The Passing Bells by Phillip Rock Read Free Book Online

entrance hall. They could merely gape at the young maid coming so rapidly toward them and could not have been more shocked if she had come sliding down the banister.
    â€œWhat on earth . . . ?” Mr. Coatsworth blurted. “What on earth . . . ?”
    Ivy almost slipped on the highly polished parquet floor and came to a skidding momentary halt in front of the butler.
    â€œI . . . I must find a Miss Foxe. Have you seen her?”
    Mr. Coatsworth could merely point in the general direction of outdoors. The front doors were open, and Ivy could see a shiny blue automobile parked on the drive. A young woman with red hair sat behind the wheel, a tall dark-haired man in riding clothes standing casually beside the car talking to her.
    â€œThanks awfully,” Ivy said, making a dash for the door.
    â€œNow, see here. . . .” the butler stammered. “See here. . . .”
    Ivy slowed her frantic pace when she stepped out of the house and onto the hard-packed gravel drive. Her cap was askew and she straightened it, then tugged at her apron, which had begun to droop off one shoulder. She walked demurely toward the car, revealing the kind of deportment that the housekeeper had stressed.
    â€œAre you Miss Foxe?” she asked respectfully.
    Lydia Foxe looked past the tall angular form of Fenton Wood-Lacy. “Why, yes I am.”
    â€œI have a message for you, ma’am . . . from Miss Alexandra, ma’am. . . . She says for me to tell you that she shan’t be but a minute as she has to kiss her mother and that . . . and that you will have to drive . . . like the wind to keep from missing the train.”
    â€œOh, did she,” Lydia Foxe said with a husky laugh. “Dear Alex,” she said, looking up at Fenton, the presence of the maid ignored. “Honestly, that girl would forget her head if it weren’t firmly rooted to her neck. I told her that we were driving up to London. I hate that smelly train.”
    â€œDriving, eh?” Fenton said. “Bit of a rough trip for you, isn’t it?”
    â€œOh, Lord, no. The road’s quite decent once you’re past Dorking.”
    â€œGoing shopping?”
    â€œAlex has some dress fittings, and I have to see Daddy and then have the car looked at. There’s a squeak of some sort in the differential.”
    â€œHis nibs has a good man. Wizard with cars.”
    â€œI talked with Ross the other day in the village. He only knows English makes. And there’s the question of tools. The Germans use different-size bolts or something. There’s a Benz and Opel garage on the Edgeware Road.”
    â€œWon’t break down on the way, will it?”
    â€œNo. It’s just a noise—more annoying than anything else.”
    Ivy was at a loss over what to do—stand listening to the conversation until dismissed, or just turn and walk away? Not that she was in any hurry to leave. The woman in the shiny blue car fascinated her. She had never seen anyone so attractive—not pretty and soft like Miss Alexandra, a different kind of loveliness altogether. This woman had a hypnotizing, sensual beauty that caused Ivy to wonder if she might be on the stage. She certainly looked like an actress, not that Ivy had ever seen one except in the rotogravure section of the Mirror. Her hair was a deep chestnut red, coiled on top of her head and secured by a green velvet band. Her face was rather long, with high cheekbones and a slightly uptilted nose, the skin so fine as to be almost translucent. The mouth was large and full lipped, with a hint of wantonness in its moistness. Lip rouge? Ivy wondered. The woman’s eyes were a luminous green that seemed to sparkle as she moved her head. Ivy gawked, spellbound, then pulled herself out of her momentary trance.
    â€œIs . . . is there any message for Miss Alexandra, ma’am?”
    A throaty laugh. “Oh, good heavens,