Chapter IX I. The Principal Boy: An Interlude
Captain Lottingar opened the door of the library and roared up the staircase—
“Lottie!”
Miss Lottie Lottingar came down. She was an exceedingly handsome young person,—what is usually known as “a fine figure of a woman,”—but there was nothing of the squire’s daughter about her, as there should be about a youthful châtelaine who comes tripping down the shallow oak stairs of a great Elizabethan country house. There is usually something breezy, healthy, and eminently English about such a girl. Lottie, although her colour was good and her costume countrified enough, smacked of the town. She was undeniably attractive, but in her present surroundings she somehow suggested a bottle of champagne at a school-treat. She would have made an admirable “Principal Boy” in a pantomime. As a matter of fact, she had been one.
Her father led the way into the library, and having shut the door, lit a cigarette and leaned against the carved mantelpiece. Lottie sat on a table and swung her legs.
“Where’s the Honourable?” inquired the captain.
“Out,” said Lottie tersely.
“I know that. Where?”
“Plantations.”
“What’s he after?”
“Shrimps, I expect,” said Miss Lottingar flippantly.
“That will do. We’re talking business just now. Showing any signs yet?”
“Lots.”
“When will he come to the scratch?”
“Pretty soon, if you and your pals don’t mess things.”
The gallant captain’s brow lowered.
“None of your lip, my girl!” he remarked. “What do you mean—mess things?”
“I mean that you’ll have to play carefully if you aren’t going to scare him away.”
“Scare him? How?”
“Well, you and the others are a bit out of your depth in this affair. I’ll do you the justice, Dad, to admit that in the ordinary way of business you are a hard nut to crack; but coming the country gentleman over a man who, though he’s a mug, is a country gentleman, is rather more of a job than your lot can manage comfortably. Look at Jerry!”
“What’s wrong with Jerry?”
“Him? It’s the first time he’s played at being a gamekeeper, and he doesn’t know the rules, that’s all.”
“How do you know?”
“The Honourable told me. Said it wasn’t his business, of course, but he was afraid my father had got hold of a thoroughly incompetent keeper, and perhaps he ought to be told so—haw!”
The captain snorted.
“What did you say?” he asked.
“I advised him,” replied his daughter, smiling indulgently, “not to mention it. I said you were rather fond of your own judgment in some things, and might be offended.”
“Well, Jerry does his best,” said Lottingar; “but you are right, Lottie, for all that. He’ll muck things. You must keep the young fool out of his way. Can’t you take him out for walks, or something?”
“Walks? What excitement!” Miss Lottingar cast up her eyes pathetically.
“Well, you can go motoring with him as soon as we get a chauffeur. That’s what I wanted to see you about.”
“Who is the chauffeur? One of the—one of your friends?”
“No, worse luck! Every man I can trust is in this business already. We must make shift with some absolutely straight fool.”
“That’ll be a pleasant change,” remarked Miss Lottingar.
“It will be all right in the long run,” continued her father. “He need never suspect anything. We can keep him mowing the grass or something during his spare time. And if you can’t bring off that proposal within a week, my girl,” he concluded, throwing his cigarette into the grate, “you’re not the sort I took you for.”
“Give me the motor; I’ll do the rest,” said Miss Lottie, quite undisturbed by this direct reference to her virgin affections.
“And for the Lord’s sake be quick about it! The expense of all this flummery is something cruel. There’ll be nothing left to divide when it’s all over if you can’t—”
“There’s somebody coming up the drive,” said Lottie, who was gazing indifferently out of the window.
A few minutes later the door was opened by the captain’s butler, an elderly gentleman of benevolent appearance. A student of physiognomy would have put him down as a rather eccentric and easily-imposed-upon philanthropist. (He had made his living almost exclusively out of this fact for the past thirty years.)
“Young feller to see you, Cap,” he announced, having first satisfied himself that, saving the presence of the Principal Boy, his employer was alone.
“About the motor?”
“Yes.”
“Show him in.”
The butler retired, and presently returned, ushering a young man, squarely built and black of hair, with serious blue eyes and a healthy brown face.
“I came to see if you were still in want of a chauffeur, sir,” he said in reply to the captain’s interrogation. “I have been employed at the Gresley works.”
“I do want a chauffeur” replied the warrior on the hearthrug; “but how am I to know that you will do, my man?”
“If you care to go and put any part of the machinery out of order, I will undertake to put it right again; and after that I could take you for a run in the car.”
This sounded direct and business-like, and pleased the captain, and, incidentally, the captain’s daughter.
“Well, that’s fair enough. Go and have something to eat now, and after that you can take Miss Lottingar and myself for a spin. By the way, what’s your name?”
“John Armstrong—sir!” said Pip. (He was always forgetting that word.)
“Have you any references?”
“No.”
“Could you get any?”
“I might, but I’d rather not.”
The captain regarded this blunt young man curiously. He possessed no references himself, and he moved in a class of society where such things were regarded with pious horror. Pip rather attracted him.
“Never mind them at present,” he said, ringing the bell. “If you can handle the car you will suit me. If you can’t, you are worth nothing, and you’ll get nothing. Would you be willing to do odd jobs as well?”
“Certainly.”
The butler appeared.
“Howard,” said the captain, “take this man and give him something to eat in the steward’s room, and let me see him again at three o’clock.”
Mr. Howard, looking particularly benevolent, led Pip away, and Captain Lottingar was left alone with his daughter.
“He’ll do, Lottie, I think,” he said carelessly.
“M’ yes—he’ll do,” said Lottie.
Her father turned round.
“You don’t seem quite sure. What is it?”
“Nothing. I’m sure enough. Take him.”
So the bargain was concluded, and Pip found himself engaged as chauffeur to Captain Cuthbert Lottingar (regiment unknown), of Broadoak Manor, Great Stileborough, Herts.
But Lottie was not sure. She had observed one fact which had escaped her usually astute parent, and that was that the new chauffeur was a gentleman—and, as such, a suspicious character. An ordinary mechanical mechanic would have been harmless; but a gentleman was a superfluity, and therefore a source of danger. But Lottie hesitated to comment on the fact. Wisdom said, “Take no risks”; feminine curiosity said, “Chance it!” Lottie chanced it, not for the first time in the history of womankind.