Part III. THE REFORMATION OF MILLICENT BURDEN
21
“London, That Great Sea”
Possibly, that autumn, things might have taken a different turn had Lady Judith Golightly not broken her ankle. Or Lady Frayn been free to accompany Lady Caroline and Miss Burden to London in her stead.
The household at Bluebell Dell were all very busy packing when there was a loud knock at the front door.
“It’ll be that Sam Biddle, Miss,” predicted Hawkins.
“Yes,” said Midge with a sigh. “It sounds like his knock.”
“I’ll go!” said Janey with her cheerful laugh.
“No,” said Midge heavily. “I’ll go, Janey: he will have come in the expectation of a good-bye present. Just keep on with your packing. How did you acquire all these dresses, in any case?” she asked, going over to the door.
“Mostly from the stuffs Papa sent,” said Miss Janey vaguely. “Oops! And this one was kindly loaned by Lacey Somerton!”
“Well, send it back,” said Midge, hastily disappearing.
Janey gave Hawkins a melting look. “You would like a walk to Plumbways, wouldn’t you?”
Hawkins sniffed slightly, but conceded that she might not have to walk, she could go into the village and catch Peter Potts—
Meanwhile, Midge had opened the front door.
“What are you doing here?” she gasped.
The Earl bowed, unsmiling. “I might say, I have come to escort you up to London, Miss Burden.”
“We don’t leave for two days, yet. Is not Parliament sitting?” said Midge limply.
“Yes. They will not miss me for a few days. May I come in?”
“Of course,” she said limply, leading him into the front parlour. “I’m sorry: we’re all at sixes and sevens.”
“Not at all,” he replied formally.
There was a little pause.
He drew a deep breath. “Dean Golightly has written me—”
“Oh! Yes, poor Lady Judith has broken her ankle! Have you come to say I needn’t come to London after all, sir?” she said on a hopeful note.
“What? No! No, Lady Caroline will look after you. I think Wynton House is now habitable, in her terms. The new model stove she ordered up has been— Never mind that. I was not aware until last evening that Cousin Judith had broken her ankle. My visit has nothing to do with that. Golightly writes that Mrs Marsh is going to Italy. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” said Miss Burden, going very red. “She left two days since, in fact. I dare say you will catch up with her before she reaches Southampton if you hurry.”
“I don’t wish to— Is she going that way?”
“I do not know, I have not spoken to her,” said Midge tightly.
“Er—no. Where are the children?” he said grimly.
“What?” said Midge stupidly, staring.
“Where are the CHILDREN?” he shouted.
“Oh,” she said limply. “She left them behind.”
“She did NOT, Dinsley House is empty!” he cried angrily.
“Y— Is that what you’ve come about?”
“Yes. Where is she?” he said, catching her by the shoulders.
Miss Burden took a deep breath and said quietly: “If you mean little Jenny, sir, she is at present doing her schoolwork in my back parlour. And please do not shout.”
“Oh,” he said lamely, abruptly releasing her, and passing his hand over his forehead. “I— I’m sorry. I thought— David wrote that the woman intended jaunting off to Italy with Harrod, abandoning the children—” He broke off, passed his hand across his forehead again and sighed.
“I see,” said Midge shakily. “Um, the Dean has a—a devious mind, sir, I’m afraid.”
“What?” he said blankly.
She went very red.
“Oh!” he said with a feeble smile. “I see what you mean: he phrased his news in a way calculated to bring me down here post-haste, is that it?”
“Yes, I think so. Calculated to appeal to any decent feeling—” Miss Burden broke off. “Help,” she muttered.
“To any decent feeling I may have left? Mm,” he said wryly. “What’s Jenny doing here?”
“Her schoolwork.”
“Yes. I don’t mean that. Where are they living?”
“Um—well, Mr Marsh is—is seeing his trustees, I think. Miss Harrod and Susi-Anna have gone to stay in—in Margate.”
“Margate?” he said, staring.
“I think it’s not very far from London. Mrs Marsh knew of a woman who had rooms to let there. Furnished,” said Midge, swallowing.
“They’re staying in furnished rooms in Margate?”
“Only temporarily, we hope. That’s why Mr Marsh is seeing his trustees.”
His lips tightened. “The woman’s— Then why is Jenny still here?”
“She is—is just having a little spell with me, sir, until I leave.”
“I see. There was a ruckus, eh?”
“Ye-es. Um—Jenny was very upset, anyway, because she’d seen the waggons leaving Dinsley Airs on the morning of the wedding, and her mother accused her of lying in order to—um—upset her on her wedding day, and—”
“Don’t go on.”
“It’s not particularly funny,” said Midge with dignity.
“Er—no. Parts of it are not, certainly. It is very good of you to have her, Miss Burden.”
“I like her,” said Midge, turning scarlet.
“Mm; good. –Teddy Marsh has not yet had his twenty-first birthday, I collect?”
“No, it isn’t until next February,” agreed Midge. “But he thinks his trustees will advance him sufficient money to—to hire a respectable house.”
“Why the Devil didn’t the boy—” He broke off. “Never mind.” He hesitated. “Uh—has Jenny said anything to you about when her mother might be coming back?”
Midge flushed up but said steadily: “No. Well, Mrs Marsh was still very angry with her when she left. But Susi-Anna said she declared she never wanted to see England again.”
There was a short pause.
“Neither England nor Jenny?” said the Earl, raising an eyebrow.
“Wuh-well, I think so, yes,” she faltered. “But people say that sort of thing when they are angry, you know.”
“Mm. Was it all very dreadful, Miss Burden?”
