The Road to Mandalay Part 2

CHAPTER IV

KICKS AND HALFPENCE

More than four years had elapsed since Mrs. Shafto and her son had driven away from "Littlecote" behind a pair of smart bay steppers.

(The widow was determined to keep up what she was pleased to call "her position" to the last.) Immediately succeeding this dignified exit came a woeful change in their circ.u.mstances. Mrs. Shafto was obliged to make the best of boarding-house and 'bus, and Douglas, thanks to the exertions of his friends the Tremenheeres, found a situation in a mercantile house in the City. There was no time for him to pick and choose. It was imperative that he should begin to earn without delay, and not, as his parent frankly remarked, "look to a poor widow for support." This condition of abject poverty was, she declared, "entirely due to his father's criminal carelessness respecting his affairs. She had what would barely keep her alive"--170 pounds per annum--"and that was all." As for Douglas, he must work.

Although they were not congenial companions Douglas faithfully accompanied his mother in her varied wanderings, supported her in action with enraged landladies, helped her out of a libel case, covered her reverses and retreats, and lived by command under the same roof.

For the last eighteen months the pair had been established at a well-managed private hotel in Lincoln Square, Bayswater, W. "Malahide"

was a flouris.h.i.+ng concern; two substantial houses had been thrown into one; the rooms were s.p.a.cious, clean, and adequately furnished; the food was plain but abundant. The double drawing-room contained a fine piano, one or two sofas, and card tables; also a sufficiency of sound and reliable chairs; but not an ornament, save two clocks--not one paper fan, nor bunch of coloured gra.s.ses, nor a single antimaca.s.sar, not even a sh.e.l.l! Such amazing restraint gave the apartments an empty but dignified appearance.

Among its various advantages, "Malahide" was within a few minutes' walk of "the Grove," and "Underground," a situation which appealed to men in business and to women whose chief occupation was shopping.

Mrs. Shafto appreciated her present quarters for several excellent reasons. Here she had no giggling young rivals and was, even at forty-five, the best-looking and best-dressed of all the lady boarders.

Moreover, she had found a friend and admirer in her neighbour at meals--a certain Mr. Mana.s.seh Levison, a widower, with a stout figure, a somewhat fleshy nose, and a pair of fine piercing black eyes. He was the proprietor of a fas.h.i.+onable and flouris.h.i.+ng antiquities and furniture business in a well-known thoroughfare, and was considered one of the best judges of old silver and china in the trade.

It exasperated Shafto to listen to his mother's "table talk," and he made a point of sitting as far as possible from her vicinity. She liked to impress Levison and other with highly-coloured reminiscences of her grand acquaintances; even the Tremenheeres--with whom she had quarrelled so bitterly--were dragged in and shown off as intimates.

More than once Shafto had felt his face burn, as exaggerations and glorifications were unfolded in his parent's far-carrying and a.s.sertive treble.

Besides Mr. Mana.s.seh Levison, were the two Misses Smith--twins--genteel, middle-aged spinsters, who, until the arrival of the sprightly and attractive widow, had alternately cherished high hopes of the wealthy Jew. Their chief energies were devoted to the task of blowing one another's trumpets, thereby drawing attention to particular virtues and modestly hidden accomplishments. For example, the elder would say:

"Darling Ella is so clever at cooking, as good as any French chef, her sauces and savouries are too wonderful."

They were!

And Ella, in repayment, a.s.sured her listeners that Jessie had a perfect genius for gardening and housekeeping; and yet it was whispered that this effusively fond couple, when alone, quarrelled and wrangled as cruelly as the notorious Kilkenny cats.

Among other patrons at "Malahide" were two quiet, polite little j.a.panese gentlemen, Mr. Den and Mr. Yabe; Madame Galli, a shrivelled old woman in a cheap wig, with sharp rat's eyes that nothing escaped, the soul of good nature, rich, miserly and incredibly mischievous.

There were several boarders who were in business in the City, and Mr.

Hutton, a careworn man of fifty, who spent his days working in the British Museum. Next to him at table sat Douglas Shafto, now a well set-up, self-possessed young fellow, who still retained something of the cheery voice and manner of the Public School boy. Thanks to his steadiness and fair knowledge of French and German, he was drawing a salary of a hundred and fifty per annum.

His neighbour on the left happened to be his own cousin, Sandy Larcher, older by three years, and in the same office, but receiving a lower "screw," Sandy was of the "knut" tribe, a confident authority on dress, noisy, slangy, and familiar; much given to cigarettes and music-halls, a slacker at work, but remarkably active at play and, on the whole, rather a good sort.

