The Master of the Ceremonies

“Your ladyship wants acts, eh?”

“To be sure, and at once, Barclay. I want five hundred pounds.”

“A large sum, my lady,” said Barclay warily.

“Stuff! A trifle. Just enough to take me on the Continent and back.”

“Humph!” said Barclay aloud; and to himself: “One of the post-chaises.”

“Now, no nonsense, Barclay, or I shall be compelled to whip you severely with my fan.”

“That ought to be a pleasure, madam,” said Barclay politely. “But what security do you offer for five hundred pounds?”

“Security! and from me, you wicked ogre!” said her ladyship playfully. “Why, you ought to feel honoured.”

“I do, my lady, greatly; but – ”

“There, I don’t want to waste my time listening to stuff. I know what a close-fisted, miserly old wretch you are, and so I came prepared.”

“Prepared, Lady Drelincourt?”

“Of course. I only want a temporary loan, and here are my diamonds.”

She drew a morocco case from the large reticule hanging on her arm, and passed it across the table.

Barclay opened the case, took out a glittering necklet, breathed upon it, glanced at the rest of the contents of the case, replaced the necklet, and closed it.

“Well, monster,” said her ladyship playfully, “will that do?”

“Admirably, my lady,” said Barclay, taking a cash-box from a drawer, and counting out, with deft fingers, a number of notes. “Four fifty-five,” he muttered, as he passed the rustling bundle across to his visitor, and slipped the case and cash-box back.

“I must have no nonsense about those diamonds, Barclay,” said her ladyship, “when I want them back.”

“Your ladyship has only to sign this paper,” replied Barclay, “and hand me 600 pounds, and the gems come back to their owner.”

“Ah, Barclay, you are a dreadful ogre,” she sighed, as she slipped the notes into her reticule. “You are quite as bad as a highwayman.”

“Only more useful, my lady,” chuckled Barclay. “Well, Joseph?”

The servant bent down and whispered:

“Lord Carboro’.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Barclay. “Would your ladyship object to meet Lord Carboro’?”

“Yes. Horrors!” exclaimed her ladyship. “Or no, never mind; let him come up. I have called to inspect some of your china – these Sèvres jars.”

Barclay nodded to his man, who left the room; and, in support of her ladyship’s suggestion, the money-lender was saying: “It’s an opportunity, my dear madam, that does not often occur; the workmanship is unique,” when Lord Carboro’ was shown in, and his keen eyes glittered as he took in the situation at a glance.

“Ah, Lady Drelincourt, you here!”

“Yes, I’m here,” she said, “but I’ve not come to borrow money; have you?”

“Yes,” said his lordship sharply. “Barclay, a word with you.”

The money-lender bowed.

“Don’t change countenance,” said his lordship, “and talk about money. Get out your cash-box, and make believe to give me some.”

Lady Drelincourt walked to the window with a small vase, and took out her great, square, gold-rimmed eye-glass.

“Money’s very tight just now, my lord,” said Barclay aloud.

“That’s right,” said his lordship, in a low tone. “Look here, Barclay. I’d have waited till that old cat had gone, but time’s precious. Look here. I’ve had a nasty hint that hits me very hard. You’ll call me an old fool. Well, I am; but never mind. I shall never have her, but I love that girl of Denville’s, and, damme, sir, I can’t see her go to the bad without stretching out a hand.”

“What have you heard, my lord?” said Barclay, rattling his keys and opening his cash-box.

“There’s some cursed plan afloat – elopement, or that sort of thing – to-night, I think; and we must stop it.”

“We, my lord!” said Barclay, jingling some coin.

“Yes, we. You’re an old friend of Denville’s. I can’t go to him.”

“Who’s the man?” said Barclay.

“Rockley, I think; curse him! Curse all these young, handsome men! Damme, sir, if I were forty years younger I’d be proud to marry her, for she’s a good girl – yes, sir, a good girl.”

Barclay nodded.

“But of course I can’t expect her to take to a toothless, gouty old imbecile like me, poor child.”

“What do you know, my lord?”

“Oh, only a garbled set-out. I’m not quite sure how things are; and sometimes it seems that it’s Sir Harry Payne, sometimes it seems to be Rockley. Now, look here, Barclay. Will you try with me to stop it? I couldn’t bear it to come off. If the girl were going to the church with some true-hearted fellow, I should feel a twinge, but I’d settle a thousand or two on her, and say, ‘God bless her!’ like a man; but I can’t see her go to the bad without making an effort to save her. Barclay, you old scoundrel, you’re laughing at me, and calling me an idiot for taking you into my confidence like this.”

“You don’t think so, my lord,” said Barclay sternly; “and you give me credit for being an honest man, or you would not talk to me in this way.”

“Honest?”

“Yes,” said Barclay sharply. “Am I dishonest for making all the profit I can out of a set of profligates and fools?”

“Barclay,” said his lordship, “if that old cat were not here I’d shake hands with you; as it is, that kick under the table means it. Yes, I do trust you, and your good-hearted wife, too. Will you help me?”

“In every way I can,” said Barclay. “Between ourselves, Lord Carboro’, I’ve had a hint or two of an elopement to-night, and I’m going to see what it means.”

“You have had a hint?” said Lord Carboro’ eagerly.

“Yes, my lord. I must have twenty-five per cent. The risk is too great,” added Barclay aloud. “Drelincourt’s looking,” he said in a low tone. “I’m not sure who it is yet, or what it means; but there’s something on the way, and I’ll help your lordship all I can.”