Midge licked her lips. “Yes. It—it must have been terribly humiliating for poor Mrs Marsh,” she said in a low voice. “They are saying he was only an actor, had you heard that, sir?”
“Mm, David wrote it.” He frowned. “I didn’t mean...”
Miss Burden looked at him with a face that was quite blank and said: “I am terribly busy packing, so if you would like to see Jenny?”
The Earl concluded that she had had enough of an embarrassing and distasteful topic; and he fancied that she was rather annoyed at having her packing interrupted; and so, instead of saying he had not meant had it been dreadful for Kitty, but had she herself found it dreadful, he merely said: “Thank you.”
“Come through.” Midge led the way.
“Hullo, Jenny baba,” said her father in a voice that shook a little.
Jenny looked up, her bony face breaking into a beaming smile. “Hullo, Lord Sleyven! Look, I’m doing algebra! It’s quite easy once you’ve grasped the principles!”
“Algebra?” he croaked.
“Mr Waldgrave set the sums. He’s been teaching her this week,” said Midge hurriedly.
“I did not think it was you!” he said with a smile.
“No. Um—you might like to chat.” She edged towards the door.
“Just a moment. Who is paying Mr Waldgrave for these algebra lessons?” he said evenly.
“No-one,” said Jenny in astonishment. “He offered.”
“That was very kind of him. I should like to hear Miss Burden’s version, however. Well?” he said coolly.
“Miss Portia had some French lessons just before they went up to London, so it seemed a reasonable arrangement!” said Midge crossly.
“Teddy will repay you!” said Jenny hurriedly, looking at the Earl’s face.
“Most certainly,” he agreed. “Allow me,” he said, holding the door for Miss Burden. She gave him an annoyed look, and went out. Jarvis swallowed a sigh. Somehow he always seemed to get off on the wrong foot with her.
“I suppose you’ve heard,” said Jenny cautiously. “Mamma didn’t marry the Prince after all.”
“Er—mm. It must have been a big upset for you,” he said, pulling himself together and sitting down at the table with her.
Jenny stuck her chin out. “Yes, but I don’t care, for now she’s gone away, and Aunt Addie is going to be in charge!”
He nodded and smiled, encouraging her to tell him about it. Not that he was interested in the details: it had resulted in getting Kitty Marsh out of the country, so it could not be bad.
Midge went into the kitchen. It was empty, except for Ferdinand in his usual position near the stove, and Mischief sitting on the windowsill perilously near to Hawkins’s potted geranium, which had already been upset twice. She sighed and removed him from its vicinity. “Come on,” she said, sitting down at the kitchen table with him. “Be good.”
Mischief, in the way of his kind, was indifferent to the fact that his mistress wished him to be on her knee at this precise moment. He did not wish to be there: he struggled, and Midge let him jump down. “Brute,” she muttered.
Mischief turned his back on her and embarked on an elaborate wash.
When Janey came down to find her she was crying quietly.
“Is that Lord Sleyven in the back parlour with J— What’s he done now?” she cried.
Midge smiled wanly. “Don’t be silly. Nothing.”
“Of course he has, you were merry as a grig before he came!”
“Um—well, he—he was worried about Jenny. The Dean wrote him,” said Midge dully.
“Er—well, that is commendable, dear Miss Burden. It shows he has some grasp of his responsibilities.”
“Yes,” she said, sniffling.
Janey pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. “What else?”
“Nothing. Merely, he—he seemed concerned that—that all this upset has—has been very dreadful for Mrs Marsh.”
Janey swallowed. “I suppose that’s commendable, too.”
“Yes. And it’s not that. I’m worried about Mischief. Except for the one or two nights I’ve spent at Kendlewood Place, he’s never had a night without me, since he was a kitten.”
Janey put her arm around her. “I have no doubt at all he will join Ferdinand on Hawkins’s bed: cats are not stupid, you know!”
“No,” she said dully.
Janey kissed her cheek and tried to sound very cheerful, as she said: “Well, shall we offer Lord Sleyven some refreshment?”
“There isn’t anything,” said Midge dully.
“Er—tea, at least, dear Miss Burden!”
“Yes,” she said bitterly: “we could give him the very last from the caddy, and then there will be nothing left for our breakfasts!” She got up suddenly. “I don’t want to see him. You can tell him that, or make up some story about a headache, but I don’t care. I’m going upstairs.” She brushed her hand across her eyes and went out.
“Oh, Lard,” said Janey limply in the accents of the country. “Is the dratted man a natural idiot, or does it merely come all over him in her company? After all our good work, too!”
If the Earl had had any expectations of the journey to London as Miss Burden’s escort, they were not to be fulfilled. She was not, of course, alone. Naturally he had expected Lady Caroline to be with her. But not Miss Lattersby, Miss Bottomley-Pugh, or his own daughter. Janey explained sunnily that they were going up because her papa was due home very soon, and Lady Caroline had kindly invited them to stay at Wynton House until he arrived. And Jenny was due to be delivered to her aunt and sister. Since Lady Caroline, of course, was not a small lady, this made a carriageful.
“I’ll ride,” he said.
“No, no, sir! Let me go in the other coach with Lady Caroline’s maid!” cried Janey.
“We may both go with her, and chat about the fashions in ladies’ hair and the new sleeves,” said Katerina with a smile.
“Nonsense.”
“Jarvis is used to riding long distances, my dears,” said Lady Caroline placidly. “But if it comes on to rain, Jarvis, you may accept the girls’ offer. For your falling ill with a cold does not form part of our London scheme, at all.”
His Lordship agreed politely, and they set off, at the leisurely pace which Lady Caroline preferred.