Sandy's mother, Mrs. Larcher, the widow of a cab proprietor, was Mrs.

Shafto's only sister, and in the days of that sister's glory had never obtruded herself; but now that poor Lucilla had come down in the world, she had advanced with open arms, and at "Monte Carlo," the abode of the Larcher family, Mrs. Shafto occasionally spent a week end. The "go-as-you-please" atmosphere, late hours, breakfast in bed, and casual meals, recalled old, and not unhappy times. Mrs. Larcher, who had never been a beauty, was now a fat woman past fifty, lazy, good-natured, and absolutely governed by her children. Besides Sandy, the dandy, she had two daughters, Delia and Cossie.

Delia was on the stage (musical comedy), pet.i.te, piquant, and very lively; a true gra.s.shopper, living only for the summer; a loud, reckless but respectable young woman, who, having but thirty s.h.i.+llings a week salary and to find her own "tights," was ever ready to accept motor drives, dinners, or a smart hat, or frock, from any of her "boys." Cossie, the stay-at-home, was round-faced and plump; a tireless talker and tennis player. She managed the house, held the slender purse, accepted her sister's cast-offs, and always had a "case"

on with somebody. Cossie was exceedingly anxious (being the eldest of the family) to secure a home of her own, and made this alarmingly obvious.

To "Monte Carlo" Douglas, the highly presentable cousin, was frequently commanded by both mother and aunt. At first he had hated this duty, but nevertheless went, in order to please and silence his parent, whose hand plied the goad and who otherwise "nagged" at him in public and in private. In private she pointed out that the Larcher family were his own blood relations, "so different from his father's side of the house, which, since his death, had ignored both her and him, and never even sent a wreath to the funeral!" By slow and painful degrees Douglas became accustomed to "Monte Carlo"; at first the manners and customs of his cousins had a rasping effect, and it was more than a year before he really fell into line, and visited his kindred without pressure. The girls were not bad-looking--in a flamboyant style--and effusively good-natured; they took his chaff and criticism without offence, and accepted with giggles his hints with respect to manners and appearance.

When Douglas happened to be expected, they did not stroll about slip-shod in dressing-gowns, with their hair hanging loose, or bombard one another with corks and crusts.

For his part, he brought them books and chocolates, watered the garden, mowed the tennis ground, mended the bells, and made himself generally useful. At first this flashy, muddling, free-and-easy household had disgusted him; and his cool a.s.sured manner and critical air irritated his relatives; whilst his att.i.tude of superior comment had proved a vexatious restraint. But week by week Douglas came to see that it was to this particular cla.s.s he now belonged. These were his nearest relatives, and he told himself that he must endeavour to accommodate himself to circ.u.mstances--and them; otherwise he was a sn.o.b, a beastly sn.o.b!

His first Christmas holidays had been spent at "Tremenheere," where he had received a heart-warming welcome. Other school friends had also claimed him, but his time was now mortgaged to the office, and by degrees correspondence and intimacy languished--or, rather, changed.

His contemporaries had gone forth into the wide world; the Army, the Diplomatic Service, and India, had summoned them, their paths in life lay far apart from that of a mere correspondence clerk, and only the old birds remained in the nests. Those who were in England wrote and made arrangements for meetings in town, but Shafto found ready and real excuses and generally withdrew from his former circle. He liked his friends--nothing could offer him so much pleasure as their company--but he realised that in time they would arrive at the parting of the ways, and it was for him to make the first step in that direction; in such homes as "Monte Carlo" he must in future find society and entertainment.

"Monte Carlo" (sixpence return, third cla.s.s, from town, and eight minutes' walk from the station) was a grotesque, little red-faced abode, situated among a tangle of villas and roads. It stood detached in a garden, with--O! theme of pride--a full-sized tennis court. There were also several flower beds, and six unhappy gooseberry bushes, but _the_ feature was the lawn; here also were seats and a small striped awning. The grounds of "Monte Carlo" were only divided from its immediate neighbours by a thin wooden part.i.tion--there was no such thing as privacy or seclusion. Conversation was audible, and the boisterous jokes of "Chatsworth" and "Travancore" were thoroughly enjoyed at "Monte Carlo." In the same way "Monte Carlo" overheard various interesting items of news, some sharp quarrels and, once or twice, unpleasant personal truths! On the last occasion, the remark was so unfriendly (it dealt with Cossie's methods) that when "Chatsworth," ignorant of offence, sent the same evening an emissary to borrow three pints of stout, the reply was a harsh refusal!

