Lordship”—and when people began to
stare and look deferential, he would fall to inquiring
in a casual way why I disappointed the Duke of Argyll
the night before; and then remind me of our engagement
at the Duke of Westminster’s for the following
day. I think that for the time being these things
were realities to him. He once came and invited
me to go with him and spend the evening with the Earl
of Warwick at his town house. I said I had received
no formal invitation. He said that that was
of no consequence, the Earl had no formalities for
him or his friends. I asked if I could go just
as I was. He said no, that would hardly do; evening
dress was requisite at night in any gentleman’s
house. He said he would wait while I dressed,
and then we would go to his apartments and I could
take a bottle of champagne and a cigar while he dressed.
I was very willing to see how this enterprise would
turn out, so I dressed, and we started to his lodgings.
He said if I didn’t mind we would walk.
So we tramped some four miles through the mud and
fog, and finally found his “apartments”;
they consisted of a single room over a barber’s
shop in a back street. Two chairs, a small table,
an ancient valise, a wash-basin and pitcher (both on
the floor in a corner), an unmade bed, a fragment
of a looking-glass, and a flower-pot, with a perishing
little rose geranium in it, which he called a century
plant, and said it had not bloomed now for upward of
two centuries—given to him by the late
Lord Palmerston (been offered a prodigious sum for
it)—these were the contents of the room.
Also a brass candlestick and a part of a candle.
Rogers lit the candle, and told me to sit down and
make myself at home. He said he hoped I was
thirsty, because he would surprise my palate with an
article of champagne that seldom got into a commoner’s
system; or would I prefer sherry, or port? Said
he had port in bottles that were swathed in stratified
cobwebs, every stratum representing a generation.
And as for his cigars—well, I should judge
of them myself. Then he put his head out at
the door and called:
“Sackville!” No answer.
“Hi-Sackville!” No answer.
“Now what the devil can have become of that
butler? I never allow a servant to—Oh,
confound that idiot, he’s got the keys.
Can’t get into the other rooms without the
keys.”
(I was just wondering at his intrepidity in still
keeping up the delusion of the champagne, and trying
to imagine how he was going to get out of the difficulty.)
Now he stopped calling Sackville and began to call
“Anglesy.” But Anglesy didn’t
come. He said, “This is the second time
that that equerry has been absent without leave.
To-morrow I’ll discharge him.” Now
he began to whoop for “Thomas,” but Thomas
didn’t answer. Then for “Theodore,”
but no Theodore replied.
“Well, I give it up,” said Rogers.
“The servants never expect me at this hour,
and so they’re all off on a lark. Might
get along without the equerry and the page, but can’t
have any wine or cigars without the butler, and can’t
dress without my valet.”