On the outskirts of the great metropolis the young ladies peered eagerly from the coach. “Isn’t it bustling?” said Janey on a proud note.
Miss Burden nodded numbly. It was, indeed. Noisy, in fact. And so many vehicles!
“I think Calcutta’s busier,” said Jenny, her nose to the glass, as the traffic thickened and the noise increased.
“Oh, pooh! How could it be?” cried Janey.
“We-ell... There aren’t so many large carriages, or huge waggons, perhaps.”
“Drays, my dear,” murmured Lady Caroline.
“Drays,” said Jenny uncertainly. “But there are many more small gharries and much more foot traffic. Yes, I’m sure it’s much busier! Though this is quite busy,” she added kindly.
“This is not a very salubrious neighbourhood,” explained Lady Caroline.
“Not much of Calcutta is salubrious at all!” said Jenny eagerly.
“I am quite sure. –My dear Janey, pray do not press your nose to the window, so: you are not Jenny’s age.”
This remark had the effect of causing both Janey and Jenny to sit up very straight.
“Does the noise go on all the time?” asked Midge faintly as they drove through what was clearly a more salubrious neighbourhood and the racket scarcely abated.
“What noise, my dear?” replied Lady Caroline.
“The—the continuous rumble,” said Midge limply.
“Er... Oh. I suppose it is just the background noise of a great city, Millicent. The rumble of carriage wheels and so forth.”
“Yes: wheels over the cobblestones,” explained Katerina. “I remarked it, too, when we came up to London with Pa.”
Lady Caroline nodded and added kindly: “You will find that Blefford Square is much quieter.”
“Yes; and Green Street,” agreed Janey.
“Of course: Green Street is one of our most pleasant residential streets.”
“My papa had a house in Kensington, once. Is that a salubrious neighbourhood, Lady Caroline?” asked Jenny seriously.
“Very pleasant indeed, my dear. Quiet: a little out of the way, you know. I have two sisters who live together in Kensington: Lady Mary Pembroke. she is a widow, and Lady Matilda.”
“Is she a widow, too?”
“No, she is an unmarried lady: her name is Lady Matilda Wynton. We shall be visiting them in a day or two: you may accompany us, if you are still with us.”
Jenny appeared to accept this kind invitation with immense pleasure. Miss Burden, Miss Lattersby and Miss Bottomley-Pugh all refrained studiously from catching one another’s eyes. Elderly aunts in Kensington? Was that Lady Caroline’s scheme for London?
Blefford Square was reached before long—Janey becoming very excited as they passed the end of Green Street on the way to it—and was revealed as a spacious square full of elaborate and, to some eyes, forbidding-looking mansions. For London it was no doubt quiet enough, but there was still that continuous rumble in the air.
“That is Blefford House,” explained Lady Caroline as Katerina admired the immense, ornate pile that dominated the square.
“And no doubt,” said Midge on an acid note, as a pretty, dark-haired young woman carrying an infant, her bonnet dangling down her back by its strings, was tugged up its steps by a small child, “that is the Duchess of Blefford.”
“The Countess, Millicent. Blefford Park, the principal seat, is in Oxfordshire. Yes, that is Lady Blefford,” said Lady Caroline, unmoved.
Midge gulped, and was duly silenced.
The young ladies’ introduction to life at Wynton House was not precisely auspicious.
“Where is the Earl, Miss Burden?” asked Janey limply as Jenny and the young ladies were ushered on their first evening into a cavernous, dark, echoing Gothick abbey which appeared to be serving as the Wynton House dining-room.
“Apparently he has urgent business, which will prevent his dining. Lady Caroline is having a tray in her room. –That’s right, Jenny, sit here by me.”
After few moments Miss Lattersby said numbly, looking around and up at the towering dark spires that surrounded them: “Help. What is it meant to be?”
“I think it must be in the Gothick taste, Janey,” said Midge limply.
“Isn’t it perfectly dreadful! Look, what’s that, up there?”
“A carved eagle?” suggested Jenny.
“No, I think it’s a griffin!” said Katerina with a laugh. “You remember, Jenny, when we studied the myths? Half eagle, half lion!”
“It’s got something in its claws,” said Jenny in awe.
“Mm. Its prey,” agreed Miss Bottomley-Pugh weakly.
“That’s logical. this does appear to be intended as a dining-room,” said Midge unsteadily.
Forthwith the guests of Wynton House burst into unmaidenly shrieks of laughter.
Soup then being served, Miss Burden discovered with some dismay that the butler and footman, instead of absenting themselves, took up positions by the giant carved sideboard. She then discovered with even more dismay that the soup, a viscous whitish substance with small pieces of something scattered on it, was inedible.
Eventually Jenny laid down her spoon and said: “I’m sorry, Miss Burden: I can’t. I know I said I could manage a grown-up dinner—”
“That’s all right, Jenny, I don’t care for it, either.”
“Me, neither. What on earth is it?” said Janey.
“A velouté of cauliflower, Miss: his late Lordship was used to say it was the pride of the Wynton House kitchens. Soupe Dubarry, Miss Burden,” said the butler smoothly, coming forward.
“I refuse to believe that Madame Dubarry ever ate any such thing!” cried Janey.
“Who?” asked Jenny with interest.
“Hush. Never mind. I’m afraid it is too sophisticated for our tastes,” said Midge weakly. “I think you could clear.”
The cauliflower soup was duly cleared away, and they waited in trepidation for the next offering from the kitchens of Wynton House.
“Thank Heavens we are not staying long!” concluded Janey in the privacy of the echoing Gothick bedchamber allotted to her humble self. “Dear Miss Burden is clearly fated to starve as the Countess of Sleyven. And once again, I refuse to believe that Madame Dubarry ever went anywhere near that soup!”
