Perhaps it is fortunate for Members of the House that their female friends are discreetly hidden away behind that heavy iron grille over the Press Gallery, so that they are invisible save for a neatly gloved hand which sometimes shows upon the ironwork, or a flash of bright colour in the deep shadow, caused by bobbing millinery. Many a husband or lover addressing the House would waver beneath the critical eyes of his womenkind. Indeed, on the night in question, Dudley Chisholm would certainly not have delivered his telling words so calmly had he been aware of the presence of certain persons hidden away behind that Byzantine grating.
The Ladies Gallery was crowded by Members wives and daughters, enthusiastic Primrose League workers, dowagers, and a few of the smarter set. Among the latter, at the extreme end of the gallery, sat a well-preserved, elderly woman of rather aristocratic bearing, accompanied by a blue-eyed girl in lavender, wearing a costly opera cloak trimmed with sable, a girl with a countenance so charming that she would cause a sensation anywhere. The black toilette of the elder woman and the lavender creation worn by her daughter, spoke mutely to the other women near them of an atelier in the Rue de la Paix, but as to their names, these were unknown to every person in the gallery.
When Chisholm had risen to address the House the elder had bent to the younger and whispered something in her ear. Then both women had pressed their faces eagerly to the grille, and, sitting bent forward, listened to every word that fell so deliberately from the speakers lips.
Again the aristocratic-looking woman with the white hair whispered to the girl beside her, so low that no one overheard:
There, Muriel! That is the man. I have not exaggerated his qualities, have I? You must marry him, my dear you must marry him!
Chapter Two.
Concerns Claudias Caprice
The division had been taken, the position of the Government saved, and the House was up.
Dudley Chisholm, after driving back in a hansom to his chambers in St. Jamess Street, stretched himself before the fire with a weary sigh of relief, to rest himself after the struggle in which he had been so prominent a figure. His rooms, almost opposite the Naval and Military Club, were decorated in that modern style affected by the younger generation of bachelors, with rich brocade hangings, Turkey carpets, art pottery, and woodwork painted dead white. A single glance, however, showed it to be the abode of a man sufficiently wealthy to be able to indulge in costly works of art and fine old china; and although modern in every sense of the word, it was, nevertheless, a very snug, tasteful and well-arranged abode.
The room in which he was sitting, deep in a big armchair of the grandfather type, was a study; not spacious, but lined completely with well-chosen books, while the centre was occupied by a large, workmanlike table littered by the many official documents which his secretary had, on the previous morning, brought to him from the Foreign Office. The electric lamp on the table was shaded by a cover of pale green silk and lace, so that he sat in the shadow, with the firelight playing upon his dark and serious features.
Parsons, his bent, white-haired old servant in livery of an antiquated cut, had noiselessly entered with his masters whiskey and soda, and after placing it in its accustomed spot on a small table at his elbow, was about to retire, when the younger man, deep in reflection, stirred himself, asking:
Who brought that letter the one I found here when I came in?
A commissionaire, sir, was the old servitors response. It came about midnight. And somebody rang up on the telephone about an hour after, but I couldnt catch the name, as Im always a bit flustered by the outlandish thing, sir.
His master smiled. That telephone was, he knew, the bane of old Parsons existence.
Ah! he said. Youre not so young as you used to be, eh?
No, Master Dudley, sighed the old fellow with the blanched hair and thin, white, mutton-chop whiskers. When I think that I was his lordships valet here in London nigh on fifty years ago, and that Ive been in the family every since, I begin to feel that Im gettin on a bit in years.
Sitting up late every night like this isnt very good for one of your age, observed his master, mindful of the old fellows faithful services. Ill have Riggs up from Wroxeter, and he can attend to me at night.
Youre very thoughtful of me, Master Dudley; but Id rather serve you myself, sir. I cant abear young men about me. Theyre only in the way, and get a-flirtin with the gals whenever they have a chance.
Very well, Parsons, just please yourself, answered Chisholm pleasantly. But to-morrow morning first pack my bag and then wire to Wroxeter. I shall be going down there in the afternoon with two friends for a couple of days shooting.
Very well, sir, replied the old fellow in the antique dress suit and narrow tie. He half turned to walk out, but hesitated and fidgeted; then, a moment later, he turned back and stood before his master.
Well, Parsons, anything more? Chisholm asked. He was used to the old fellows confidences and eccentricities, for more than once since he had come down from college his ancient retainer had given him words of sound advice, his half-century of service allowing him such licence as very few servants possessed.
Theres one little matter I wanted to speak to you about, Master Dudley. Im an old man, and a pretty blunt un at times, that you know.
Yes, laughed Dudley. You can make very caustic remarks sometimes, Parsons. Well, whos been offending you now?
No one, sir, he answered gravely. Its about something that concerns yourself, Master Dudley.
His master glanced up at him quickly, not without some surprise, saying:
Well, fire away, Parsons. Out with it. What have I done wrong this time?
That woman was here this afternoon! he blurted out.
What woman? inquired his master, looking at him seriously.
Her ladyship.
Well, and what of that? She called at my invitation. Im sorry I was not in.
And Im very glad I had the satisfaction of sending that woman away, declared the ancient retainer bluntly.
Why, Parsons? Surely its hardly the proper thing to speak of a lady as that woman?
Master. Dudley, said the old man, youll forgive me for speaking plain, wont you? It would, I know, be called presumption in other houses for a servant to speak like this to his master, but you are thirty-three now, and for those thirty-three years Ive advised you, just as I would my own son.
I know, Parsons, I know. My father trusted you implicitly, just as I have done. Speak quite plainly. Im never offended by your criticisms.
Well, sir, that woman may have a title, but shes not at all a desirable acquaintance for you, a rising man.
Chisholm smiled. Claudia Nevill was a smart woman, moving in the best set in London; something of a lion-hunter, it was true, but a really good sort, nevertheless.
She dresses too well to suit your old-fashioned tastes, eh? In your days women wore curls and crinolines.
No, Master Dudley. It isnt her dress, sir. I dont like the woman.
Why?
Because well, youll permit me to speak quite frankly, sir because to my mind its dangerous for a young man like you to be so much in the company of an attractive young person. And, besides, shes playing some deep game, depend upon it.