Lady Maude's Mania

“Which I am, my lord, as fast as I can,” cried the woman; “and there was that tall handsome Italian gentleman, as cook thinks is a furrin’ nobleman in disguise, playing on his hinstrument.”

“Yes,” said Tom, sarcastically.

“And all of a sudden he stops, and I see him go into the portico.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” said Tom.

“And then there was a lot of whispering.”

“Yes, yes,” said Tom; “oh, yes, of course.”

“And that’s all, my lord, only my young mistress wasn’t in the room when I came back.”

“Now then, all of you,” cried Tom, “once for all, this absurd rumour is one of the most ridiculous – What’s that you say?” he cried sharply, as he heard a whisper.

“I was saying to Ma’amselle Justine that my young lady was always encouraging them men about, my lord,” said the housemaid, “and that if I’d been one of the spying sort I might have seen her.”

“Poor thing,” said the cook, loudly. “She has been drove to it. I have a heart of my own.”

“Silence!” roared Tom. “How dare you? Here, has any one else got anything to say? You? Oh yes, you are my sister’s maid.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Dolly Preen, spitefully.

“Well, what do you know?”

“I know that my mistress was always listening at first to that dreadful Italian,” said Dolly.

“No, no – you, you,” cried Justine.

“I fought against it, and mastered it,” said Dolly proudly; “Lady Maude found it too much, I suppose.”

“Well, I never!” ejaculated Mrs Downes.

“Go on,” cried Tom.

“And then she got to dropping notes to him out of the window, my lord.”

“It isn’t true,” cried Tom. “Woman, you ought to be turned out of the house.”

“Oh, it’s true, though,” said Mrs Downes.

“Silence, you silly old meat murdress,” raged Tom.

“Meat what?” cried the cook. “There are times, my lord, when one must speak. I’ve seen a deal in my time, and there’s no doubt about it. We’re all very sorry for you, but we all knows that my young lady’s been drove to go away with that dark young man.”

“It is not true,” said a sharp voice; and Justine stepped forward to the table, with her dark eyes flashing, her white teeth set, so that she cut the words as they came through, and in her excitement and championship of her young mistress becoming exceedingly French. “I say it is not true. You canaille you, vis your silly talk about ze organiste. It is all a lie – a great lie to say such vicked, cruel thing of my dear young lady. Ah, bah! that for you all,” she cried, snapping her fingers, “you big silly fool, all the whole. What, my young mistress go to degrade herself vis one evasion, comme ça! She could it not do. Sare, I am angry – it make me folle to hear you talk. I say it is not true.”

“Damme, you’re a trump, Justine,” cried Tom, excitedly, as he caught her hand and wrung it. “You are right. She would not degrade herself like that.”

“They are so stupide.”

“Yes,” cried Tom; “and mind this – any one who dares to put about such a disgraceful scandal – hallo! who’s this?”

There was a loud ring just then, and the butler looked in a scared way at Tom.

“Well, go and open it,” he said.

The next minute there were voices and steps heard in the hall, and directly after Sir Grantley Wilters came in, followed by a policeman, and a ragged, dirty looking little man, whose toes peeped out in rows from his boots, and who held in his hand a very battered brimless hat, which he kept rubbing when he was not engaged in pulling his forelock to first one servant and then another.

“Oh, here you are,” said Tom, sharply, as the baronet advanced. “She’s gone off with Melton, hasn’t she?”

“N-no,” said the bridegroom elect, dejectedly. “I believe it’s as they say.”

“Then you’re a bigger fool than I took you for,” said Tom, sharply. “Now then, what do you know about it?” he cried to the policeman. “But stop a moment. Here, the whole pack of you, clear out. And mind this – Mademoiselle Justine is right. Thank you, Justine. Go to her ladyship now. I shan’t forget this.”

The Frenchwoman bowed and smiled, and drew her skirts aside as she swept out of the room, while the rest of the servants shuffled out in an awkward fashion, as if every one was eager not to be the last.

“Now then,” cried Tom to the policeman, as the baronet went to the chimney-piece to rest his head upon his hand, “why are you come?”

“This gentleman, sir,” said the constable, nodding his head at Sir Grantley, “asked me to take up the case. Been investigating, and I’ve got some evidence.”

“What is it?” cried Tom.

The constable led the way into the hall, where there was a rush, for the servants had been standing gazing at something near the door.

“Well?” said Tom.

“Thought I’d take a look round, sir,” said the constable, “to see if there was anything in the way of a clue, and I found this.”

He pointed to an oblong chest, covered with green baize, and with a couple of broad leather straps across it.

“Well, it’s an organ,” said Tom.

“Yes, sir,” said the constable nodding. “That’s just about what it is.”

Tom stared at the man, and the man stared at Tom, and then they returned to the dining-room.

“Where was it?” said Tom shortly.

“Just underneath the area steps, sir, close agin the dust-bin,” said the constable.

“Ought to have been in it,” cried Tom, sharply. “Now, who’s this fellow?”

The ragged man, who had been standing on one leg with the foot of the other against his knee, looking like a dilapidated crane, put his foot down and began to make tugs at his hair.

“Beg parding, sir, on’y a poor man, sir. Been pickin’ up a job or two, fetching up kebs and kerridges, sir – party, sir, over at three ’undred and nine, sir. I was a waitin’ about afore the swells began to come, when I sees a big tall man a-hangin’ about, lookin’ as if there was something on, so I goes into the doorway lower down and watches on him.”

“Had he got an organ with him?” said Tom excitedly.