The visits began the very next day. Once again, Janey and Katerina had cause for thankfulness that they were not staying long at Wynton House. Jenny actually appeared to enjoy herself. But then, poor child, she was too young to grasp the implications of what was said. Not to mention of what was merely looked.
Mr Julius Foxe-Forsythe poured Lapsang Souchong. Midge and Janey had tasted something very like it at the Deanery: they concealed their distaste and sipped nobly. Katerina’s late Ma had been more used to provide Bohea for the household, but Lapsang had been served when particularly favoured guests were being received, or Aunt Hyacinth: so she was used to its taste. She sipped bravely. As might have been expected, and certainly had been by Miss Burden, Jenny had never tasted it. A look of horror came over her face. However, to those who did not know her this was scarcely discernible in the wake of the mixed horror and dismay which had already come over it at the discovery that Mr Julius Foxe-Forsythe preferred the older style of handleless teacup. To be more precise, handleless, Chinese, very, very delicate and undoubtedly priceless porcelain teacups.
Mr Julius Foxe-Forsythe was an elderly gentleman who was a connection on the Wynton side. Not, as he himself informed them, in the direct line for the title. “Salique law, you know,” he added with a moue.
“What’s that, Mr Foxe-Forsythe?” asked Jenny.
“It is the phrase used, my dear, to indicate that a female may not inherit, however direct her line of descent from the—er—possessor of the title might be,” he said, looking hard at her Wynton features. “The reference is to a very old custom of the French monarchy, dating back, one believes, to the Franks. My dear late mamma, you see—” He gave them chapter and verse on his precise connection to the present and past two Earls of Sleyven.
“So you can’t inherit the title, even though you’re not female, yourself,” concluded Jenny.
“Precisely, my dear!” he said with a titter. “Any more than the present Earl’s very daughter might! –Had he one, of course,” he added smoothly.
“All I can say is, dearest Miss Burden,” concluded a flushed and angry Janey when they were once more in the Wynton House barouche: “you must absolutely have triplet boys immediately, and put that old cat three steps further back in the line of succession! Salique or no!”
“Janey, my dear, that was not polite. Mr Julius Foxe-Forsythe’s is not, perhaps, a pleasant personality, but he is a relative,” said Lady Caroline calmly. “And he is not a wealthy man, I think that should be borne in mind.”
“He has very nice things,” said Jenny dubiously.
“Well, yes, my dear, but his rooms are small and the objets which he keeps about him are all he owns.”
“I see.”
“When you are married, Millicent, my dear, he will of course expect to be invited to Maunsleigh, but one need have him only at large family gatherings, such as—”
“Christenings!” said Jenny, beaming at Miss Burden.
Janey and Katerina gulped and had to stare very hard at the passing scene of a salubrious part of London.
“Certainly, my dear,” her Ladyship agreed with the utmost composure. “Christenings, anniversaries, and weddings.”
Cousin Camilla Vane-Hunter poured tea. Very like it would be Lapsang Souchong: Janey and Katerina eyed it glumly. Miss Burden had already asked if perhaps Jenny might have a glass of milk, instead. Cousin Camilla had already asked coyly, looking hard at Jenny’s Wynton features, who this was, then, but the young ladies were almost becoming inured to this. Lady Caroline of course had appeared entirely unmoved.
The widowed Mrs Camilla Vane-Hunter was a plump elderly lady who favoured frills, the most trimmed with lace, so possibly she was not so poor as Mr Julius Foxe-Forsythe. Today’s gown was a soft mauve, lavishly trimmed with lace-edged frills interspersed with satin-ribbon-edged frills. There was a lace tucker, threaded with mauve satin ribbon, round her plump shoulders. Her muslin cap was not large, and trimmed with lace threaded with more ribbon. Her comfortable sitting-room was very like herself: all in soft lilac or mauve shades, with very many frills, flounces, and bows.
Mrs Camilla Vane-Hunter bred white Persian cats. There were three in the room at the moment: they were not, Lady Caroline had taken care to warn Jenny, very friendly cats, so it was best not to attempt to pet them. The cats seemed relatively indifferent to the presence of visitors, but they certainly did not seem friendly: they were all sitting hunched up in identical positions, paws under the chin, staring unwinkingly with great yellow eyes. Merridew of Macedon on an easy chair which Cousin Camilla Vane-Hunter had informed them was his right as the patriarch of her “little family”; Marmaduke of Macedon on a low pouffe; and Marguerite of Macedon on the other end of Cousin Camilla’s sofa. They all had the very wide, typical Persian face, with frowning brows and squashed noses. Small ears, but very fluffy round the chops. Cousin Camilla Vane-Hunter had a wide, wrinkled elderly face, with a rather squashed little nose, and, under that pretty cap, a profusion of very fluffy pure white hair... Oh, dear.
“Isn’t she like her cats?” concluded Jenny in tones of pure awe as they sat down in, or in some cases collapsed into, the Wynton House barouche.
At this Miss Lattersby, Miss Bottomley-Pugh and, sad to say, Miss Burden herself all collapsed with shrieks of unmaidenly laughter.
Lady Maria Wigzell was a very elderly lady, and did not come down. But her unmarried daughter, a bachelor son, and a widowed daughter who lived with them were all gathered in the stiffly formal downstairs salon of Lady Maria’s house to welcome Lady Caroline’s party. The room might once, a very long time ago, have been quite gay; but the blue shade of the hangings had long since faded out to a dull grey, which almost matched the dark tone in which someone had seen fit to paint the plastered walls above the dark oaken wainscoting. Little of these walls was visible, true, for the profusion of portraits, engravings, and silhouettes which hung upon them. Darkly varnished for the most part, or perhaps just dark. The room had a very fine ceiling and indeed was quite beautifully proportioned. But the young ladies were quite surprised on Lady Caroline’s later remarking upon these points.
