The Dust Flower. Basil King
profile resembling that of Punch’s Judy, and a smile of cheerful piety, she yielded to time only by a process of drying up.
Nettie Duckett was quick in her own defense, but breathless, too, from girlish laughter. “I can’t ’elp syin’ what I see, now can I? There she was ’arf dressed in the little back spare-room. Oh, the commonest thing! You wouldn’t ’a wanted to sweep ’er out with a broom.”
“Pretty goin’s on I must sye,” Jane commented. “ ’Ope the best of everyone I will, but when you think that we was all on the top floor––”
44
“Pretty goin’s off there’ll be, I can tell you that,” Mrs. Courage declared in her rich, decided bass. “Just let me ’ave a word with Master Rashleigh. I’ll tell ’im what ’is ma would ’ave said. She left ’im to me, she did. ‘Courage,’ she’s told me many a time, ‘that boy’ll be your boy after I’m gone.’ As good as mykin’ a will, I call it. And now to think that with us right ’ere in the ’ouse. … Where’s Steptoe? Do ’e know anything about it?”
“Do ’e know anything about what?” The question came from Steptoe himself, who appeared on the threshold.
The three women maintained a dramatic silence, while the old butler-valet looked from one to another.
“Seems as if there was news,” he observed dryly.
“Tell ’im, Nettie,” Mrs. Courage commanded.
Nettie was the young thing of the establishment, Mrs. Courage’s own niece, brought from England when the housemaid’s place fell vacant on Bessie’s unexpected marriage to Walter Wildgoose, Miss Walbrook’s indoor man. Indeed she had been brought from England before Bessie’s marriage, of which Mrs. Courage had had advance information, so that as soon as Bessie left, Nettie was on the spot to be smuggled into the Allerton household. Steptoe had not forgiven this underhand movement on Mrs. Courage’s part, seeing that in the long-ago both she and Jane had been his own nominees, and that he considered the household posts as gifts at his disposal. “I’ll ’ave to make a clean sweep o’ the lot o’ them,” he had more than once declared at those gatherings at which the English butlers and valets of upper Fifth 45 Avenue discuss their complex of interests. Forty years in the Allerton family had made him not merely its major-domo but in certain respects its head. His tone toward Nettie was that of authority with a note of disapprobation.
“Speak, girl, and do it without giggling. What ’ave you to tell?”
Though she couldn’t do it without giggling Nettie repeated the story she had given to her aunt and Jane. She had gone into the small single back bedroom on the floor below Mr. Allerton’s, and there was a half-dressed girl ‘a-puttin’ up of ’er ’air.’ According to her own statement Nettie had passed away on the spot, being able, however, to articulate the question, “What are you a’doin’ of ’ere?” To this the young woman had replied that Mr. Allerton had brought her in on the previous evening, telling her to sleep there, and there she had slept. Nettie’s information could go no further, but it was considered to go far enough.
“So what do you sye to that?” Mrs. Courage demanded of Steptoe; “you that’s always so ready to defend my young lord?”
Steptoe was prepared to stand back to back with his employer. “I don’t defend ’im. I’m not called on to defend ’im. It’s Mr. Rashleigh’s ’ouse. Any guest of ’is must be your guest and mine.”
“And what about Miss Walbrook, ’er that’s to be missus ’ere in the course of a few weeks?”
Steptoe colored, frostily. “She’s not missus ’ere yet; and if she ever comes, there’ll be stormy weather for all of us. New missuses don’t generally get on with old servants like us—that’s been in the family 46 for so many years—but when they don’t, it ain’t them as gets notice.”
A bell rang sharply. Steptoe sprang to attention.
“There’s Mr. Rashleigh now. Don’t you women go to mykin’ a to-do. There’s lots o’ troubles that ’ud never ’ave ’appened if women ’ad been able to ’old their tongues.”
“But I suppose, Steptoe, you don’t deny that there’s such a thing as right.”
“I don’t deny that there’s such a thing as right, Mrs. Courage, but I only wonder if you knows more about it than the rest of us.”
In Allerton’s room Steptoe found the young master of the house half dressed. Standing before a mirror, he was brushing his hair. His face and eyes, the reflection of which Steptoe caught in the glass, were like those of a man on the edge of going insane.
The old valet entered according to his daily habit and without betraying the knowledge of anything unusual. All the same his heart was sinking, as old hearts sink when beloved young ones are in trouble. The boy was his darling. He had been with his father for ten years before the lad was born, and had watched his growth with a more than paternal devotion. “ ’E’s all I ’ave,” he often said to himself, and had been known to let out the fact in the afore-mentioned group of English upper servants, a small but exclusive circle in the multiplex life of New York.
In Steptoe’s opinion Master Rash had never had a chance. Born many years after his parents had lived together childlessly, he had come into the world constitutionally neurasthenic. Steptoe had never known 47 a boy who needed more to be nursed along and coaxed along by affection, and now and then by indulgence. Instead, the system of severity had been applied with results little short of calamitous. He had been sent to schools famous for religion and discipline, from which he reacted in the first weeks of freedom in college, getting into dire academic scrapes. Further severity had led to further scrapes, and further scrapes to something like disgrace, when the war broke out and a Red Cross job had kept him from going to the bad. The mother had been a self-willed and selfish woman, claiming more from her son than she ever gave him, and never perceiving that his was a nature requiring a peculiar kind of care. After her death Steptoe had prayed for a kind, sweet wife to come to the boy’s rescue, and the answer had been Miss Barbara Walbrook.
When the engagement was announced, Steptoe had given up hope. Of Miss Walbrook as a woman he had nothing to complain. Walter Wildgoose reported her a noble creature, splendid, generous, magnificent, only needing a strong hand. She was of the type not to be served but to be mastered. Rashleigh Allerton would goad her to frenzy, and she would do the same by him. She was already doing it. For weeks past Steptoe could see it plainly enough, and what would happen after they were married God alone knew. For himself he saw no future but to hang on after the wedding as long as the new mistress of the house would allow him, take his dismissal as an inevitable thing, and sneak away and die.
It was part of Steptoe’s training not to notice anything 48 till his attention was called to it. So having said his “Good-morning, sir,” he went to the closet, took down the hanger with the coat and waistcoat belonging to the suit of which he saw that Allerton had put on the trousers, and waited till the young man was ready for his ministrations.
Allerton was still brushing his hair, as he said over his shoulder: “There’s a young woman in the house, Steptoe. Been here all night.”
“Yes, sir; I know—in the little back spare-room.”
“Who told you?”
“Nettie went in for a pincushion, Mr. Rash, and the young woman was a-doin’ of ’er ’air.”
“What did Nettie say?”
“It ain’t what Nettie says, sir, if I may myke so bold. It’s what Mrs. Courage and Jane says.”
“Tell Mrs. Courage and Jane they needn’t be alarmed. The young woman is—” Steptoe caught the spasm which contracted the boy’s face—“the young woman is—my wife.”
“Quite so, sir.”
If Allerton went no further, Steptoe could go no further; but inwardly