The Experiences of Loveday Brooke, Lady Detective by Catherine Louisa Pirkis (new ebook reader .TXT) 📖

on being cosmopolitan in her tastes, and just now we are very cosmopolitan indeed. Even our servants represent divers nationalities; the butler is French, the two footmen Italians, the maids, I believe, are some of them German, some Irish; and I’ve no doubt if you penetrated to the kitchen-quarters, you’d find the staff there composed in part of Scandinavians, in part of South Sea Islanders. The other quarters of the globe you will find fully represented in the drawing-room.”

Loveday had a direct question to ask.

“Are you certain that Mdlle. Cunier had no friends in England?” she said.

“Positive. She hadn’t a friend in the world outside my mother’s four walls, poor child! She told me more than once that she was ‘seule sur la terre.’” He broke off for a moment, as if overcome by a sad memory, then added: “But I’ll put a bullet into him, take my word for it, if she isn’t found within another twenty-four hours. Personally I should prefer settling the brute in that fashion to handing him over to the police.”

His face flushed a deep red, there came a sudden flash to his eye, but for all that, his voice was as soft and slow and unemotional, as though he were talking of nothing more serious than bringing down a partridge.

There fell a brief pause; then Loveday asked another question.

“Is Mademoiselle Catholic or Protestant, can you tell me?”

The Major thought for a moment, then replied:

“‘Pon my word, I don’t know. She used sometimes to attend a little charge in South Savile Street—I’ve walked with her occasionally to the church door—but I couldn’t for the life of me say whether it was a Catholic, Protestant, or Pagan place of worship. But—but you don’t think those confounded priests have—”

“Here, we are in Portland place,” interrupted Loveday. “Mrs. Druce’s rooms are already full, to judge from that long line of carriages!”

“Miss Brooke,” said the Major suddenly, bethinking himself of his responsibilities, “how am I to introduce you? what rôle will you take up this afternoon? Pose as a faddist of some sort, if you want to win my mother’s heart. What do you say to having started a grand scheme for supplying Hottentots and Kaffirs with eye-glasses? My mother would swear eternal friendship with you at once.”

“Don’t introduce me at all at first,” answered Loveday. “Get me into some quiet corner, where I can see without being seen. Later on in the afternoon, when I have had time to look round a little, I’ll tell you whether it will be necessary to introduce me or not.”

“It will be a mob this afternoon, and no mistake,” said Major Druce, as side by side, they entered the house. “Do you hear that fizzing and clucking just behind us? That’s Arabic; you’ll get it in whiffs between gusts of French and German all the afternoon. The Egyptian contingent seems to be in full force to-day. I don’t see any Choctaw Indians, but no doubt they’ll send their representatives later on. Come in at this side door, and we’ll work our way round to that big palm. My mother is sure to be at the principal doorway.”

The drawing rooms were packed from end to end, and Major Druce’s progress, as he headed Loveday through the crowd, was impeded by hand-shaking and the interchange of civilities with his mother’s guests.

Eventually the big palm standing in a Chinese cistern was reached, and there, half screened from view by its graceful branches, he placed a chair for Miss Brooke.

From this quiet nook, as now and again the crowd parted, Loveday could command a fair view of both drawing-rooms.

“Don’t attract attention to me by standing at my elbow,” she whispered to the Major.

He answered her whisper with another.

“There’s the Beast—Iago, I mean,” he said; “do you see him? He’s standing talking to that fair, handsome woman in pale green, with a picture hat. She’s Lady Gwynne. And there’s my mother, and there’s Dolly—the Princess I mean—alone on the sofa. Ah! you can’t see her now for the crowd. Yes, I’ll go, but if you want me, just nod to me and I shall understand.”

If was easy to see what had brought such a fashionable crowd to Mrs. Druce’s rooms that afternoon. Every caller, as soon as she had shaken hands with the hostess, passed on to the Princess’s sofa, and there waited patiently till opportunity presented itself for an introduction to her Eastern Highness.

Loveday found it impossible to get more than the merest glimpse of her, and so transferred her attention to Mr. Hafiz Cassimi, who had been referred to in such unceremonious language by Major Druce.

He was a swarthy, well-featured man, with bold, black eyes, and lips that had the habit of parting now and again, not to smile, but as if for no other purpose than to show a double row of gleaming white teeth. The European dress he wore seemed to accord ill with the man; and Loveday could fancy that those black eyes and that double row of white teeth would have shown to better advantage beneath a turban or a fez cap. From Cassimi, her eye wandered to Mrs. Druce—a tall, stout woman, dressed in black velvet, and with hair mounted high on her head, that had the appearance of being either bleached or powdered. She gave Loveday the impression of being that essentially modern product of modern society—the woman who combines in one person the hard-working philanthropist with the hard-working woman of fashion. As arrivals began to slacken, she left her post near the door and began to make the round of the room. From snatches of talk that came to her where she sat, Loveday could gather that with one hand, as it were, this energetic lady was organizing a grand charity concert, and with the other pushing the interests of a big ball that was shortly to be given by the officers of her son’s regiment.