Miss Wigzell, a thin, acidulated-looking woman in black, favoured a dark green shawl and pince-nez. On clapping eves on Jenny she raised her eyebrows very high above the pince-nez but said nothing. Mr Putnam Wigzell, a tall, thin, cadaverously yellow man in a black coat, dark waistcoat and grey pantaloons, favoured a quizzing glass. He raised it, looked very hard at Jenny, but did not pass any remark. Mrs Lilian Cantrell-Sprague, a round, red-cheeked lady of jolly appearance, raised both plump, beringed hands and cried: “Oh, gracious, Cousin Caroline! Surely this is not our dear Emily’s little girl! What a look of the Wyntons!”
“As I think you must recall, an you think about it, Lilian, Emily’s little Harriet is scarce eight years of age. This is Miss Burden’s young friend, Miss Jenny Marsh.” She then introduced the young ladies, without making any reference at all to Lilian Cantrell-Sprague’s mention of the Wynton looks. In fact, you would have sworn she had not even heard it.
As the frightful visit wore on, the three young women became aware that the scene had been typical of the Wigzell household: Mr Putnam and Miss Wigzell would look, but not say, and Mrs Cantrell-Sprague, in an artless fashion which was entirely spurious, would burst out with whatever it was. They made an impressive team. Though Lady Caroline was more than equal to them.
In the barouche the elderly lady passed Miss Burden a handkerchief without comment.
“Thank you,” said Midge dolefully, blowing her nose hard.
Jenny had not, of course, seized all of the innuendo, but she had seized enough. “You are not too old to have the heir!” she said angrily, seating herself very close to Miss Burden.
“No,” Midge agreed faintly, sniffing and trying to smile.
“And you are not too young for Lord Sleyven, either, and—and to claim you are both is not logical!”
“Precisely, Jenny,” said Lady Caroline with a little sigh. “I must apologize for them, Millicent.”
“That’s all right, Lady Caroline,” said Midge wanly. “You did warn me.”
“I wish your Ladyship had warned me a little harder!” said Janey with feeling. She and Katerina had suffered an interrogation as to their antecedents. Neither had come out of it well, that was one consolation.
Lady Caroline eyed her a trifle sardonically. “I did try.”
“That is very true; and next time, Lady Caroline,” said Katerina. smiling, “we shall take any warning you give us and multiply it three-fold!”
Lady Caroline smiled, just a little, and ordered the driver to proceed.
… “I collect,” said Midge, at the end of a long, weary day, “that that was one of the lessons she wishes us to absorb.”
Katerina was perched on the end of her bed. She nodded.
Janey had just come in. “What was?”
Midge smiled ruefully. “That any warning Lady Caroline gives us should be multiplied three-fold!”
Lady Mary Pembroke poured tea, what time Lady Matilda Wynton nodded and smiled. Lady Matilda then offered delicious little cakes while Lady Mary nodded and smiled. They were much the pleasantest of the assorted Wynton relations Lady Caroline’s party had so far met. That did not mean, however, that Lady Mary neglected to inform herself of just exactly what connexion Janey was to Sir Neville Lattersby, or Lady Matilda to ascertain just exactly who Katerina’s parents were, and that she was not related to the Pughs of Wynde Abbey: no.
“At least they were not positive cats,” concluded Janey with a sigh.
“No. Nor positively hyphenated, either,” noted Midge drily.
“Oh, help! Yes, so they are all are!” gasped Katerina.
“Not all: but definitely the worst ones!” squeaked Janey.
Forthwith, the three young lady guests of Wynton House collapsed in muffled hysterics.
“Oh, Lor’,” said Charlie Grey, his pleasant face expressing unadulterated horror. “She has not exposed you to the Wigzells, has she?”
Midge nodded; Janey gave a muffled snigger.
“And Pussy Vane-Hunter?” he croaked.
Janey collapsed in giggles; Miss Burden swallowed, and managed to nod.
“Not old Uncle Julie Foxe-Forsythe?” he pleaded.
Suddenly Katerina exploded in giggles, what time Janey threw herself face down on the Gothick embroidery of the tortured sofa in the green salon, writhing in ecstasy.
“Mm,” uttered Miss Burden, smiling feebly.
“There is nothin’ for it, you’ll have to marry Cousin Sleyven at once, we’ll have to keep this in the family!” he gasped.
That did it: Miss Burden emitted a wail, and gave way entirely.
Charlie Grey watched this result of his endeavours with considerable pleasure. “Told Mamma she would’ve,” he said, shaking his head. “She would have it I was losin’ me touch: said to me even Aunt Caroline wouldn’t be that m—er, mad,” he ended feebly, grinning. Miss Burden gave another wail, Katerina let out another peal, and Janey pounded the sofa cushions.
“No, I say, though,” he said when they were more or less recovered and were mopping their eyes: “it sounds pretty frightful.”
“We had a theory that she was getting the worst over early,” said Katerina.
“Another theory that she is introducing us to the horrors of her connexions gently and that the worst is yet to come,” added Janey.
“Your being admitted to the house today must prove it, of course,” said Midge, twinkling at him,
“I shall take that remark in the spirit in which it was meant.” said Charlie Grey with immense dignity.
The ladies collapsed again.
