Part 13

At this Aunt Mary glared, but that Angel paid not the slightest attention.

There is an unwritten law that a man shall not be a brute; and after her sweet consideration of my chauffery feelings I couldn't show myself ungracious. I assured her that I should not feel hurt, and that she was very kind to think of me at all. I would do my best for the party, unless, of course, my services would be superfluous, now that she was to be accompanied by a friend who was a competent driver.

I wonder what I _should_ have done in the unlikely event that she took me at my word? Picture my feelings, bereft of my Goddess, bereft of my Napier at one and the same time, constrained to resignation, while a confounded impostor drove off with both from under my very nose! Miss Randolph hastened to deny any such thought, and to impress upon me my value as a _chauffeur_. But things are bad enough as they are.

Here I am saddled with a fellow who hates me as a cur hates a man who has thrashed him, and will snap if he dares. Instead of turning my back upon him, I have to carry him away on it; and if a rod isn't in pickle for me, I'm not

Your old friend,

Jack Winston.

FROM JACK WINSTON TO LORD LANE

Toulouse, _December 16_.

Dear Montie,

I can't let you alone, you see. I must unburden myself, or something will happen--something apoplectic. If I have sinned, I am punished; and so far as I can see the worst still stretches before me in a long vista. It was good of you to scrawl off that second letter, at midnight, as an afterthought. It was forwarded, and has just reached me here, by grand good luck.

You say I would do better to make a clean breast of it; but that's easier said than done. You're not here, and you can't see the "lie of the land" as I can. I'll explain the position to you, from my point of view, for I think you don't quite understand it.

Not to mince matters, I am a Fraud, and Miss Randolph is the sort of girl to resent being imposed upon, If this Payne, who rejoices in the name of Jimmy, should find out the truth about me and tell her to-morrow, she would be exceedingly angry, as she would have a right to be, and would, I think, find it hard to forgive me. It is because I have felt this instinctively that I have let things slide. I have drifted down the stream of enjoyment, saying to the passing hour, like Goethe's hero, "Stay, thou art fair," though too often the thought would present itself that this could not go on for ever. Besides, there were drawbacks, big or little, according to my mood. I have always kept it before myself, more or less, that some day Miss Randolph would dispense with me and my car, in the natural course of affairs, even if the event were not hastened by some _contretemps_ or other; and that it might then be as difficult to adjust matters as it is now. But in truth I hope it won't be so. What I aim to do is to make myself so indispensable to her as Brown that she can't bring herself to get on without me as Jack Winston. I haven't done that yet, though it isn't for lack of trying; therefore I'm not ready for the crisis, and therefore I'm afraid of Payne. Yes, "afraid," that's the word. And my one consolation is that he's equally afraid of me.

Your ordinary, habitual liar can bear up if he's found out, and laugh it off somehow, but your snob and boaster can't. This man could hardly survive being stripped of his dukes and earls, with which he's covered his untitled nakedness as with a mantle, for the eyes of Miss Randolph. In this natural phenomenon lies my chance of gaining time, and other things that I want.

You would have had some pure enjoyment out of to-day if you had been the fifth person on my Napier. If you could have heard Aunt Mary (who, in common with a certain type of American, worships a title and rolls it on her tongue as if it were a plover's egg out of season) asking "Jimmy" questions about his grand English friends! Knowing that my cold and venomous eye was upon him, and writhing under it, he had to answer her questions. "What sort of looking man is the Duke of Burford, Jimmy? Did you ever stay at any of his country places? Is it true that he often entertains the Royalties? Were you ever asked to a house-party to meet the King and Queen?"

I could almost have found it in my heart to pity him; but my interests at stake were too big for me to have derived the serene pleasure from the situation that you might have enjoyed as an initiated outsider. But with my attempted explanations and my chortlings I've digressed too much, and I'll get back to "Hecuba."

We started from the "Gassion." Miss Randolph announced that she would drive at first. This was, I judged, a sop for me, as Cerberus. But Payne was given the seat of honour beside her, and I was relegated to the _tonneau_ with Aunt Mary and the other impedimenta. My day was over!

Miss Kedison considers it _infra dig._ to converse with a servant, though she has been content often enough to use me as a guide-book. She doesn't like sitting in front, so she was obliged to put up with my physical nearness, but she took pains to emphasise her soul's remoteness. I think her opinion of me has been for some time that I am "too big for my boots," and I was not surprised to learn that it was by her advice Mr. Payne had been invited to join the party. No doubt she thought it would put me in my proper place, and so it has. Besides, we had not been long _en route_ when I gleaned from several indications, small in themselves, that "Jimmy" is a great favourite with her, so great that she would not object to becoming his aunt by marriage. They are warm friends, and if he hasn't already poured into her ear confidences prejudicial to me, there, I fear, lies danger for the future.

