A Woman's War - Warwick Deeping (best black authors .TXT) 📗

Roxton town. Neither doctors nor enginedrivers are permitted to indulge in drink, and in Murchison ‘s case the downfall had been the more dramatic

by his absolute refusal to qualify the disgrace. An inquest, an unflattering finding by the coroner’s jury, a

case for damages threatening to be successfully instituted

by an outraged widow. Amid such social humiliations

the brass plate had disappeared abruptly from the door

of the house in Lombard Street. It was as though Murchison’s pride had accepted the tragic climax with all

the finality of grim despair. He had even made no attempt to sell the practice, but, like Cain, he had gone forth

with his wife and with his children, too sensitive in his

humiliation to brave the ordeal of reconquering a lost

respect.

 

Many months had passed since the furniture dealers’

vans had stood in the roadway outside the house in Lombard Street, with bass and straw littering the pavement,

and men in green baize aprons going up and down the

dirty steps. Frost was in the air, and the winter sun

burned vividly upon the western hills. A fog of smoke

hung over the straggling town, lying a dark blurr amid

the white-misted meadows. Lights were beginning to

wink out like sparks on tinder. The dull roar of a passing train came with hoarse strangeness out of the vague

windings of the valley.

 

As the dusk fell, a smart pair of “bays” switched round

the northwest corner of St. Antonia’s Square and clattered over the cobbles under the spectral hands of the

towering elms. The church clock chimed for the hour

as Parker Steel, furred like any Russian, stepped out of

the brougham, and, slamming the door sharply after him,

ordered the coachman to keep the horses on the move.

Dr. Steel’s brougham was not the only carriage under

St. Antonia’s sleeping elms. A steady beat of hoofs and

a jingling of harness gave a ring of distinction to the quiet

square.

 

Parker Steel glanced at the warm windows of his house

as he crossed the pavement, and fumbled for his latchkey in his waistcoat pocket. The sound of music came

from within, ceasing as the physician entered the hall,

and giving place to the brisk murmur of many voices.

A smart parlor-maid emerged from the drawingroom,

carrying a number of teacups, blue and gold, on a

silver tray. The babble of small talk unmuffled by the

open door suggested that Mrs. Betty excelled as a

hostess.

 

Ten minutes elapsed before Parker Steel, spruce and

complacent, was bowing himself into his own drawingroom with the easy unction of a man sure of the distinction of his own manners. Quite twenty ladies were ready

to receive the physician’s effeminate white fingers. Mrs.

Betty had gathered the carriage folk of Roxton round her.

The heat of the room seemed to have stimulated the

scent of the exotic flowers. The shaded standard lamp,

burning in the bay-window beside the piano, shed a brilliant light upon a pink mass of azaleas in bloom. Mrs.

Betty herself was still seated upon the music-stool, one

hand resting on the key-board as she chatted to Lady

 

Sophia Gillingham, sunk deep in the luxurious cushions

of a lounge-chair.

 

Mrs. Betty, a study in saffron, her pale face warmed

by the light of the lamp, caught her husband’s eye as

he moved through the crowded room. Sleek, brilliant,

pleased as a cat that has been lapping cream, she made a

slight gesture that he understood, a gesture that brought

him before Lady Gillingham’s chair.

 

“Parker.”

 

“Yes, dear.”

 

“Will you touch the bell for me? I want to show Mignon to Lady Sophia.”

 

Parker Steel’s smile congratulated his wife on her deft

handling of the weapons of social diplomacy. He rang

the bell, and meeting the servant at the door, desired her

to bring Mrs. Betty’s blue Persian and the basket of

kittens from before the library fire.

 

The physician took personal charge of Mignon and her

children, and returning between the chairs and skirts,

presented the family to Lady Sophia.

 

Parker Steel had an ecstatic lady at either elbow as

he held the basket lined with red silk, the three mouse-colored kittens crawling about within. Mignon, the ambereyed, had made a leap for Mrs. Betty’s lap.

 

“The dears!”

 

“How absolutely sweet!”

 

“Such tweety pets.”

 

The two elderly canaries cheeped in chorus while Lady

Sophia’s fat and pudgy hand fondled the three kittens.

Her red and apathetic face became more human and expressive for the moment, though there was a suggestion

of cupidity in her dull blue eyes.

 

“The dear things!” and she lifted one from the basket

into her lap, where it mewed rather peevishly, and caught

its claws in Lady Sophia’s lace.

