The Career of Katherine Bush. Glyn Elinor
a rise, so it's a slight move up, anyway, as I am to be kept, and live in the house."
"You are cocksure of getting it, Katherine?"
"Yes – I mean to – I am going to see her on Saturday."
"And what are your references besides Liv and Dev? Some folks don't like moneylenders."
"I wrote and said I had no others – but they would testify to my capacity. Liv nearly had a fit when I gave my notice – he almost cried to get me to stay on. I like the old boy – he is a good sort, and will tell the truth about me."
"And did they answer?"
"Yes – just to say I was to come for the interview on Saturday."
"They want to see you, anyway – what is the family, I wonder?"
Here Katherine recited the details from Debrett, in which volume she was very proficient.
"An old lady, then," Matilda commented, "and with no children except a married daughter! That will be easier for you – but why is she called 'Sarah'? I often have wondered about that, when I read names in the Flare. Why 'Sarah Lady Something' – and not plain Lady Something?"
"It's when the man in possession is married and you are not his mother," Katherine told her, "and if you are, and still have your Christian name tacked on, it is to make you sound younger. Dev says dowagers are quite out of fashion. Every widow is 'Sarah' or 'Cordelia' now in the high society, and when he first went to business, there were only two or three. Queen Victoria never stood any nonsense."
Matilda was very interested.
"Whatever will you do about your clothes, Kitten? You have nothing nobby and smart like Gladys. She could lend you her purple taffeta if you weren't so tall."
"Oh, I manage all right. I'll have a talk with Gladys to-night; she sees the right sort of people at Ermantine's, and can tell me what to get – and I'll buy it to-morrow in my lunch hour."
"Well, I am just rattled," Matilda admitted. "Then you'll be leaving home quite, dearie?"
"Yes, Tild – and I shan't be sorry except to be parted from you – but I daresay I shall be able to come and see you now and then."
Matilda looked tearful.
"You never were one of us, Katherine."
"No, I know I never was. I often have wondered what accident pitchforked me in among you, always the discordant note and the wet blanket. I hark back to someone, I suppose – I've always determined to get out, when I was ready."
"You never did care for us – never, Kitten."
Katherine Bush remained quite unmoved.
"No, never for the others – but always for you, Tild – and I'll never forget you, dear. There, don't be a donkey and cry – the people at the next table are looking at you."
This argument she knew would calm her sister – who was intensely sensitive to everyone's opinion.
"And supposing they don't take you?" Matilda suggested, in a still quavering voice, "and you've given notice to Liv and Dev – I call it awfully risky."
"Then I will look out for something else – I am determined to make a change, and see a new world, whatever happens."
After supper that evening, Gladys was invited up to the warmed attic with Matilda, an honour she duly appreciated. They all stood in irritated awe of Katherine.
"I want to talk about clothes, Glad," she said, when they neared the tiny fireplace. "I have told Tild I am going about a new berth on Saturday."
This caused the same astonishment and exclamations as Matilda had already indulged in – and when calm was restored, Gladys was only too pleased to show her superior knowledge.
"I don't want to hear about any of those actresses you dress, or those ladies who look like them, I want to know what a real, quiet, well-bred countess, say, would have, Glad."
Miss Gladys Bush smiled contemptuously.
"Oh, a regular frump, you mean – like the ones we can't persuade to have tight skirts when they are first the fashion, or loose ones when it changes – that is easy enough – it is to get 'the look' that is difficult."
"They probably would not engage me if I had 'the look,'" Katherine remarked cynically.
"You'd better have something like we made for Lady Beatrice Strobridge last week, then," Gladys suggested. "One of our hands can copy it at home, but there won't be time by Saturday. You'd better wear your best blue serge and get a new hat for the first meeting."
"Lady Beatrice Strobridge must be the Hon. Gerard Strobridge's wife, my new employer's late husband's nephew. Strobridge is the Garribardine name." Katherine had looked up diligently the whole family, and knew the details of each unit by heart.
"She only got married two years ago," Gladys continued. "She was Thorvil, before – Lady Beatrice Thorvil."
"Wife of the present man's younger brother," quoted Katherine, remembering Debrett. "He is about thirty-five; the present man is forty."
"She is a regular dowdy, anyway," Gladys remarked. "One of those – we have a bunch of them – that wants the things, and yet with their own touch on them, spoiling the style. They come together generally, and do make a lot of fuss over each other – calling 'darlings' and 'precious' all the time – fit to make me and the girls die laughing with their nonsense."
"What is she like – good-looking?" Katherine asked. She only questioned when she wanted specific information, never idly, and it was as well to know everything about her possible new employer's family.
"She would not be bad if she did not stoop so. She hasn't got 'the walk' neither, no more than the 'look'; sometimes she's all right – at least, the things are all right when they go home, but she adds bits herself afterwards, and spoils them."
Here Matilda interrupted.
"Anyway, she is one of the ladies you'll see in your new place, Kitten. I'd certainly have that same dress, it will just show them you are as good as they, if you have an Ermantine model."
But Katherine thought differently. She agreed she would have something in the same subdued style as Lady Beatrice would have chosen, but not the actual copy, and after settling details the other two sisters left her for bed.
When they had gone, she sat by the fire and looked deeply into it, while she thought for a few moments. Then she drew a letter from her blouse and reread it. It was from Lord Algy. A sweet little love epistle. Just to tell her he could not possibly wait for the whole month before seeing her – and was coming up to town the following week – and would not she lunch with him at the old place – and perhaps stay with him again at the Great Terminus? It ended with protestations of passionate devotion.
No – never again – she had tasted of the cup of bliss, and Fate was asking her to pay no price. She must have courage now to renounce all further pleasure. Once was an experience, twice would be weakness – which could grow into a habit – and thence lead to an abyss which she shuddered to think of.
Katherine Bush had never read Théophile Gautier's masterpiece – but there was something in her character, as Lord Algy had remarked, which resembled Mademoiselle de Maupin's.
She went to her little writing-case and got out a sheet of paper, and then, in her firm round hand which looked like a man's, she wrote him these few lines:
Dear Algy,
I want you to forget all about me – I loved our little trip, but I am never going on another. I shall have left Liv and Dev's before you get back, and you won't see me again. With best love always.
She folded it, put it in the envelope – addressed it and stamped it – then she put it ready to post in the morning.
Her face was white and set. It takes a strong will to renounce tangible present happiness, however profound the beliefs in the future may be.
CHAPTER IV
Sarah