We had not been gone long from Pau before Miss Randolph glanced round at me--a risky thing to do when you're driving; but the road was straight and clear as far as the eye could see. I was half in hopes she would request me to drive; but not so. "By the way, Brown," said she, "I forgot to ask; didn't I see you at the golf club the other day?"

From the form of the question I couldn't tell whether Payne had played the sneak or not, nor could I guess from her face, as she had turned to business again. As for him, he had ignored me haughtily since the start.

"_Me_, miss, at the golf club?" I promptly protested, regardless of grammar and not sure I wasn't in for an explosion which would blow poor Brown sky-high; "why, a _chauffeur_ wouldn't be admitted there."

"I suppose not," she answered over her shoulder. "But there was a man very like you when my friends took me--and walking with Mr. Payne, too."

"Now for it!" thought I. But then Jimmy's first words reassured me. "Oh, I don't know all the strangers one talks to at a club," he replied in haste; and then, by way of changing the subject, the bounder asked Miss Randolph if she wouldn't let him drive. "It's over a hundred miles to Toulouse, and you'll want a firm hand, for the days are short," he had the impudence to add.

At that I lost my head, and made a big mistake. I felt I couldn't stand sitting still while he tried experiments with my car, and almost before I knew what I was doing I blurted out, "Beg pardon, miss, but are you sure this gentleman understands driving a Napier? My master expected that _I_ was to drive his car when he let it out, and----"

Such a look of reproach as the Goddess threw me! "But _I_ understand that, while I hire the car it is mine to do as I like with, in reason," she cut me short. "Mr. Payne tells me that he has often driven his friend the Duke of Burford's Napier. And if anything happens to your master's car while I have it, I will pay for the damage up to its full value, so your mind may be at ease on his account."

With this well-deserved, but none the less crushing snub she brought the car to a standstill and inadvertently stopped the motor. After virtually agreeing the night before to let Payne drive, I ought to have kept my mouth shut; but you will admit that the temptation was strong. I descended, like a well-conducted _chauffeur_, to help my mistress change places with my hated rival, and of course it was my duty to start the motor again, which I did. Before I could get out of the way, Payne started--on the third speed, like the duffer he is, changing so quickly to the second that I had to race after the car and hurl myself into the _tonneau_ to avoid being left behind. In doing this I unfortunately trod on Aunt Mary's toes. She groaned, glared, and muttered only half below her breath, "Clumsy creature!" Thoroughly humiliated, and no longer in a mood to care whether their Jimmy wrecked the car and killed us (all but one) I took my seat. I do believe that Aunt Mary secretly thinks me capable of having misjudged and ill-treated Eyelashes, who laid himself out to "be nice" to her.

Hardly had we started when I heard Miss Randolph telling Payne that this car belonged to the Honourable John Winston, Lord Brighthelmston's son, and asking him if he had ever met Mr. Winston. I suppose that, in the excitement of managing a big machine which he knew little or nothing about, Payne forgot that, since I "went with the car," the owner must have been one of those (to him) fatal old masters of mine. He can't bear to deny the soft impeachment of knowing anyone whom he thinks may be a swell, and in the hurry of the moment habit got the better of prudence.

"Oh yes, I know Jack very well!" he exclaimed; then drew in his breath with a little gasp which he turned into a cough. In that moment he had probably remembered me.

"I suppose you know his mother, then?" said Miss Randolph. "I met her in Paris. She's at Cannes now, and so you will see her there."

"Ye--es," returned Jimmy. "Oh yes, I shall certainly see her. I know Lord Brighthelmston better than I do her; but I shall call, of course."

What with his fear of having committed himself anew, and the chill in his marrow produced by my critical eye on his vertebrae, he grew more and more nervous, wobbling whenever there was a delicate piece of steering to be done or a restive horse to be passed. He changed speeds so clumsily that the pinions went together with a crash each time, and shivers ran up and down my spine when I heard the noise and thought of the damage this conceited idiot might do to my poor gears. Could _you_ stand by like Patience on the lee cathead, smiling at a wet swab, while some duffer with a whip and spurs bestrode your favourite stallion, Roland? Perhaps that simile will help you to understand how I've been feeling all day.

