the Prophet from the Rise; Madame Charlotte Humm, the crystal-gazer from the Hill; and Professor Elijah Chapman, the nose-reader from the b.u.t.ts. No sooner was the news of the arrival of these great and notorious people bruited abroad through the magnificent saloons of Zoological House than Mrs.

Bridgeman's guests began to flock around them from all the four quarters of the mansion, deserting even the neighbourhood of the guitars and the inviting seclusion of the various refreshment-rooms. From all sides rose the hum of comment and the murmur of speculation. Pince-nez were adjusted, eyegla.s.ses screwed into eyes, fingers pointed, feet elevated upon uneasy toes. Pretty girls boldly trod upon the gowns of elderly matrons in the endeavour to draw near to Mrs. Bridgeman and her group of celebrities; youths pushed and shoved; chaperons elbowed, and old gentlemen darted from one place to another in wild endeavours to find an inlet through the press. And amid this frantic scramble of the curious, the famous members of the occult world stood, calmly conscious of their value and in no wise upset or discomposed. Verano stroked his Roman features, and ran his large white hand through his curly fringe; Dr.

Birdie Soames tapped her skull; Mrs. Eliza Doubleway played with her bead bracelets; Mr. Bernard Wilkins and Madame Charlotte Humm conversed together in dreamy murmurs; while Professor Elijah Chapman shook his bra.s.s-coloured hair till it fell forward over his variegated s.h.i.+rt-front, and glanced inquiringly at the mult.i.tudes of anxious noses which offered themselves to his inspection beneath the glare of the electric lights.

Mr. and Madame Sagittarius, completely overlooked in the throng, elbowed, trampled upon, jogged from behind and prodded from before, gazed with a pa.s.sion of bitter envy at their wors.h.i.+pped rivals, who were set in the full blaze of success, while they languished in the outer darkness of anonymous obscurity.

"_O miseris hominum men_--don't set your feet on me, sir, if you please!" cried Madame. "_O pectorae caec_--ma'am, I beg you to take your elbow from my throat this minute!"

But even her powerful and indignant organ was lost in the hubbub that mingled with the wild music of the guitars, to which was now added the tinkle of bells and the vehement click of a round dozen of castanets, marking the bull-fighting rhythm of a new air called "The Espada's Return to Madrid."

"Jupiter!" she gurgled. "I shall be suff--"

"Mr. Amos Towle!" roared the footman savagely.

"The great medium from the Wick!"

"Towle the seer!"

"Amos Towle, the famous spiritualist!"

"Mr. Towle who materialises!"

"The celebrated Towle!"

"The great and only Towle!"

"Oh, is it _the_ Towle?"

"I must see Towle!"

"Where is he? Oh, where is Towle?"

"Towle who communicates with the other world!"

"Towle the magician!"

"Towle the hypnotist!"

"Towle the soothsayer!"

"The magnetic Towle!"

"The electric Towle!"

"We must--we must see Towle!"

Such were a very few of the exclamations that instantly burst forth upon the conclusion of the footman's announcement. The elbowing and trampling became more violent than ever, and Mrs. Bridgeman was forced--from lack of room--to forego her society start, though she was still able to indulge in her society smile, as she bowed, with almost swooning graciousness, to a short, perspiring, bald and side-whiskered man in greasy broadcloth, who looked as if he would have been quite at home upon the box of a four-wheeled cab, as indeed he would, seeing that he had driven a growler for five-and-twenty years before discovering that he was the great and only Towle, medium, seer, and worker-of-miracles-in-chief to the large and increasing crowd that lives the silly life.

"Oh, Mr. Towle--charmed, delighted!" cried Mrs. Bridgeman. "I was so afraid--How sweet of you to come out all this way from your eyrie at the Wick! You'll find many friends--dear Madame Charlotte--the Professor--Mrs. Eliza--they're all here. And Miss Minerva, too! Your greatest admirer and disciple!"

At this moment the crowd, wild in its endeavour to touch the inspired broadcloth of the great Towle, surged forward, and the Prophet was driven like a ram against the left side of his hostess.

"I beg--your--pard--" he gasped; "but could you tell--me--where Miss Minerv--erva--is? I special--ly want to--to--"

"I think she's with Eureka in tea-room number 1," replied Mrs.

Bridgeman. "Oh, dear! Near the band. Oh, dear! Oh, my gown! Oh! So sweet of you to come, Mrs. Lorrimer! Just a few interesting people! Oh, gracious mercy! Oh, for goodness' sake!"

She was thrust against a new arrival, and the Prophet, bringing his shoulders vigorously into play, according to the rules of Rugby football, presently found himself out in the open and free to wander in search of Miss Minerva, whom he was most anxious to encounter before the arrival of Sir Tiglath b.u.t.t, which must now be imminent, despite the marked disinclination of his horse to proceed at the rate of more than half a mile an hour.

The Prophet abandoned Mr. and Madame Sagittarius to their fate, thankful, indeed, to be rid for a moment of their prophetic importunity.

