The Master of the Ceremonies

“You are always so good to me, Mrs Barclay,” sighed Claire, clinging to the ample breast.

“Oh, nonsense, my dear. I only offer to be your confidant, so as to help you in your trouble. For you are in trouble, my dear – dreadful trouble, and it hurts me to see you so – hurts me, my dear, more than you think for, so what I say is – If it does you good to come and sit with me and be comforted by having a good cry over me, just as if you were my little girl, why you shall, and I shan’t ask you a single question; but if you think such a silly stout old woman can do you any good by giving you advice, or – now don’t be offended – finding you money; or by asking my Jo-si-ah what to do – ”

“Mrs Barclay!” cried Claire in tones of dismay, and with her cheeks flushing.

“Ah, that’s the way of the world, my dear,” said Mrs Barclay with a quiet contented smile, as she drew Claire’s head back upon her shoulder, and stroked and patted her cheek. “You don’t know my Jo-si-ah. He seems a rough harsh-spoken old money-grubber, but he’s the tenderest-hearted, most generous man that ever lived. There, there, you needn’t speak. I was only going to finish and say Claire Denville has two true friends here in this house; and as for me, here I am, ready to help you in any way, for I believe in you, my dear, in spite of everything that has been said, as being as good a girl as ever breathed.”

“Heaven bless you!” exclaimed Claire, nestling to her; “you are a true friend, and I will tell you all my trouble.”

“That’s right, my dear, so you shall, and two heads are better than one. Shall I help you?”

“Oh, yes, yes, Mrs Barclay, if you can. I am so helpless, so weak with this new trouble, I don’t know what to do.”

“No; and you’ll be driving yourself half crazy, my dear,” whispered Mrs Barclay. “Why, I know as well as can be what it is.”

“You know, Mrs Barclay?”

“To be sure I do, my dear. Now, why not let me ask him here some day, and just talk the matter quietly over with him?”

“Yes, yes,” cried Claire; “but he is so impetuous, and the situation is so horrible.”

“Not a bit of it, my dear. Of course, he is impetuous. Enough, to make him, hearing such things as he does; but just you let me get him here some day and have a chat with him, and then you see him, and try and understand each other. Never mind about the money, my dear: be poor and happy. Love’s better than riches; and the happiness enjoyed by two good people who really care for each other is – well, I don’t want to be single.”

“Mrs Barclay! What do you mean?”

“Why, that with all his doubts and distances, Richard Linnell worships you as much as you love him.”

“Oh, hush, hush, hush!” cried Claire piteously. “Don’t talk about that, Mrs Barclay. It is impossible.”

“It isn’t, my dear, and that’s flat. You’re being cruel to him, and more cruel to your own dear self. Come, now, try and be advised.”

“Mrs Barclay,” cried Claire wildly, “you don’t know. My trouble now is far greater than anything about self;” and, clinging to the only friend she seemed to have, she told her all.

Mrs Barclay sat with wide-open eyes to the very end, and then, in the midst of the terrible silence, she took out a violently-scented pocket-handkerchief, and wiped the dew from her brow, as she said softly:

“Oh, my gracious me!”

“It has driven me nearly mad,” cried Claire, wringing her hands, “and while I stay here something terrible may have happened. I must go – I must go.”

“No, no; sit still, my dear,” cried Mrs Barclay, drawing her back to her side, and speaking in a quick, businesslike way. “I was quite knocked over by what you said. My poor, dear child! Is there to be no end to your troubles? But there, we mustn’t talk nonsense, but act sensibly. This is like a smash – a sort of bankruptcy, only it’s what Jo-si-ah would call social and not monetary. There, there, it’s a terrible business, but I’m glad you’ve had the courage to tell me. Oh, my dear, I’ve always said to Jo-si-ah that she was a wicked little thing who was getting you into trouble. But let that go. Now, then, what to do first? Your poor father don’t know a word?”

“I have not dared to tell him.”

“No, and you’ve been screening her, and taking care of that little one, and – dear – dear – what a world this is! Tut – tut – tut! I am doing nothing but talk. Now, look here, Claire; the first thing that strikes me is that she must be got away – right away – for the present.”

“Yes, yes; but how?” cried Claire.

“Jo-si-ah shall settle that.”

“Mr Barclay!” cried Claire in terror.

“To be sure, my dear. We want a strong man to act in a case like this. Your sister must be got away somewhere, and you must go with her. You had both better go to-night. No one shall know where you are but Jo-si-ah and me, and you can take care of her until Jo-si-ah has told your father all about it.”

“Yes,” sighed Claire, as her companion’s calm, businesslike manner impressed her.

“If we tell him first he will do no good, poor man, only be horribly upset, and there’ll be no end of scenes, and no business done.”

Claire acquiesced with a look.

“Then Jo-si-ah can settle it all with your father and Mr Burnett, and this Mr Gravani, what is to be done in a businesslike way. There, there, let me finish. The weak little thing has got herself into this dreadful tangle, and what we have to do is to get her out the best way we can. It’s of no use to be sentimental and sit down and cry; we must act like women.”

Claire looked at her in admiration, astounded by her friend’s calm, businesslike manner.

“Now, perhaps, my dear, my Jo-si-ah may upset all my plans by proposing something better; but, as far as I see it now, you had better go straight off to your sister May – it will soon be dusk – and bring her here. I’ll be ready and waiting, and I’ll go with you both to the coach. You had better put on veils, and we’ll go right away to London. It’s the best place to hide, as my Jo-si-ah knows with the people who don’t pay him. Yes, that’s best. I’ll go with you.”

“You will go with us, Mrs Barclay?”

“Of course, I shall, my dear, and stay with you till you’re out of your trouble, and Jo-si-ah has finished the business. Did you think I was a fine-weather friend?”

Claire could not speak; her kisses and clinging arms spoke her thanks.

“Yes, that’s as far as I can see it, and we must be quick.”

She rose to go to the bell.

“What are you going to do?” cried Claire, in alarm.

“Ring for Jo-si-ah, and to send our Joseph to book three seats for the coach.”

“But Mr Barclay? Must you tell him – now?” faltered Claire.

“Why, of course, my dear, or we may be too late. Do you know that some one else is evidently making plans?”

“What do you mean?” cried Claire excitedly.

“We know a great deal here, my dear. My husband has to keep an eye upon the slippery people who borrow money of him; and there was a hint brought here to-day that a certain gentleman was going to elope to-night with a certain lady, and the idea was that you were the lady. We know it was Sir Harry Payne.”

Claire caught at her friend’s arm as she went on.

“But I said ‘No;’ it is only a miserable scandal, based upon that wretched business at your house. ‘It’s Mrs Burnett,’ I said, ‘if it’s anyone.’ Claire, my dear, she is in this dreadful fix, and she is going off to-night with that fop to escape from it.”

Claire’s lips parted as she looked at the speaker in horror, realising it all now, and reading May’s excuse to gain time.

For a moment the deceit and cruelty of the act seemed too horrible; but she was now thoroughly realising the nature of her sister, and was so agitated that she felt almost paralysed as she stood gazing straight before her.

“I cannot believe it, Mrs Barclay,” she said at last. “It is too terrible. My poor sister would never be so base.”

“Go at once, my dear. Stand no nonsense with the little thing. I’ll settle it all with my Jo-si-ah. You bring her here.”