Part 13 (1/2)

At this point a servant appeared at the other end of the hall, and St Aubyn went to see what he wanted. The next moment he returned, with quickened steps.

”Come away with you--you and your spooks!” he cried, cheerfully, taking Austin by the arm. ”Here's an old aunt of mine suddenly dropped from the skies, and clamouring for a cup of tea. We must go in and entertain her. She's all by herself in the library.”

”I shall be very glad,” said Austin. ”You go on first, and I'll be with you in two minutes.”

So St Aubyn strode off to welcome his elderly relative, and when Austin came into the room he found his friend stooping over a very small, very dowdy old lady dressed in rusty black silk, with a large bonnet rather on one side, who was standing on tiptoe, the better to peck at St Aubyn's cheek by way of a salute. She had small, twinkling eyes, a wrinkled face, and the very honestest wig that Austin had ever seen; and yet there was an air and a style about the old body which somehow belied her quaint appearance, and suggested the idea that she was something more than the insignificant little creature that she looked at first sight. And so in fact she was, being no less a personage than the Dowager-Countess of Merthyr Tydvil, and a very great lady indeed.

”But, my dear aunt, why did you never let me know that I might expect you?” St Aubyn was saying as Austin entered. ”I might have been miles away, and you'd have had all your journey for nothing.”

”My dear, I'm staying with the people at Cleeve Castle, and I thought I'd just give 'em the slip for an hour or two and take you by surprise,” answered the old lady as she sat down. ”No, you needn't ring--I ordered tea as soon as I came in. They just bore me out of my life, you see, and they've got a pack o' riffraff staying with 'em that I don't know how to sit in the same room with. But who's your young friend over there? Why don't you introduce him?”

”I beg your pardon!” said St Aubyn. ”Mr Austin Trevor, a near neighbour of mine. Austin, my aunt, Lady Merthyr Tydvil.”

”Why, of course I know now,” said the old lady, nodding briskly. ”So you're Austin, are you? Roger was telling me about you not three weeks ago. Well, Austin, I like the looks of you, and that's more than I can say of most people, I can tell you. How long have you been living hereabouts?”

”Ever since I can remember,” Austin said.

”Roger, do touch the bell, there's a good creature,” said Lady Merthyr Tydvil. ”That man of yours must be growing the tea-plants, I should think. Ah, here he is. I'm gasping for something to drink. Did the water boil, Richards? You're sure? How many spoonfuls of tea did you put in? H'm! Well, never mind now. I shall be better directly. What are those? Oh--Nebuchadnezzar sandwiches. Very good. That's all we want, I think.”

She dismissed the man with a gesture as though the house belonged to her, while St Aubyn looked on, amused.

”I thought I should never get here,” she continued. ”The driver was a perfect imbecile, my dear--didn't know the country a bit. And it's not more than seven miles, you know, if it's as much. I was sure the wretch was going wrong, and if I hadn't insisted on pulling him up and asking a respectable-looking body where the house was I believe we should have been wandering about the next s.h.i.+re at this moment. I've no patience with such fools.”

”And how long are you staying at Cleeve?” asked St Aubyn, supplying her with sandwiches.

”I've been there nearly a week already, and the trouble lasts three days more,” replied his aunt, as she munched away. ”The Duke's a fool, and she's worse. Haven't the ghost of an idea, either of 'em, how to mix people, you know. And what with their horrible charades, and their nonsensical round games, and their everlasting bridge, I'm pretty well at the end of my tether. Never was among such a beef-witted set of addlepates since I was born. The only man among 'em who isn't a hopeless b.o.o.by's a Socialist, and he's been twice in gaol for inciting honest folks not to pay their taxes. Oh, they're a precious lot, I promise you. I don't know what we're coming to, I'm sure.”

”But it's so easy not to do things,” observed St Aubyn, lazily. ”Why on earth do you go there? I wouldn't, I know that.”

”Why does anybody do anything?” retorted the old lady. ”We can't all stay at home and write books that n.o.body reads, as you do.”

Austin looked up enquiringly. He had no idea that St Aubyn was an author, and said so.

”What, you didn't know that Roger wrote books?” said the old lady, turning to him. ”Oh yes, he does, my dear, and very fine books too--only they're miles above the comprehension of stupid old women like me. Probably you've not a notion what a learned person he really is. I don't even know the names of the things he writes of.”

”And you never told me!” said Austin to his friend. ”But you'll have to lend me some of your books now, you know. I'm dying to know what they're all about.”

”They're chiefly about antiquities,” responded St Aubyn; ”early Peruvian, Mexican, Egyptian, and so on. You're perfectly welcome to read them all if you care to. They're not at all deep, whatever my aunt may say.”

During this brief interchange of remarks, Lady Merthyr Tydvil had been gazing rather fixedly at Austin, with her head on one side like an enquiring old bird, and a puzzled expression on her face.

”The most curious likeness!” she exclaimed. ”Now, how is it that your face seems so familiar to me, I wonder? I've certainly never seen you anywhere before, and yet--and yet--who _is_ it you remind me of, for goodness' sake?”

”I wish I could tell you,” replied Austin, laughing. ”Likenesses are often quite accidental, and it may be----”

”Stuff and nonsense, my dear,” interrupted the old lady, brusquely.

”There's nothing accidental about this. You're the living image of somebody, but who it is I can't for the life of me imagine. What do you say your name is?”

”My surname, you mean?--Trevor,” replied Austin, beginning to be rather interested.