Following the gasped directions of Mrs. Bridgeman, he made towards the guitars, threading a number of drawing-rooms, and pa.s.sing by the doors of various mysterious chambers which were carefully curtained off in a most secret manner. Here and there he saw groups of people--men in extraordinary coats and with touzled ma.s.ses of hair, women in gowns made of the cheapest materials and cut in the most impossible fas.h.i.+ons. Some wore convolvulus on their heads, ivy-leaves, trailing fuchsia, or sprigs of plants known only to suburban haberdashers; others appeared boldly in caps of the pork-pie order, adorned with cherry-coloured streamers, clumps of feathers that had never seen a bird, bunches of s.h.i.+ning fruits, or coins that looked as if they had just emerged from the seclusion of the poor-box. Thread gloves abounded, and were mostly in what saleswomen call "the loud shades"--bright scarlet, marigold yellow, gra.s.s green or acute magenta. Mittens, too, were visible covered with cabalistic inscriptions in glittering beadwork. Not a few gentlewomen, like Madame, trod in elastic-sided boots, and one small but intrepid lady carried herself boldly in a cotton skirt topped with a tartan blouse "carried out" in vermilion and sulphur colour, over which was carelessly adjusted a macintosh cape partially trimmed with distressed-looking swansdown. Here and there might be seen some smart London woman, perfectly dressed and glancing with amused amazement at the new fas.h.i.+ons about her; here and there a well set-up man, with normal hair and a tie that would not have terrified Piccadilly. But for the most part Mrs. Bridgeman's guests were not quite usual in appearance, and, indeed, were such as the Prophet had never gazed upon before.

Presently the uproar of the guitars grew more stentorian upon his ear, and, leaving on his left an astonis.h.i.+ng chamber that contained from a dozen to fifteen small round tables, with nothing whatever upon them, the Prophet emerged into an inner hall where, in quite a grove of shrubs hung with fairy lights, twenty young ladies, dressed from top to toe in scarlet, and each wearing a large golden medal, were being as Spanish as if they had not been paid for it, while twelve more whacked castanets and shook bells with a frenzy that was worth an excellent salary, the silly gentleman from Tooting the while blowing furiously upon his flute, and combining this intemperate indulgence with an occasional a.s.sault upon a cottage piano that stood immediately before him, or a wave of the baton that a.s.serted his right to the position of _chef d'orchestre_.

Immediately beyond this shrine of music the Prophet perceived a Moorish nook containing a British buffet, and, in quite the most Moorish corner of this nook, seated upon a divan that would have been at home in Marakesh, he caught sight of Miss Minerva in company with a thin, fatigued and wispy lady in a very long vermilion gown, and an extremely small gentleman--apparently of the Hebrew persuasion--who was smartly dressed, wore white gloves and a b.u.t.tonhole, and indulged in a great deal of florid gesticulation while talking with abnormal vivacity. Miss Minerva, who was playing quietly with a lemon ice, looked even more sensible than usual, the Prophet thought, in her simple white frock. She seemed to be quite at home and perfectly happy with her silly friends, but, as soon as she saw him hovering anxiously to the left of the guitars, she beckoned to him eagerly, and he hurried forward.

"Oh, Mr. Vivian, I'm so glad you've come! Let me introduce you to my great friend Eureka"--the lady in vermilion bowed absent-mindedly, and rolled her huge brown eyes wearily at the Prophet--"and to Mr. Briskin Moses."

The little gentleman made a stage reverence and fluttered his small hands airily.

"Pretty sight, pretty sight!" he said in a quick and impudent voice.

"All these little dears enjoying themselves so innocently. Mother Bridgeman's chickens, I call them. But it's impossible to count them, even after they're hatched. Cheese it!"

The final imperative was flung demurely at a mighty footman, who just then tried to impound Mr. Moses's not quite finished brandy-and-soda.

"Sir?" said the mighty footman.

"Cheese it!" cried Mr. Moses, making a gesture of tragic repugnance in the direction of the footman.

The mighty footman cheesed it with dignity, and afterwards, in the servants' hall, spoke very bitterly of Israel.

The Prophet was extremely anxious to get a word alone with Miss Minerva.

Indeed, it was really important that he should warn her of Sir Tiglath's approach, but he could find no opportunity of doing so, for Mr. Moses, who was not afflicted with diffidence, rapidly continued, in a slightly affected and tripping c.o.c.kney voice,--

"Mother Bridgeman's a dear one! G.o.d bless her for a pretty soul! She'd be sublime in musical comedy--the black satin society lady, you know, who makes the aristocratic relief,--

"'I'm a Dowager d.u.c.h.ess, and everyone knows I'm a lady right down to the tip of my toes.'

"Very valuable among the minxes; worth her weight in half-crowns! I'd give her an engagement any day, pretty bird! Ever seen her driving in a cab? She takes off her gloves and spreads her hands over the ap.r.o.n to get the air. A canary! Anything for me to-night, Eureka? A dove, a mongoose--anything lucky? Give us a chance, mother!"

The lady in vermilion, who had a tuft of golden hair in the midst of her otherwise raven locks, glanced mysteriously at Mr. Moses.

"See anything, mother?" he asked, with theatrical solemnity. "A tiny chunk of luck for tricky little Briskin?"