Charlie Grey, who was one of Lady Caroline’s many great-nephews on the Grey side, was a good-looking fellow of perhaps three and twenty years of age. He had already informed them cheerfully that he was “nothin’ very much, y’know.” The young ladies had all by now perceived from his conversation that this was undoubtedly true, but also that he was extremely good-natured, possessed of considerable sense of humour and, unlike every Wynton connection they had met so far, both quite uncritical of, and ready to be pleased with, themselves. The which could not but please in its turn. He ended his visit by begging Miss Bottomley-Pugh and Miss Lattersby to do him the honour of driving in the Park with him on the morrow. Explaining to Miss Burden that he did not dare to ask her: the very sight of Cousin Sleyven from fifteen yards away turned him to stone. The back view, the basilisk eye was not in question. The girls gulped but Miss Burden managed to preserve her countenance, and Mr Grey, his eyes dancing, bowed very low over her hand as he took his leave.
“He cannot possibly be a relation!” concluded Janey.
“Not on the Wynton side, certainly,” said Midge on a dry note.
The two girls avoided each other’s eyes. Oh, dear. They had been in London three whole days—though admittedly it felt more like three months of slow torture—and had seen almost nothing of the Earl.
“Why did we accept Lady Caroline’s invitation?” groaned Janey, falling flat on the end of Miss Burden’s bed, aeons later.
“Yes, we could have stayed with your pleasant cousins in happy obscurity,” groaned Katerina, sinking onto Miss Burden’s dressing-table stool.
Midge was crawling into bed, yawning. She got under the covers, and then said: “I suppose it is not ladylike to go to sleep in one’s petticoat.”
“Unfitting in a Wynton fiancée, yes,” groaned Janey.
“My nightgown seems to have made its way to the other side of the room,” sighed Midge, removing the first of ten thousand pins from her hair.
Janey lifted her head and squinted at Katerina. The latter retrieved the nightgown, smiling.
“Thank you, Katerina,” groaned Midge, pulling it on over her head.
“Miss Burden, you’re still wearing your petticoat and corset,” said Katerina faintly.
Midge merely fell back against her pillows, yawning widely.
“Oh, dear,” said Katerina, suddenly sitting down on the end of the bed beside Janey. “All that standing about whilst Sir Victor showed us those horrible still-life paintings,” she sighed. “Are your feet swollen, Janey?”
Janey groaned affirmatively.
“You should not have gone with him,” noted Miss Burden primly.
“Us!” cried Janey, incensed. “We at least were being maidenly and proper! And—and guestly!”
“Wyntonly guestly!” said Katerina with a mad giggle.
Forthwith they all three collapsed in mad giggles.
“Dearest Miss Burden,” said Janey, sitting up and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand: “Who was he?”
Midge was endeavouring to remove the corset and the petticoat from under the nightgown whilst not moving from a sitting position. After some grunting she withdrew the corset and hurled it to the other side of the room.
“UnWyntonly!” choked Janey. “Lady Caroline’s maid will find it there and report it!”
“Good: perhaps it will give her the idea not to lace the thing up so tight!”
Janey returned firmly: “You shall not escape us so easily, you know. Who was he?”
“The—the florid gentleman,” added Katerina. “Who—who sequestered you on that sofa all evening.”
“And whom you,” said Janey pointedly: “encouraged.”
“His mother was a Grey. Captain Horatio Minogue. His friends call him Horry,” she said airily.
“Miss Burden, if you do not tell us this instant whether he were wearing rouge, I shall scream!” said Janey roundly.
“I think I shall beat you with a pillow, dear Miss Burden!” admitted Katerina.
“Yes, of course he was.” she said serenely.
“Oh!” cried Janey.
Smiling very much, Katerina said: “And the hair? Those glossy black curls?”
“These bits,” said Midge solemnly, putting her forefingers just above each ear: “are his own. Though their colour owes everything to art, I suspect. The rest is entirely the work of his perruquier. He was quite open about it: a M. Leclair, late of the Place des Vosges.”
They goggled at her.
“A gentleman of his generation,” she said primly, “thinks nothing of it.”
“How old is he?” demanded Katerina,
“Well, he told me that he wept at the news of the execution of ‘feue la reine.’”
The girls did sums on their fingers.
“I dare say many people can remember that,” concluded Janey sadly.
“Quite. Likewise the iniquitous powder tax. But it did not signify, for on the death of Her Sacred Majesty he vowed never to wear powder again. –On his wig, that is.”
“Well, that is good, for he was definitely wearing it on his face: I should hate to think that he had broken his vow,” said Janey drily.
Katerina nodded hard but persisted: “Sixty?”
“Seventy,” said Midge definitely.
Their jaws sagged.
After a minute Janey croaked: “I do not wish to be indelicate, but I could swear I saw him—um—squeeze your thigh!”
“Oh, several times,” said Midge airily.
The girls gulped.
Eventually Katerina croaked: “What on earth did you talk about? Besides taxes on powder and feue la reine, I mean.”
“He was telling me scurrilous on-dits about the guests, their parents and grandparents.”
The girls giggled, but on a certain note of horrified awe.
“Run along,” said Midge with a yawn, snuggling down into her bed. “If there is to be a rout party tomorrow, as threatened, we shall need our sleep. And they,” she noted, closing her eyes, “are reputed to be very, very hard on the feet.”
“But you cannot leave it at that!” cried Janey.
“Yes, I can,” she said, opening one eye: “for I did not have the slightest idea whom he was talking about. Go—away.”
Reluctantly they went.
Janey followed Katerina into her room. “Did you notice Lord Sleyven’s face during that frightful party?”
“I was trying to feign interest in paintings of dead game,” she reminded her.
“Not then! When you came back to the salon!”
