Kathleen Part 10

"--and that is, we'd best get this fruit up without delay," and seizing a large bowl of apples, oranges, and bananas, she pa.s.sed it to Kathleen and backed her into the pantry again. Kathleen unsuspectingly pushed the fruit up the dumb waiter and meanwhile it took no more than an instant for Eliza to take the curate by the arm, motion him to silence, and push him toward the cellar door.

"He's down there," she whispered, and Carter innocently followed his fellow Scorpion. Again Eliza closed the door and turned the key.

"Well, Eliza," said Kathleen, "I don't think you're much of a cook, but you're a willing worker."

"Miss Kathleen," said the cook, who was now more anxious than ever to cleanse her bosom of much perilous stuff, "are you very down on practical jokes?"

"Practical jokes? Why, yes, Eliza. I think they are the lowest form of humour. Good gracious! I do believe we've forgotten the coffee! Have you got it ready?"

"Yes, Miss; yes, Miss; right here," said Eliza, bustling to the stove. "But don't you think, miss, that a frank confession atones for a great deal?"

"Really, Eliza, you are the most priceless creature! I don't wonder Joe was taken with you! Hus.h.!.+ There's the front-door bell; what do you suppose that is?"

They both listened, Kathleen at the dumb-waiter shaft and Eliza at the kitchen door. Eliza started to say something, but Kathleen waved her to be quiet. A heavy step sounded on the stair, and the agitated Mary appeared, followed by a huge policeman. Eliza, of course, recognized the Iron Duke, but the gas-light and the disguise prevented the latter from knowing his fellow venturer.

"What on earth is the matter?" said Kathleen.

"Please, Miss," said the blue-coat, "your mother said there's a gas-man down here and I've been sent by headquarters to take him in charge. I think he's a sneak thief."

"There's no such person here, officer," said Kathleen.

Eliza still kept her sovereign wits about her. She advanced to the policeman, and whispering mysteriously "He's in here," took his sleeve and led him to the cellar door.

"He's down there," she repeated; "put the cuffs on him, quick!"

She opened the door, and the doubtful policeman, hypnotized by her decision, stepped on to the cellar stairs. The door closed behind him, and again Eliza turned the key.

"What does all this mean?" demanded Kathleen, angrily. "Has everybody gone daft? Eliza, ever since you came into the house, there has been nothing but turmoil. I wish you would explain. Why have you sent the policeman into the cellar?"

"There's three dangerous counterfeiters down there, Miss," said Eliza. "I want to tell you the truth about this, Miss Kathleen, before that American gets down here--he's bound to be here soon.

He's the worst of the lot."

"Open that door at once!" said Kathleen, stamping her foot. "I don't know what on earth you mean by counterfeiters, but if there are any down there, let's have them up, and see what they have to say."

The dining-room bell rang, and Mary instinctively hurried upstairs. At the same moment Blair ran down, three steps at a time, and bounded into the kitchen. He started when he saw Eliza.

"Are you all right, Miss Kent?" he asked, anxiously. "I've been so worried about you. Is that gas-man still here? I think I can smell gas escaping. Can I help in any way?"

"What you smell is a burnt cottage pudding," replied Kathleen.

"There's a policeman in the cellar, I wish you'd call him up. I have a great mind to ask him to take Eliza in charge. I don't think she's quite right."

Blair looked at Eliza closely.

"I agree with you, Miss Kathleen," he said. "She looks like a bad egg to me--a devilled egg, in fact. Which is the cellar door, cook?"

Eliza saw her chance.

"Right here, sir," she said, taking hold of the door k.n.o.b. She swung the door open.

"Looks very dark," said Blair. "I can't quite see the step. Where is it?"

Eliza, eager to add this last specimen to her anthology in the cellar, stepped forward to point out the stairway. With one l.u.s.ty push Blair shoved her through the door, and banged it to. He turned the key in the lock and thrust it into his pocket.

"Miss Kent," he said, "I'm afraid you must think us all crazy. If you will only let me have five minutes' uninterrupted talk with you, I can explain these absurd misadventures. Please, won't you let me?"

"To tell you the truth," said Kathleen, "I'm hungry. I've had only a plate of soup, and that was--counterfeit. I think that mad woman intended it for the curate, for whom she had conceived a dislike."

"Let's go up and sit in the dining-room, and I can talk while you eat."

At that moment Mrs. Kent's voice sounded at the top of the stairs.

"Kathleen, dear, is everything all right?"

"Yes, Mother," called Kathleen in the same silvery soprano that set Blair's heart dancing.

"Your father wants Mr. Blair to come up to the drawing-room and talk to him. He wants to tell him about the Battle of Wolverhampton."

XIII

Blair, nervously playing with a key, stood by the fire in the drawing-room. Mrs. Kent had excused herself and gone upstairs. In the dining-room, across the hall, he could see Kathleen gleaning over the supper table while the maid cleared away the dishes. In spite of his peevishness, he smiled to see her pick up one of the stuffed eggs on a fork, taste it, and lay it down with a grimace.

At the other end of the drawing-room Mr. Kent, leaning on his cane, was rummaging among some books.

"Here we are," said the antiquarian, hobbling back with several heavy tomes. "Here is Clarendon's History. Now I want to read you what he has to say about that incident in 1645, then I will read you my ma.n.u.script notes, to show you how they fill up the gaps.

Kathleen!"

"Yes, Dad," answered Kathleen, coming into the room.

"Will you get me my gla.s.ses, dear?"

"Yes, indeed," and she ran across the room to fetch them from the bookcase where he had left them. She seated herself on the arm of her father's chair. She was a charming and graceful figure, swinging the slender ankle that the Scorpions afterward described with imaginative fervour as "a psalm," "a fairy-tale," and "an aurora borealis." They none of them ever agreed as to the dress she wore that evening; but Eliza Thick, who was perhaps the most observant, declared that it looked like a chintz curtain. I think it must have had small sprigs of flowers printed on it. Her eyes, exclaimed the broken-hearted gas-man, were like "a twilight with only two stars." Perhaps he meant a street with two lamps lighted.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're going to read your notes to Mr. Blair,"

she said, mischievously. "They are so fascinating, and there's such a jolly lot of them."

"Perhaps Mr. Kent's eyes are tired?" said Blair, hastily.

"Not a bit, not a bit!" said Mr. Kent. "I don't often get such a good listener. By the way, what happened to that nice young curate? I hope the gas-man didn't injure him?"

Kathleen looked at Blair with dancing eyes.

"He had to go," declared Blair. "He was awfully sorry. He asked me to make his apologies."

"Perhaps the Bishop sent for him suddenly," said Kathleen.

"Well," resumed Mr. Kent, "I shall begin with the Battle of Naseby. After that memorable struggle, a portion of the royalist forces--"

The front-door bell trilled briskly.