Payne is a rank amateur. I doubt if he ever drove a Napier before, and would bet something he depended for his success to-day (such as it was) on keen observation of everything Miss Randolph did before he took the helm. He knows how to steer a moderately straight course and to change speeds--that's about all; and I wouldn't trust his nerve in an emergency. However, we bowled along without incident through Tarbes and Tournay, thanks more to the fine car than the driver; but when mounting a long stretch of steep road beyond a place called Lanespede, where a great railway viaduct crosses the valley, Payne missed his change, and then completely lost his head, failing to put on the brakes to prevent us running down the hill backwards. Luckily I was sitting on the brake side, and reaching out of the _tonneau_, I seized the lever of the hand-brake and jammed it on. Next instant (to make quite sure) I jumped out, ran to the front, and lowered the sprag. I don't think any of them knew what a narrow escape we'd had, and Payne covered himself by abusing the car. We started up again on the second, and came out on an undulating plain overlooking a little watering-place called Capvern-les-Bains, lying far below in a dimple of the Pyrenean foothills.

There was no other incident till we came to Montrejeau, where my road-book showed that there was an uncommonly steep hill. So I ventured to say over Payne's shoulder, "Better look out here, sir; a bad hill." The cad had not the civility to notice my warning, but charged through the long street of the town till he came to the verge of a dangerous descent, dipping steeply and suddenly for a little way, then turning abruptly to the left. He was taking the hill at a reckless pace, not because he was plucky, but because he knew no better; and half-way down, seeing a lumbering station-omnibus climbing slowly up, not leaving much room, he began to get wild in his steering. Again I hung out, and gently but firmly put on the hand-brake, steadying the car. The idiot didn't even see how I had saved him, for when we got safely down he said to Miss Randolph, "Took that hill flying, didn't I?" I can tell you I was glad when we pulled up for luncheon at St. Gaudens, knowing that the road here turns away from the Pyrenees to cross the great plain of Languedoc.

Blessed plain of Languedoc, which has been abused by some travellers for its monotony! Sitting silently in the _tonneau_ with Aunt Mary, I revelled in the long, straight level of wide, poplar-fringed road that stretched as far as the eye could reach, running up to a point in the distant perspective. "Here, at any rate," I reflected, "the duffer at the wheel can't do us much harm." It was a beautiful scene, had I been in tune to enjoy it, for the Pyrenees showed their blue outlines on the far horizon, and the Garonne gave us many pictures near at hand. There was in particular one sweet sylvan "bit" at a place called St. Martory, which, though it was but a fleeting glimpse, framed itself in my mind with all the precision of a stereoscopic view.

It was a relief to me, when this evening, we ran into Toulouse; its many buildings of brick lying along the bank of the broad and peaceful Garonne, looking curiously rose-hued in the level rays of the declining sun.

But poor car! when I set to work at cleaning it after its ill-treatment it seemed to reproach me for disloyalty. Its very lamps were like mournful, misunderstood eyes. And this is only the first day of many. How long, O friend, how long? I don't quite see what is to become of your unfortunate

Jack Winston.

Narbonne, _December 17_.

I didn't post the beginning of this letter. I felt I should want to add something.

Another day has passed--a day of alarms and excursions. Payne has made an ass of himself, and I have scored off him, winning my way back to the front seat of the car, and relegating him to the _tonneau_ with Aunt Mary. But I have not shaken him off. He's still in our pocket, and to all appearance means to stick there. The situation, therefore, remains essentially what it was yesterday.

But for the incident of which I will tell you, this might have been one of the most delightful bits of the whole tour. Even though at first I was stuffed into the _tonneau_, I couldn't help finding pleasure in the pictures through which we flashed in the earlier part of the day.

There was a good deal of _pave_ to traverse before we were clear of Toulouse, and then we came into a fine, open world, chasing and passing many peasants' carts. These always occupy the middle of the road, and as their drivers are often asleep, there is much blowing of the horn and shouting before they pull over to their right side. Presently we found out the meaning of this stream of carts, for we ran into a large village with turkeys and geese all over the road, like carpet bedding, tied by the legs and cackling loudly. There were crowds of peasants--old and young; the old women with neat, black silk head-dresses framing their brown, wrinkled faces; and through, the midst of this animated scene we had to drive at a foot-pace, tootling on the horn. On the other side of the long village we found ourselves on a wide, level road, that for smoothness would shame a billiard-table, crossed the green Canal du Midi, and ran for a while by its side, passing a queer obelisk erected to Riquet, its constructor.

