Read Ebook: The Long Day: The Story of a New York Working Girl as Told by Herself by Richardson Dorothy

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Ebook has 1518 lines and 65783 words, and 31 pages

Zobeide shot an angry glance at him, as she hated to have any allusion made to her deafness.

She would have said something disagreeable, but that Madame, adjusting her yashmak, entered the room. She looked, so far as could be judged from her eyes, irritated and startled. "I wish Lady Branwin was at the bottom of the sea," she said crossly. "Zobeide, attend to your work. And what do you mean, Eddy, coming up to trouble my girls? You have no right in this room, and I won't have it."

"You never objected before," grumbled Eddy, crossly.

"Then I object now. Go away; I'm busy. Lady Branwin is in the house, and--and others." She hesitated and snapped savagely: "I wish you would go away."

"I want a fiver."

"I don't mind, if you pay."

"Do I ever object to pay when you go on my business?" asked his wife, crossly, for the heat seemed to have worn her nerves thin.

"What's the business?" asked Eddy, taking out a cigarette.

"I'll tell you to-morrow. Go away now."

"And you'll give me the fiver to-morrow?"

"I'll give you ten pounds."

"Oh, I say, that deserves a kiss. Do remove that beastly yashmak and let me kiss you!"

Madame Coralie pushed him back violently. "Certainly not. I have no time for frivolity. Go away."

The young man looked astonished. "You always liked being kissed before," he remarked sulkily. "Are you going back to Lady Branwin?"

"No. She has had some supper, and will now sleep. I must attend to the paste for her complexion. Zobeide? Go away, Eddy. It's getting late."

"Five minutes after eight," said the young man, and sauntered out of the door. "I'll turn up to-morrow before midday. Good-bye."

Madame Coralie nodded wearily, and stared at the clock on the mantelpiece in a vague way. "Five minutes past eight," she murmured; "well, I thought--"

Her speech was interrupted by a ring at the front door of the shop. Badoura appeared from between the curtains. "Shall I go, Madame?"

"No. It is Miss Branwin. I'll go down myself," and with a tired sigh the stout woman rolled out of the room.

Eddy, apparently, had left the house by the side door at the end of the lower passage, for she saw nothing of him. Shortly she was on the pavement speaking to Audrey, who, clothed in a simple white dress, was waiting with Mrs. Mellop in the car.

"Will mamma stop for the night, Madame?" asked Audrey.

"Yes," replied the woman, adjusting her yashmak carefully. "Lady Branwin will stop for the night."

Audrey was one of the prettiest girls in the world, and beyond question the very prettiest in London. At least, Ralph Shawe said as much, and, although the statement was prejudiced by love, it undoubtedly was true in the main. For what other damsel, as the young man often pointed out, possessed such striking charms as Audrey displayed? Her bronzed and curling hair, her sparkling brown eyes, her transparent complexion, delicately hued as the dawn--these were desirable attributes in the eyes of a lover. Then her small figure--she was really diminutive--had the dainty grace of a gazelle. All Madame Coralie's art could not have created such a buoyant figure, nor could her taste have suggested any improvement in the various frocks which clothed it on various occasions. And those slim hands and feet, that radiant smile, and the general air of youthful gaiety were the envy of the women and the admiration of the men. These declarations sound somewhat too emphatic; but they must be taken as a pr?cis of Ralph Shawe's thoughts. And, being a true lover, what could he do but think in superlatives?

How such a fairy came to be the sole daughter of a prosperous, commonplace pair such as Sir Joseph and his wife certainly were puzzled many people. Only the large quantity of money which they possessed excused their existence in the eyes of most people, although Shawe found another apology for them in the undoubted fact--strange as it may appear--that they were the parents of Audrey.

Certainly Sir Joseph was clever, or he would scarcely have started life with the proverbial penny, to end as the owner of over a million. But Audrey did not even inherit his type of brain, much less his massive looks. His capabilities were of the cunning, business kind, which turn others' needs to their owners' advantage, whereas the talents of Audrey were more artistic and intellectual. She knew nothing of business, but she painted in water-colour with great taste, played the piano with wonderful sympathy and brilliancy, and sang like the sirens of old. Also she could dance like the daughter of Herodias, and if she did not win a head as her reward, she assuredly gained a heart--that of Ralph Shawe, of the Middle Temple, barrister-at-law. Audrey, however, had not that one strong original talent which makes for fame in its particular direction; but she possessed a bundle of small accomplishments, which went to make up a singularly charming personality. She was an angel, said Shawe, and, speaking broadly, he was correct in saying so, for Audrey was as angelical as mere flesh and blood well could be.

