Mr American. George Fraser MacDonald

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СКАЧАТЬ at the sheet in his hand, and nodded, grinning. “I see. Just so. Poppy, you half-wit, what the –”

      “Twasn’t my fault!” Poppy, with several people between her and her bewildered lover, was prepared to enjoy the excitement. She tossed her head. “I wasn’t to know, was I? Jeremy, you pig, you changed the cards – I know you did! Beast!”

      “What happened?” “Poppy, what on earth?” “The wrong room?” “A likely story!” “Whose room was it?” “Oh, crumbs! Isn’t it priceless!” The babble of the bright young things was drowning Poppy’s giggling protestations when there was a sudden roar from Lacy. His lordship might be slow on the uptake, but a thought had evidently occurred to him. He turned on Mr Franklin, his face working in rage, and before Arthur could intervene, he flung himself at the American, head down and fists swinging.

      Mr Franklin became impatient. He had had a trying day; several things had happened which were outside his experience, and he was not used to being at a loss. It irritated him. Now, however, a problem had arisen with which he was equipped to deal; furthermore, the angry man intent on murdering him was a man for whom he had formed an instinctive dislike. He almost welcomed the opportunity of expressing his own feelings, which he did by side-stepping quickly and hitting Lord Lacy hard on the jaw as he went past, thus diverting him head-first into the wall. But to his surprise the peer merely shook his head, swore luridly, and resumed the attack, so Mr Franklin, who had learned his self-defence in an irregular school, kicked him sharply in the stomach. Lord Lacy doubled up, fell into the corridor, and was profoundly sick.

      “Here, you can’t do that!” cried Arthur indignantly. “Can’t kick a chap!”

      Mr Franklin did not reply. He did not feel like discussing the ethics of rough-housing, and with the corridor resonant with cries of disgust, alarm, and – unless his ears deceived him – raucous amusement and excited cries of female glee, it would have been a waste of time. He stood over Arthur, who had dropped to one knee beside the groaning Lacy.

      “You’d better get him to bed,” said Mr Franklin, shortly. “His own, for preference. And since I’m a guest in your father’s house, Mr Clayton, and don’t wish to cause him embarrassment, I suggest you tell Mr Lacy – oh, no, Lord Lacy – that if he comes near my room again I’ll break his goddamned neck. I might –” he paused with his hand on the door “– even kick the chap. Good night.”

      He closed the door with unnecessary violence, surveying his room and the wreckage of his bed. Outside the babble of voices, giggles, and groans gradually died away, with Arthur supervising the assistance of Lord Lacy to some distant haven. Mr Franklin swore again, pondering on the ways of English house-parties, and the morals of the younger generation, as he restored his bed to some order. Poppy’s gown still lay on the floor; he picked it up and marched to the door, intending to throw it up the corridor, which was now presumably empty – but on opening the door he found Poppy herself, fetchingly swathed in her borrowed garment, in earnest whispered conversation with Arthur. They started.

      “Your robe,” said Mr Franklin, holding it out.

      “Oh, thank you,” said Poppy brightly. “I say, I am sorry – but you see, I wasn’t to know –”

      “Jeremy had switched cards,” said Mr Franklin heavily. “I know.”

      “He’s a horrid little beast,” said Poppy, and giggled again. “It was quite fun, though, wasn’t it? I say, that was a dreadful thump you gave poor Frank – serve him right for getting in such a wax over nothing. He’s a bit of a spoilsport, isn’t he?”

      “Just a bit,” agreed Mr Franklin.

      “I’m awfully sorry, old chap,” said Arthur. “Our guests don’t usually have their rooms invaded, I assure you – oh, shut up, Poppy! It’s all your fault, anyway; go on!” He pushed her playfully away, and she tripped up the corridor to the open door of a bedroom. “No harm done, anyway,” went on Arthur. “Except to Frank – and he’ll be right as rain in the morning. Don’t worry about him, by the way. I mean, he won’t –”

      “No,” said Mr Franklin, “I don’t think he will.”

      “No.” Arthur laughed. “Gosh, I’m glad the guv’nor didn’t hear us, though. Phew! Or Peg. There’d have been hell to pay, I can tell you.”

      “Or the King, I imagine.”

      “Don’t mention it! Oh, shut up, Poppy. I’m coming.” He gave Mr Franklin an apologetic grin. “’Night, old chap.”

      “Night-night,” called Poppy softly, and fluttered a hand at Mr Franklin. She vanished into the bedroom hastily, and Arthur, with another slightly sheepish look at Mr Franklin, shrugged and followed her.

      Mr Franklin closed his door, a trifle shaken, and retired to sleep for what remained of the night. But even that was denied him; he was aware of stealthy peregrinations in the corridor, and once all hell broke loose shortly before six – it transpired that Poppy, intent on revenge, had stolen into Jeremy’s bedroom, and emptied a jug of cold water over the occupant – or rather, occupants, neither of whom, it turned out, was Jeremy at all. None of which surprised Mr Franklin when he heard about it next day.

      That day began for him at the most unsatisfactory hour of eight-thirty, when he had just fallen into a deep sleep; a nondescript person knocked and entered with a can of hot water which he emptied into the wash-stand bowl, pulled back the curtains, and without a by-your-leave turned out Mr Franklin’s case and cast a critical eye over his tweed suit.

      “Ought to been hung up last night,” he observed coldly. “I’m sorry, sir, I shall attend to it while you shave. I would ’ave run you a ’ot bath, sir, but hunfortunately some of the young gentlemen ’ave been playing pranks with the soap and boot-polish, and the bath ain’t fit to be used. Disgustin’, it is; one of the guests can’t even get dressed, covered with muck, ’e is. I don’t know; you’d think they’d learn ’em better at their expensive schools. Your tea is on the bedside table, sir. Thank you.”

      Mr Franklin drank his tea and shaved, and was ready in his underwear when the servant returned with his suit. He thanked the man and asked if the King was in the habit of going down to breakfast.

      “It is ‘is majesty’s custom to break ’is fast with the other guests – at the better country ’ouses, sir,” was the astonishing reply, and Mr Franklin paused in pulling on his trousers.

      “Not here, you mean?”

      “I could not say, sir, not bein’ conversant with the routine of this hestablishment.”

      “But don’t you work here?”

      “No sir, I do not.” The nondescript man stiffened slightly. “I am ’ere on a pro tem basis honly – I am ’appy to say.” He hesitated. “I beg your pardon, sir, but would you be a transatlantic gentleman?”

      Mr Franklin hid a smile and said that he would be.

      “I see, sir. I ask because I would not wish you to be hunder any misappre’ension, or to carry away a false himpression. This is not what I am haccustomed to. Do you know, sir, that I ’ave five other gentlemen to valet besides yourself, and ’alf of them I daren’t go into the rooms –” he dropped his voice “ – on account of their not bein’ alone? Fair scandal it is; I don’t know what the country’s comin’ to – it is not like this at such as the Duke of Devonshire’s residence, I can tell you. But nowadays, СКАЧАТЬ