The Exposure of Lord Stansford Page #3

"The Exposure of Lord Stansford" by Robert Barr is a captivating mystery novel that follows the unforeseen adventures of Lord Stansford, whose reputation and life come under threat due to a series of scandalous revelations. As the plot unfolds, themes of deception, social status, and the complexities of human relationships emerge. Barr weaves humor and intrigue into the narrative, creating a tale that examines the consequences of a life lived under the scrutiny of society, while ultimately revealing the true nature of the characters involved. Through clever dialogue and engaging prose, Barr invites readers to ponder the boundaries of public persona and private truth.

• Short story

								

speaking. The young man kicked the gravel with his toes, and his eyes
were bent upon the path before him. "He is thinking it over," said Miss
Linderham to herself. At last Lord Stansford looked up, with a sigh.

"Did you see the late scuffle between the unfortunate Heckle and
myself?"

"Did I see it?" she asked. "How could I help seeing it?"

"Ah, then, did you notice that when he was down I helped him up?"

"Yes; and threatened to break his wrists when you got him up."

"Quite so. I should have done it, too, if he had not promised. But what
I wanted to call your attention to, was the fact that he was standing
up when I struck him, and I want also to impress upon you the other
fact, that I did not hit him when he was down. Did you notice that?"

"Of course, I noticed it. No man would hit another when he was down."

"I am very glad, Miss Linderham, that you recognise it as a code of
honour with us men, brutes as we are. Don't you think a woman should be
equally generous?"

"Certainly; but I don't see what you mean."

"I mean this, Miss Linderham, that your offer is hitting me when I'm
down."

"Oh!" exclaimed Miss Linderham, in dismay. "I'm sure I beg your pardon;
I did not look at it in that light."

"Oh, it doesn't matter very much," said Stansford, rising; "it's all
included in the two guineas, but I'm pleased to think I have some self-
respect left, and that I can refuse your lady, and will not become a
hired husband at two thousand pounds a year. May I see you back to the
house, Miss Linderham? As you are well aware, I have duties towards
other guests who are not hired, and it is a point of honour with me to
earn my money. I wouldn't like a complaint to reach the ears of Spink
and Company."

Miss Linderham rose and placed her hand within his arm.

"Telephone, what number?" she asked.

"Telephone 100,803," he answered. "I am sorry the firm did not provide
me with some of their cards when I was at the office this afternoon."

"It doesn't matter," said Miss Linderham; "I will remember," and they
entered the house together.

Next day, at a large studio in Kensington, none of the friends who had
met Miss Linderham at the ball the evening before would have recognised
the girl; not but what she was as pretty as ever, perhaps a little
prettier, with her long white pinafore and her pretty fingers
discoloured by the crayons she was using. She was trying to sketch upon
the canvas before her the figure of a man, striking out from the
shoulder, and she did not seem to have much success with her drawing,
perhaps because she had no model, and perhaps because her mind was pre-
occupied. She would sit for a long time staring at the canvas, then
jump up and put in lines which did not appear to bring the rough sketch
any nearer perfection.

The room was large, with a good north window, and scattered about were
the numberless objects that go to the confusing make-up of an artist's
workshop. At last Miss Linderham threw down her crayon, went to the end
of the room where a telephone hung, and rang the bell.

"Give me," she said, "100,803."

After a few moments of waiting, a voice came.

"Is that Spink and Company?" she asked.

"Yes, madam," was the reply.

"You have in your employ Lord Stansford, I think?"

"Yes, madam."

"Is he engaged for this afternoon?"

"No, madam."

"Well, send him to Miss Linderham, No. 2,044, Cromwell Road, South
Kensington."

The man at the other end wrote the address, and then asked--

"At what hour, madam?"

"I want him from four till six o'clock."

"Very well, madam, we shall send him."

"Now," said Miss Linderham, with a sigh of relief, "I can have a model
who will strike the right attitude. It is so difficult to draw from
memory."

The reason why so many women fail as artists, as well as in many other
professions, may be because they pay so much attention to their own
dress. It is an astonishing fact to record that Miss Linderham sent out
for a French hairdresser, who was a most expensive man, and whom she
generally called in only when some very important function was about to
take place.

"I want you," she said, "to dress my hair in an artistic way, and yet
in a manner that it will seem as if no particular trouble had been
taken. Do you understand me?"

"Ah, perfectly, mademoiselle," said the polite Frenchman. "You shall be
so fascinating, mademoiselle, that----"

"Yes," said Miss Linderham, "that is what I want."

At three o'clock she had on a dainty gown. The sleeves were turned up,
as if she were ready for the most serious work. The spotless pinafore
which covered this dress had the most fetching little frill around it;
all in all, it was doubtful if any studio in London, even one belonging
to the most celebrated painter, had in it as pretty a picture as Miss
Maggie Linderham was that afternoon. At three o'clock there came a ring
at the telephone, and when Miss Linderham answered the call, the voice
which she had heard before said--

"I am very sorry to disappoint you, madam, but Lord Stansford resigned
this afternoon. We could send you another man if you liked to have him."

"No, no!" cried Miss Linderham; and the man at the other end of the
telephone actually thought she was weeping.

"No, I don't want any one else. It doesn't really matter."

"The other man," replied the voice, "would be only two guineas, and it
was five for Lord Stansford. We could send you a man for a guinea,
although we don't recommend him."

"No," said Miss Linderham, "I don't want anybody. I am glad Lord
Stansford is not coming, as the little party I proposed to give, has
been postponed."

"Ah, then, when it does come off, madam, I hope----"

But Miss Linderham hung up the receiver, and did not listen to the
recommendations the man was sending over the wire about his hired
guests. The chances are that Maggie Linderham would have cried had it
not been that her hair was so nicely, yet carelessly, done; but before
she had time to make up her mind what to do, the trim little maid came
along the gallery and down the steps into the studio, with a silver
salver in her hand, and on it a card, which she handed to Miss
Linderham, who picked up the card and read, "Richard Stansford."

"Oh," she cried joyfully, "ask him to come here."

"Won't you see him in the drawing-room, miss?"

"No, no; tell him I am very busy, and bring him to the studio."

The maid went up the stair again. Miss Linderham, taking one long,
careful glance at herself, looking over her shoulder in the tall
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