Within doors s.p.a.ce was naturally more contracted, but the click of the opposite gate, the sound of the next door dinner-bell and gramophone remained, as it were, common property! The tiny hall was choked with umbrellas, wraps, tennis shoes, and tattered sixpenny books; the drawing-room, with its pink cas.e.m.e.nt curtains, gaudy cretonne covers, huge signed photographs, jars of dusty artificial bowers, packs of dingy cards, and sc.r.a.ps of millinery, looked "lived in"--but tawdry and untidy. The big Chesterfield sofa--a wonderful bargain--had broken springs (perhaps it was not such a wonderful bargain?) and many hills and hollows. In the roomiest of these last the mistress of the house was more or less a fixture, and the whole apartment, like a _pa.s.see_ beauty, was to be seen at its best by candle-light.

The dining-room was chiefly notable for the heavy atmosphere of tobacco, and mult.i.tudes of empty black bottles under the sideboard.

The kitchen, both in sound and smell, absolutely refused to be ignored.

Such was "Monte Carlo!"

The inmates of "Malahide" have received honourable mention, but nothing has been said of Mrs. Malone, the proprietress, who kept the establishment running, as it were, on well-oiled wheels. Joyce Malone was an Irishwoman who had met with cruel reverses. Well born, well educated, and an almost penniless widow, she thankfully accepted the post of housekeeper in a n.o.bleman's family, and there remained until her savings, and a timely legacy, enabled her to set up for herself.

From the first she had met with success. Her terms were moderate; b.u.t.ter, eggs and poultry came from her native land; there was no skimping of coals, or hot water; and clients--who became permanent--flocked to "Malahide." In appearance Mrs. Malone was a tall old woman, with a stoop, who shuffled a little as she walked, and always wore a black gown, a gold Indian chain, and a white lace cap with ribbon bows. She kept severely aloof from her guests and had her own little lair on the second landing. It was, she said, "her business to see to domestic matters, and not to gossip or play bridge."

Nevertheless, she had her favourites: Mr. Hutton and young Shafto.

(Envy and malice declared that Mrs. Malone had _no_ favourites among her own s.e.x.) She was drawn to the boy by his air of good breeding and admirable manners; also she noticed with secret indignation how shamefully his mother neglected and snubbed him. She took far more notice of Jimmy Black, or Sandy Larcher, than of her own son. No doubt she disliked to be so unmistakably dated by his tall, well-grown youth, and her hostess mentally agreed with a gossip who declared that "Mrs.

Shafto didn't care a pin for her boy--rather the other way, and if she had kept her figure, she could never keep her word, or a secret--and was a hard, selfish, grasping woman."

Although Shafto and his mother lived under the same roof, she, figuratively, sat with folded hands as far as he was concerned; it was kindly Mrs. Malone who looked after his little comforts, saw that his socks were mended, and made him a hot drink when he had a heavy cold.

Also, as a special honour, she invited him to her "den," gave him a cup of coffee, or a gla.s.s of port, and talked to him of her Irish home and her young days. Once upon a time she had been a capital horsewoman, and it was strange to hear this old lady and the bright-eyed youth comparing notable runs.

One day in the Strand at luncheon hour, Shafto came face to face with his old friend Geoffrey Tremenheere, looking bronzed, splendidly fit, and independent as a prince.

"Hallo, Douglas!" he exclaimed. "Well, if this isn't a piece of luck!

How are you, old man?"

"AH right--and you?"

"I arrived from India yesterday and go up to Scotland to-night--the family are all on the moors. I've just been looking for a pair of guns. Come and give your opinion, and then we will lunch. I'm stopping at the Grand."

"I'd like to awfully, I need not tell you, Geoff, but I've got to be back at 1.15 sharp--it's mail day."

"Oh, hang mail day! Come along and lunch--and let us have a good old _bukh_!"

"I don't know what that means--but I'll be glad of lunch, and more glad of a bit of a jaw!"

"Now, tell me all about yourself, Douglas," said his schoolfellow, as they sat _vis-a-vis_ in the marble hall. "You don't look particularly chirpy. Still in the office?"

"Yes--I expect to live and die there."

"Poor old boy--and doing work you hate!"

"Oh, I'm getting used to it now. I shall manage to hang on."

"And Mrs. Shafto--how is she?"

"As usual--going strong. We live in the same boarding-house."

"'Umph! Well, let me tell you this--you are in the black books at home. I hear you refuse all invitations and make monstrous excuses."