It was a hot June day. In spite of closed blinds and open windows, the rooms were stifling to a degree. The butler, a small dark, slight Frenchman, made his way through the throng to a window at Loveday’s right hand, to see if a little more air could be admitted.

Major Druce followed on his heels to Loveday’s side.

“Will you come into the next room and have some tea?” he asked; “I’m sure you must feel nearly suffocated here.” He broke off, then added in a lower tone: “I hope you have kept your eyes on the Beast. Did you ever in your life see a more repulsive-looking animal?”

Loveday took his questions in their order.

“No tea, thank you,” she said, “but I shall be glad if you will tell your butler to bring me a glass of water—there he is, at your elbow. Yes, off and on I have been studying Mr. Cassimi, and I must admit I do not like his smileless smile.”

The butler brought the water. The Major, much to his annoyance, was seized upon simultaneously by two ladies, one eager to know if any tidings had been received of Mdlle. Cunier, the other anxious to learn if a distinguished president to the Harem Mission had been decided upon.

Soon after six the rooms began to thin somewhat, and presentations to the Princess ceasing, Loveday was able to get a full view of her.

She presented a striking picture, seated, half-reclining, on a sofa, with two white-robed, dark-skinned Egyptian maidens standing behind it. A more unfortunate sobriquet than “Dolly” could scarcely have been found by the Major for this Oriental beauty, with her olive complexion, her flashing eyes and extravagant richness of attire.

“‘Queen of Sheba’ would be far more appropriate,” thought Loveday. “She turns the commonplace sofa into a throne, and, I should say, makes every one of those ladies feel as if she ought to have donned court dress and plumes for the occasion.”

It was difficult for her, from where she sat, to follow the details of the Princess’s dress. She could only see that a quantity of soft orange-tinted silk was wound about the upper part of her arms and fell from her shoulders like drooping wings, and that here and there jewels flashed out from its folds. Her thick black hair was loosely knotted, and kept in its place by jeweled pins and a bandeau of pearls; and similar bandeaus adored her slender throat and wrists.

“Are you lost in admiration?” said the Major, once more at her elbow, in a slightly sarcastic tone. “That sort of thing is very taking and effective at first, but after a time—”

He did not finish his sentence, shrugged his shoulders and walked away. Half-past six chimed from a small clock on a bracket. Carriage after carriage was rolling away from the door now, and progress on the stairs was rendered difficult by a descending crowd.

A quarter to seven struck, the last hand-shaking had been gone through, and Mrs. Druce, looking hot and tired, had sunk into a chair at the Princess’s right hand, bending slightly forward to render conversation with her easy.

On the Princess’s left hand, Lady Gwynne had taken a chair, and sat in converse with Hafiz Cassimi, who stood beside her.

Evidently these four were on very easy and intimate terms with each other. Lady Gwynne had tossed her big picture hat on a chair at her left hand, and was fanning herself with a palm-leaf. Mrs. Druce, beckoning to the butler, desired him to bring them some claret-cup from the refreshment-room.

No one seemed to observe Loveday seated still in her nook beside the big palm.

She signaled to the Major, who stood looking discontentedly from one of the windows.

“That is a most interesting group,” she said; “now, if you like, you may introduce me to your mother.”

“Oh, with pleasure—under what name?” he asked.

“Under my own,” she answered, “and please be very distinct in pronouncing it, raise your voice slightly so that every one of those persons may hear it. And then, please add my profession, and say I am here at your request to investigate the circumstances connected with Mdlle. Cunier’s disappearance.”

Major Druce looked astounded.

“But—but,” he stammered, “have you seen anything—found out anything? If not, don’t you think it will be better to preserve your incognita a little longer.”

“Don’t stop to ask questions,” said Loveday sharply; “now, this very minute, do what I ask you, or the opportunity will be gone.”

The Major without further demur, escorted Loveday across the room. The conversation between the four intimate friends had now become general and animated, and he had to wait for a minute or so before he could get an opportunity to speak to his mother.

During that minute Loveday stood a little in his rear, with Lady Gwynne and Cassimi at her right hand.

“I want to introduce this lady to you,” said the Major, when a pause in the talk gave him his opportunity. “This is Miss Loveday Brooke, a lady detective, and she is here at my request to investigate the circumstances connected with the disappearance of Mdlle. Cunier.”

He said the words slowly and distinctly.

“There!” he said to himself complacently, as he ended; “if I had been reading the lessons in church, I couldn’t have been more emphatic.”

A blank silence for a moment fell upon the group, and even the butler, just then entering with the claret-cup, came to a standstill at the door.

Then, simultaneously, a glance flashed from Mrs. Druce to Lady Gwynne, from Lady Gwynne to Mrs. Druce, and then, also simultaneously, the eyes of both ladies rested, though only for an instant, on the big picture hat lying on the chair.

Lady Gwynne started to her feet and seized her hat, adjusting it without so much as a glance at