 

“Mignon is a prize beauty,” and Mrs. Betty caressed

the cat, and looked up significantly into her husband’s face.

 

“Perfectly lovely. There, there, pet, what a fuss to

make!” and the dowager’s red-knuckled hand contrasted

with the kitten’s slate-gray coat. “I suppose they are all

promised, Mrs. Steel?”

 

“Well, to tell the truth, they have created quite a rage

among my friends.”

 

“No doubt, the dears. You could ask quite a fancy

price for such prize kittens.”

 

Parker Steel had been prompted by an instant flash of

his wife’s eyes.

 

“I am sure if Lady Gillingham would like one of the

kittens—”

 

He appeared to glance questioningly. and for approval,

at Mrs. Betty.

 

“Of course I shall be delighted.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Why, yes.”

 

“Then may I buy one?”

 

Parker Steel elevated his eyebrows, and, with the air of

a Leicester, refused to listen to any such proposal.

 

“Do not mention such a matter. We shall only be too

glad.”

 

“But, my dear Mrs. Steel—”

 

“I agree wholly with my husband.” And Mrs. Betty

stretched out a white hand, and stroked the ball of fluff

in Lady Sophia’s lap. “Choose which you like. They

can leave the mother in a week or two.”

 

Lady Gillingham’s plebeian face beamed upon Mrs.

Betty.

 

“This is really too generous.”

 

“Why, not at all,” and her vivacity was compelling.

 

“Then I may choose this one?”

 

“With pleasure.”

 

“Isn’t it a pet?”

 

Mignon, purring on Mrs. Betty’s lap, failed to realize

in the least how valuable a social asset she had proved.

There was a rustling of skirts, a shaking of hands, as the

room began to empty of its silks and laces. Lady Sophia

struggled up with a fat sigh from the depths of her chair,

stroked Mignon’s ears, and held out a very gracious hand

to Mrs. Steel.

 

“Can you dine with us on Monday?”

 

“Delighted.”

 

“Sir Gerald Gerson and the Italian ambassador will

be with us. I want to show you some choice Dresden

that my husband has just bought at Christie’s.”

 

Mrs. Betty received the favor with the smiling and enthusiastic simplicity of an ingenuous girl.

 

“How kind of you! I am so fond of china.”

 

Parker Steel gave his arm to the great lady, and escorted

her to her carriage, his deportment a professional triumph

in the consummation of such a courtesy.

 

He found Mrs. Betty alone in the drawingroom when

he returned. She was lying back in the chair that Lady

Gillingham’s stout majesty had impressed, and had

Mignon and a kitten on her lap.

 

Parker Steel, standing on the hearth-rug, looked round

him with the air of a man to whom the flowers in the

vases, the lilies and azaleas in bloom, seemed to exhale an

incense of success. Social prosperity and an abundance

of cash; the expensive arm-chairs appeared to assert the

facts loudly.

 

“A satisfactory party, dear, eh?”

 

Mrs. Betty, fondling Mignon’s ears, looked up and

smiled.

 

“I think we have conquered Boadicea at last,” she said.

 

“It appears so.”

 

“She should be a most excellent advertisement.”

 

Parker Steel fingered his chin, and looked meditatively

at the carpet. A self-satisfied and half-cynical smile hovered about the angles of his clean-cut mouth.

 

“A year ago, Betty,” he remarked, “Lady Sophia pertained to Catherine Murchison, and showed us the cold

shoulder. Well, we have changed all that.”

 

“We?”

 

“Well, say the workings of the ‘spirit/ or the infirmities

of the flesh.”

 

Mrs. Betty held Mignon against her cheek and laughed.

 

“What a dear, soft, fluffy thing it is!”

 

“Set a cat to catch a cat, eh? I wonder what our

friend Murchison is doing?”

 

“Murchison! I never trouble to think.”

 

Parker Steel studied his boots.

 

“Poor devil, he made a pretty mess of a first-class

practice. They were hard up, too, I imagine. Damages

and costs must have cleared out most of Murchison’s investments, and their furniture sold dirt cheap. I can’t

tell why the ass did not try to sell the practice.”

 

“Pride, I suppose.”

 

“It meant making me a present of most of his best

patients.”

 

“My dear Parker, never complain.”

 

“Hardly, when we should be booking between two and

three thousand a year at least. Well, I must turn out

again before dinner.”

 

The physician returned to his fur coat and his brougham,

leaving Mrs. Betty fondling Mignon and her kittens.