The Pit Town Coronet Volume I Part 6

Ill-natured people said that Mrs. Charmington owed a great deal to Messrs. Jones. That the cheque that paid for her well-known turn-out had been signed by the firm; that they had twice paid her dress-maker's bill, when that terrible person had become importunate; that they had settled the account of Monsieur Alphonse, the great _coiffeur_; that they had paid her husband's debts. Some of them, more imaginative, declared that Mrs. Charmington was even a sleeping partner in the saponaceous firm. But the ill-natured people were quite wrong; it was not Messrs. Jones who paid Mrs. Charmington's bills. Little Jack Charmington, her husband, had a snug four hundred a year of his own, which quite sufficed for his modest needs. Mrs. Charmington's graceful letter had been written by her in a moment of good nature, and, it may be said in confidence, at the instigation, some eight years ago, of Big Reginald Haggard, who had looked on the whole matter as a joke, and who had, at that stormy period of his career, been very much in Mrs.

Charmington's confidence. The real fact was that Mrs. Charmington kept Messrs. Jones before the public, and those astute advertisers did the same kind office for the lady.

Thus it was that Georgie became "lovely Mrs. Haggard." This is what the writers of serious books pompously call "the _secret history_ of the whole matter."

Georgie now, to her astonishment, found her movements invariably chronicled in the society journals. It rather annoyed her than otherwise, but her husband was pleased, and that was enough for Georgie.

The lazy giant was sprawling on the most comfortable of the sofas; the pair were alone in the dainty little drawing-room. Young Mrs. Haggard's eyes were full of tears. "Won't you take me with you," she sobbed appealingly, "it's only for six months, Reginald?"

"I can't, my darling; it's a beast of a climate, and the mosquitos would eat you up. I shall only be away for six months; you know I have made up my mind to get rid of the whole bag of tricks. It's quite true the land can't run away, but there are always rows and revolutions and smashes going on; you can't trust anybody. Of course, Georgie, I should like you to go; but think of the risk. It won't wash at all. We'll stay over Christmas here in England. I suppose I must take you down to see the old man, and then we'll go straight off to Rome, and finish the winter there. I'm getting rather bored, you know, Georgie, with the fuss people make in town. It's deuced fine fun for you of course."

The fact was that this excellent husband hated playing second fiddle, and he found, to his astonishment, that young Mrs. Haggard's social success had far eclipsed that of Georgie Warrender. As a good-looking young bachelor, though a detrimental, he had been very popular. As a wealthy _parti_ and a sort of lion he had been the fas.h.i.+on himself the previous season, and to his own knowledge his curly hair and big moustache had caused a quicker beating of the heart in many a female breast. But as Beauty's husband he felt out of his element. "You lucky beggar!" had been repeated to him so often that he hated the phrase. Of course, he still admired his wife as the handsomest woman he had ever clapped eyes upon; he wasn't even jealous of the great attention that Georgie habitually received. First, because he knew he could trust her implicitly; but secondly, and this was far the more powerful reason, because he was too much a man of the world ever to render himself ridiculous.

"You know we can have rather a jolly time of it in Rome, Georgie," he said. "You must by this time be as heartily sick of the eternal _tete-a-tete_ as I am. I don't mean that," he said, springing to his feet as he noticed that his young wife shuddered and turned pale; "but the fact is, Georgie, I don't want to be pointed at like poor old Jack Charmington, and I confess, dear," he added with a smile, "that I should like a little more of 'lovely Mrs. Haggard's' society."

A very little crust thrown to the very hungry is always accepted with grat.i.tude. Georgie Haggard brightened up at once. "I suppose I must make the best of it, dear," she said with a pleased smile; "at all events, I shall have you all to myself in Rome."

"Yes; it will be quite a second honey-moon; but I half promised your cousin Lucy that she should join us. It'll be beastly dull for her at The Warren, you see, poor girl; and she doesn't seem to jump at Spunyarn, though he does hang on. Is there any one else in the wind, do you think, Georgie?" he said with some interest.

"No; Lucy seems perfectly heartwhole," replied his wife.

"I often wonder you two hit it off so well," mused Haggard as he gazed into the blue flames that flickered over the little wood fire, for his wife affected a wood fire as more cheerful. "Why, Lucy has been your only serious compet.i.tor this season; I wonder you aren't jealous of each other."

"How can you talk such nonsense, Reginald?" the wife replied with a sunny laugh.

"Then you don't mind her coming with us on the Roman trip?"

It showed that Mrs. Haggard had considerable confidence in her own attractions, as she innocently replied, "If you don't mind, why should I, dear?"