Suddenly, on mounting a hill, an enormous view spread out before us. The distant Pyrenees showed their serrated line far away to the right, their snowy tops spectral over an intervening range of hills; to the left stretched a vast, undulating tract of country, with towns and church spires distinctly outlined in the clear, crisp air--for it was a day of glorious lights. Beyond all was a range of vague, blue hills which I knew to be the Cevennes, sacred to the memory of Robert Louis Stevenson.

We sped through village after village--a long street; children in blouses playing strange games, disputing in shrill voices, wagging little eloquent fingers under each other's noses; handsome men clothed in blue, with red sashes and the universal _berret_ on their heads, guiding with their cruel goads patient teams of yoked oxen; a group of persons round a church door--a wedding, perhaps a funeral; old women knitting in the sun, young women smiling from windows--all these impressions follow each other like flickering pictures in a cinematograph; and then with the last flicker one is out again on the broad, white road, with the flying trees spinning by on either hand, and the white, filmy clouds floating in an azure sky. It is only on the motor-car that you get all these sensations. In a train you are in a box; on a motor you are in a chariot of fire with the wide heavens open above you.

At Castelnaudary there was another scene of animation, for here also it was market day; and though it was only twenty miles or so on to Carcassonne (our intended destination), my betters decided that they would take luncheon at the hotel in Castelnaudary. For the first time since Payne has been with us Miss Randolph seemed to wish to restore me to my old, lost footing. "You must lunch with us, Brown," she said, with a smile that goes straight to one's heart. But I was not in a gracious mood. I had had enough of Aunt Mary; I could not stand the haughty Payne. I answered, therefore, rather shortly. There were certain adjustments to be done on the car which would occupy some time, I said, and I would take my luncheon later. Her poor little friendly smile went out, like a lamp extinguished. For an instant she lingered, then turned away without a word, and I could have bitten out my own surly tongue.

To justify myself I pottered with the car, then went moping off to another hotel, and tried to restore my lost spirits with _pate de foie de canard_ and fresh walnuts, which would have delighted the palate of a happier man.

At it was I had neither the heart nor the stomach to linger over the feast, and consequently got back long before the others were ready for me. _They_ didn't hurry themselves. I promise you. While busying myself in flicking dust off the car, a courteous little crowd assembled and questioned me as to the make of the car (expressing surprise when they heard it was all English, even to the tyres) and as to how far I had come. When I said "From Dieppe _via_ Biarritz" a murmur of respect rippled to the outer edge of the group, and at this moment my party appeared.

Payne wore a swaggering air, and looked now like Little Lord Fauntleroy gone wrong. He was far too big a man to notice me, or any of the kindly, simple people who had been admiring the car, and came up with us, talking his loudest to Aunt Mary. He almost elbowed me aside, and got into the driver's seat as a matter of course. Perhaps he had looked upon the rich wine of the country when it was red, though I didn't think of that at the time, and attributed his exaggerated insolence to natural cussedness of soul.

We swept away from the hotel with a curve, which isn't a line of beauty for a motor-car, and as we left the town Jimmy's conception of his part as driver became so eccentric that Miss Randolph looked worried--that is, her pretty shoulders stiffened themselves; I couldn't often see her face--and Aunt Mary more than once gave vent to a frightened squeak. Once, in her extremity as we shaved the wheel of a passing cart, she unbent so far as to throw an appealing glance at me. But I sat in stony silence with crossed arms, looking oblivious to all that went on and somewhat resembling, I flattered myself, portraits of Napoleon beholding the burning of Moscow.

On the high road Jimmy began to recover his form--if it be worth the name--but, as if to show that he was all right, and never had been otherwise, he put the car at its quickest pace, which was so far from safe on a road dotted with carts that I began to expect trouble; and if it hadn't been for Miss Randolph, to see my expectation fulfilled would have pleased the baser part of me. Once or twice a cartload of peasants scowled savagely at us as we rushed past on our headlong career, and at length I had the satisfaction of hearing Miss Randolph rather stiffly suggest that Jimmy should moderate the pace. He obeyed with a laugh, which he meant to be recklessly brave, yet indulgent to the weaknesses of women; but in my ears it only sounded silly. At this moment a two-wheeled cart with five peasants in it--three men and two women--came in sight.

As soon as they saw us one of the men--a big, black-browed fellow--held up his hand imperatively in warning. Another fine, muscular chap jumped down and ran to the horse's head. Anyone with a grain of sense or consideration, on seeing these signals, would have slowed down, and if necessary have stopped the engine altogether; but though I heard Miss Randolph beg him to go slow, Sherlock-Fauntleroy held right on at a good twenty-five miles an hour.