The lovers were sauntering in Kensington Gardens when he said this--not for the first time--and the hour was so early that few people were about. Audrey had risen at six o'clock to meet Ralph at seven in the morning near the Round Pond, and save for the handful of working men and office-workmen, who were taking short cuts to their various employments, they had the whole delightful paradise to themselves. The sky was of a turquoise hue, not yet over-warmed by the sun, and both trees and sward looked as though they had been newly washed in the dews of night. At that early hour everything seemed paler and more delicate than in the fierce glare of noonday, and "the silent workings of the dawn"--to use Keats's wonderful expression--were still in progress. A cool, dewy zephyr was breathing across the green expanse, and the leaves of many trees talked joyously. London lay all round, stirring alertly under the faint dun cloud of smoke, but the fragrant Eden of the Gardens preserved its almost primeval calm. And these two walked therein, like a modern Adam and Eve, with a sense that the surrounding loveliness exactly expressed their unspoken feelings.

"I wish we could walk here all day," said Shawe, trying to express the inexpressible, and grudging the swift passing of the golden moments.

"We should only be two in a crowd," replied Audrey, with the more prosaic instinct of women. "Endless people come to the Gardens during the day. If they were sensible they would be here now. I can't understand why the silly things remain in bed when the weather is so perfect."

"Perhaps not one of them has an Audrey to meet."

Miss Branwin laughed gaily. "I daresay every young man has an Audrey of his own, just as every girl has a Ralph."

"Then why aren't they walking here along with us?"

"Ah, they know we wish to be alone, and so have the good sense to stop in bed. And then"--she broke off laughing--"what nonsense we talk!"

"Delicious nonsense, I think. Let us go on talking, as we'll have enough commonsense during the day. Don't you think"--Ralph slipped an eager arm round her slender waist--"that you might--"

She drew back from his approaching lips with a blush, and dexterously twisted away to a safe distance. "Certainly not. Those workmen would see us."

"And envy me," replied Ralph, sentimentally, glancing round meanwhile for some secluded spot. "Don't you think that we might sit under this elm? It's not so open to--to--er--to observation, you know. May I smoke?"

"What, before breakfast?" questioned Audrey, sitting down on the grass.

"I have had my breakfast--that is, so much as I could eat, with you in my thoughts, darling. And you?"

"I had a cup of tea and some thin bread-and-butter. But I shall have my real breakfast when I return home."

"And you will think of me?"

"If," said Audrey, with mischievous gravity, "if it is possible to do two things at one time I shall think of you."

"Darling!" And this time he really kissed her.

Of course, it was all very silly, but extremely delightful, all the same; for love's commonsense is the nonsense of everyday life. A cynic would have considered the conversation of Audrey and Ralph to be drivel; and no doubt it was, to anyone but their very own selves. But only the birds could hear the billing and cooing which went on, until his wooing and her coquetting ended in a long silence, wherein they held each other's hand and, looking eye to eye, sighed at intervals. Yet Audrey was a sensible girl, and Ralph was a rising barrister, winning golden opinions in the Law Courts. If his clients could have seen him now, acting Hercules in the toils of Omphale, he would never have secured another brief.

Shawe was slim and dark-complexioned, with a clear-cut, classical face, eminently suited, with its steady grey eyes and firm lips, to his profession. He was handsome in a severe way, and rarely smiled, perhaps because he saw too persistently and too closely the seamy side of life with which the law has to deal. Only a glance from Audrey could soften his granite looks, and her mere presence changed him into a more companionable being. He loved her more than he did his profession--and that is saying a great deal, for he was ambitious, and had visions of the Woolsack. Many said that he might attain even to that high altitude, as he was admitted on all hands to be brilliantly clever. But just now, while playing in Cupid's garden, he looked and acted like a young man of the ordinary type, because love, which is common to all, had ousted for the moment that genius which is given to few. So he sighed and she sighed, and she looked and he looked; their hands thrilled when in contact, and the birds overhead sang the songs of their hearts, which, being limited by speech, they could not utter. In this manner did they dwell in Arcady and recall one hour of the Golden Age, when gods wooed mortal maids.

"But it's all very well," said Audrey, withdrawing her hand, and breathing a final sigh of silent delight, "time is pressing, and I have to call at Madame Coralie's before I go home."

"Who is Madame Coralie?" asked Shawe, also sighing, as he awakened to the fact that the work-a-day world had need of him.

Audrey laughed. "No mere man can understand who Madame Coralie is, or what she is. But if you will walk with me to Walpole Lane I can show you her shop--not that the shop will explain."

"What kind of goods does she sell?" asked the young barrister, lazily, and admiring the profile of his beloved.

"She sells figures and complexions and false hair and lip-salve, and--"

"Stop! Stop! You surely don't want any of those beastly things?"

"Not yet," said Audrey, significantly; "but I may some day. It is mamma who wants them just now. She has no figure, poor dear, and her complexion is like a frog's skin. I am going to call and ask how she passed the night, and I take you because we have no secrets from one another."

"Is Lady Branwin's presence at this shop a secret?"

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