“Well,” admitted Katerina reluctantly: “I have to admit I thought that the more Miss Burden encouraged old Captain Minogue, the more rigid his face became.”
“Quite. And the more rigid his face became, the more Miss Burden giggled and allowed Captain Minogue to squeeze her thigh.”
Katerina winced. “Yes.”
“Katerina, this is dreadful!” she hissed. “We must do something!”
“What?”
Janey scowled. “I’ll think of something!”
“Oh, but this is frightful!” cried the Honourable Mrs Weaver-Grange. “She is introducing you to all the moist shocking quizzes in London!”
Mrs Weaver-Grange was hyphenated, but she was not one of the hyphenated ones, so to speak: she was Charlie Grey’s cousin, and had already gaily ordered Miss Burden to call her Nessa, as her friends did. Her name was Vanessa, but she had already confided to Miss Burden that she had hated it all her life.
Nessa Weaver-Grange was a widow: her husband had been killed at Waterloo. Admittedly that great battle was now several years in the past, and she might have been excused for giving every appearance of having got over it: but she had already confessed gaily to Miss Burden that it was just as well: she had married him because she was bored with being a prim Miss at home, but it had not answered: the Weaver-Granges were “rather dim”—her phrase—and though “poor Neddy” had been very good-looking, the looks had not made up for the dimness. And he had not been interested in anything at all, really, except killing things: birds, foxes, or soldiers—Miss Burden had repressed a wince—and had not been able to hold a conversation with one. She had concluded this speech with: “Well, poor Neddy. He died very gallantly, they tell me; and I should have made him a perfectly dreadful wife, had it gone on longer, so it was all for the best.”
Young Mr Grey here explained, with a very dry look, that Nessa lived with her Uncle Dougie Weaver-Grange, who was “Rich as a nabob and don’t care what she spends”.
Mrs Weaver-Grange elaborated on this theme unasked: “I looked around at the relations, you know, and though Papa was urging me to return home, and though he is quite an old pet, I could not have borne to return to Mamma’s wing: she had already schemed out when it would be suitable for me to go into half-mourning and start encouraging Geddings, and he, you know, is frightfully political,”—with a moue. “Added to which, one meets his mistresses, past or present, all over London. Besides, she would not have let me keep my dogs—would she, darlings?” she cooed to the two sharp-nosed, fluffy little foxy-coloured creatures that had accompanied her.—“No,” she answered for them. “So I went to see darling Uncle Dougie, for he was clearly the only one who would do: the others were all encumbered with wives and things, but he is a widower. And we made a pact, you see, that I would run his house and act as his hostess, and protect him from all the frightful females in London who are after his fortune, and that he would look after me, and escort me to delicious concerts and parties and protect me from all the boring young men in London, and I moved in directly! Of course there was a frightful fuss, for all his horrible daughters were convinced I was out to catch him, even though I said to them: ‘I do not think the Archbishop of Canterbury would care for it, my dears’.”—She made an impossibly prim face: Midge gave a giggle in spite of herself.—“But though he is a Weaver-Grange, darling Uncle Dougie is more than a match for them, and sent them all off with a flea in their ear, and swore that if they made me cry once more he would disinherit the lot of them—of course it was a lie but then, as Weaver-Granges they were all too dim to see it. And so we settled down very happily!”
Midge swallowed. After a moment she said: “I trust one can hold a conversation with him.”
Nessa Weaver-Grange gave a shriek of delight, smacked Midge’s knee with the gloves she had removed, and cried: “I knew the instant Charlie described you that you would be a sympathetic soul! My dear, are not older men so delightful? I cannot bear the rawness of the unformed character of the young and unfledged! Mamma says that one should wish to grow older and wiser along with one’s husband, but I find that the most deadly prospect imaginable!”
“I confess, I would prefer to start off with some indication of a formed character,” said Midge limply. “Besides, I am not particularly young myself,” she added, rallying slightly.
At Mrs Weaver-Grange collapsed in giggles, gasping; “Oh, we shall deal extremely, my dear Millicent!”
“May I have a word, Aunt Caroline?” said the Earl grimly.
Lady Caroline had just finished dressing for dinner. She agreed composedly: “Certainly, Jarvis.”
He came into her room and closed the door behind him. “I concede that I have been busy, since you arrived, and have not been able to spend as much time as I intended with Miss Burden.”
“Of course,” she said placidly. “Have you found the Marsh boy?”
“Yes; I spoke to him this afternoon. We are seeing his trustees tomorrow. I think we can come to some arrangement.”
Lady Caroline gave him a dry look: she was very sure they could: few trustees would be averse to having a pleasant house in a quiet part of town supplied to their ward free of charge for a whole quarter. “Good. What is it you wish to speak to me about?”
“About the persons you apparently find fit company for Miss Burden,” he said grimly.
“She had to meet our relatives at some stage.”
“It is not they to whom I am referring, Aunt Caroline. I must beg you to discourage Miss Burden from forming a friendship with Mrs Weaver-Grange,” he said stiffly.
“I think it is too late,” she returned placidly. “Possibly the solution to that will be to keep her so occupied between us that she will have little time left to spend in Nessa’s company.”
He drew a deep breath. “I have already explained that I have had to be busy. I do not wish to be impertinent, and I am grateful for your help with Miss Burden, but I must demand your word that you will not allow Mrs Weaver-Grange to bring Eloise Stanhope to this house.”
“The Stanhopes are utterly respectable, one meets them everywhere. While I can think of many reasons to forbid Mrs Everard Stanhope the house, I cannot, unfortunately, think of an excuse for so doing. And I think possibly you have not fully grasped the purpose of this sojourn in town, Jarvis: Millicent must learn what creatures like Eloise Stanhope and Nessa Weaver-Grange are like, underneath the charm, and learn how to deal with them.”