"Well, then it's all settled, old girl; we'll put in the dull time in Italy. Old Pit Town knows lots of good people, and would give us letters, I suppose. In the spring I'll just rush across and polish off the Mexican affair."

His gaze again returned to the fire which smouldered on the hearth.

There was a silence.

Gradually Haggard raised his eyes; they rested on his wife, they took her in from head to foot, and seemed to appraise each of her numerous points. The husband's countenance was lighted up by a pleased expression.

"By Jove! Georgie," he said, "people are quite right; you are an uncommonly fine woman."

He kissed her.

It was the kiss of proprietors.h.i.+p, similar to the appreciative pat he would have given to a prize dog or a valuable horse that was his own property.

Yes, Georgie loved the man, and looked up at him with wistful, trusting eyes. She was his, body and soul.

But the door opens, and a peal of merry laughter caused Haggard and his wife to subside into seats on either side of the fireplace.

"Oh, Georgie! I'm so sorry you missed it, it's been such fun, and Mr.

Sleek has been so attentive. I really think the two girls thought I was setting my cap at their father. What with the procession outside, and the farce indoors, we've had a delightful morning," cried Lucy Warrender, as she entered the room.

"I fear it was rather a tragedy to poor little Sleek," said Lord Spunyarn, who followed her; "a tiger when a-las.h.i.+ng of his tail was nothing to Sleek. I shall never forget the look he gave me after lunch."

"When inflamed with love and wine, you know," said Lucy pertly. "Behold his scalp."

Lucy triumphantly extended an enormous formal bouquet. Alas, for poor little Sleek! his flowers were carelessly tossed upon the table.

"Oh, they were very confidential, you know," lisped Spunyarn; "I was quite out in the cold."

"Ungrateful man, when you had a window all to yourself, and a smiling Miss Sleek on either side of you, gazing into your eyes. You neglected your opportunities, Lord Spunyarn. Let me tell you that the daughters of my last conquest are two very pretty girls."

"Not when Miss Warrender is present."

"I rather think you forgot Miss Warrender's presence," retorted the coquette.

"Anyhow, two's company and three isn't, you'll all allow that. How happy could I have been with either were t'other dear charmer away."

"Did they both propose to you, Lord Spunyarn?" said Mrs. Haggard with a smile.

"If I were a vain man I should confess that they rather gave themselves away."

"Much as Hanibal Peter Gray did for love of the beautiful cannibal,"

said Lucy.

"Oh, they were quite safe in my case, not being a _mangeur de coeurs_," replied the discreet young n.o.bleman. "But my attention was not sufficiently absorbed by those guileless girls that I failed to perceive the doings of the other couple."

"You are quite wrong, as usual. Mr. Sleek was merely explaining who the various people were."

"In that case, Miss Warrender, he might at least have given us all the benefit of his information, instead of conveying it in an inaudible whisper to Miss Warrender's private ear. And he needn't have blushed till he looked like a pickled cabbage."

"It's not fair, Lucy," said Mrs. Haggard reprovingly, with an attempt at matronly dignity.

"Well, you know," laughed the girl, "it wasn't my fault. Spunyarn declined to come to the rescue. There I was, practically _tete-a-tete_ with the man; the noise of the crowd drowned my cries and remonstrances.

Besides, after the scalp, and the elaborate lunch which was awaiting us in the middle of the room, I felt myself bound to listen to the voice of the charmer. I was cheered, too, by Lord Spunyarn's masterly defeat of Dabbler. _Poor_ Dabbler!"

"'Pon my word, I didn't know it. When we came in there was a fat man messing with the things on the table. He was dressed like a waiter, and he looked like one--a regular City waiter, you know. He held out his hand. Of course, I gave him my hat and coat. He has no business to dress like a waiter and to hold out his hand."

"Lord Spunyarn, he is a common councilman, and he is going to dine with the Lord Mayor," cried Lucy.

"All the same, he has no business to be dressed like a waiter in the morning, if even he be a common councilman and going to dine with the Lord Mayor. Anyhow, he took the hat and coat, and then, thank heaven, he bolted."

"What's Dabbler to him, or he to Dabbler, that he should weep?"

misquoted Georgie's husband, who had enjoyed Dabbler's discomfiture.

"It's all very well for you all to laugh, but Mr. Sleek didn't seem to like it at all. What did he mean by saying that Mr. Dabbler was a warm man?" asked Lucy.

"Oh, piles of money of course; all the common councilmen have piles of money," said Spunyarn.

"And do they all dress like waiters in the morning, and then dine with the Lord Mayor?"