His nostrils flared in annoyance but he said: “I see. But will it not be difficult for her to deal with them, if she has been allowed to make the initial mistake of making bosom-bows of them?”
“She is not, thank God, the type of female to make bosom-bows,” replied Lady Caroline, frankly twinkling at him. “But I take your point. I thought you might prefer her to make that sort of mistake now, rather than after you are married.”
After a moment the Earl said limply: “I see. You mean, so as you may be on hand to sort it out?”
“Something like that,” she murmured.
“I suppose I thank you,” he said limply.
“Not at all. It was understood, I think,” said Lady Caroline in a vague voice.
Jarvis reddened. “No, it wasn’t, entirely. I do thank you, but—but keep an eye on her, won’t you?” he said in a voice that shook a little.
“Of course. And she will meet some new faces tonight, who may succeed in distracting her from Nessa and her set. –I trust you do not intend wearing those pantaloons, Jarvis.”
The Earl was in evening dress. He looked down at himself, startled. “Yes, of course I do,”
“Not for the Wades, my dear: the Marquess will be in knee-breeches.”
“For the Lord’s sake, Aunt Caroline! It ain’t Almack’s!”
“No,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “But it will be nigh as stuffy, I fear. Oh: and we are going on to the Claveringhams’ rout-party, remember.”
“I’ll look good in damned satin knee-breeches at that, won’t I? Uh, Claveringham? Is that not Lady Paula Cunningham’s family?”
“Yes. It is Lord and Lady Frederick who are giving tonight’s party. Lady Paula is a sister of the present Earl of Hubbel, of course: Lord Frederick is her uncle.”
“God,” he muttered, passing his hand across his forehead again.
“My dear Jarvis, there was no hope that the story would not be spread, you know. But it need not concern yourself or Millicent.”
“Aunt, I would wager every penny the Maunsleigh lands bring in, not to mention the damned barracks itself, that before the evening is halfway done, Miss Burden and I will have had to sustain at least a dozen enquiries as to whether the stories going round about Mrs Marsh and the ersatz Russian prince are true.”
“You will then have the choice of saying you know nothing or of admitting to it and looking uninterested. I would recommend the latter, as being more likely to prevent the retelling of the story for your benefit. –Run along and change, dear man,” she ended with a faint twitch of the lips.
The Earl was at the door when she said: “Jarvis, is that really how you think of Maunsleigh?”
“Wh— Oh,” he said, biting his lip, “I had forgotten it was your childhood home, dear ma’am. I—well, I find it rather coldly formal,” he said lamely.
“Then it will be up to you and Millicent to change it,” she said placidly. “Oh, by the way,” she added as he opened the door: “I have ordered that Soupe Dubarry be permanently taken off the menu here.”
“Thank you!” said Jarvis with a weak laugh.
Lady Caroline looked thoughtfully at her reflection in the cheval glass as his footsteps retreated down the corridor. “Mm. Well, it is not that you are not capable of asserting yourself, dear man...” she murmured with a tiny sigh.
Somewhat unfortunately, or so at least Midge felt, there was a considerable wait before the Marquess and Marchioness of Wade served dinner. This enabled one, Lady Viola Bennington, charmingly bedecked in a froth of lace over lilac satin, to lift her silver lorgnette and say in the high, lisping little voice that was known all over London: “Of courthe! Mith Burden! Now, let me thee... It ith the Derbyshire Burdenth, no?”
“No,” said Midge steadily.—Lady Viola Bennington, the former Lady Viola Gratton-Gordon, was a younger sister to the late Rose Wynton, Countess of Sleyven; a lady of forty years of age or more, though her manner most certainly belied this. She was the third lady to have asked her this tonight.—“We are complete nobodies, Lady Viola.”
“Nonsense. Her older brother was in the Rifle Brigade; his widow is now married to my oldest friend, Charles Langford,” said the Earl very mildly. He had only met Rose Wynton once: Lady Viola was very like her indeed.
Lady Viola gave a very silly trill of laughter. “Oh, but how lovely for you, my dearth! Georgie Harmon wath telling me but the other day that Charleth’ thithter writeth he ith thettled very near to Maunthleigh?”
“Yes: Kendlewood Place. Quite a decent house,” said the Earl in a bored voice. “I think you may know it?”
To Midge’s mystification Lady Viola’s silly laugh was this time clearly intended to hide considerable annoyance; crying: “Naughty man!” she smacked him lightly on the arm with her silver-frosted lace fan, and took herself off to victimize some other unfortunate.
“What on earth did you say?” said Midge feebly.
“I reminded her of a certain episode, of which she did not believe me to be aware, that took place one hunting season in my late cousin’s day, when Kendlewood Place was empty and Lady Viola was considerably younger and possibly even sillier than she is now. –There was a gentleman involved who was not Mr Bennington,” he added drily.
Midge gulped. “I see.” After a moment she rallied to say: “I do hope you know some more episodes about all these others!”
“No, unfortunately,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes.
“I suppose,” said Midge, looking away as her heart beat very fast, “that it would be entirely ineligible to pretend that I am very highly connected indeed, possibly to a duke?”
“Entirely.”
Miss Burden allowed herself to glance up at him, and, sad to relate, to flutter her eyelashes a little, quite à la Lady Viola. He gave a tiny laugh, pressed the hand tucked into his arm against his side, and said: “Though I admit the temptation!”
Midge’s heart beat very fast again: this time she fluttered the lashes quite involuntarily. “Yes!”
This promising scene was interrupted by a certain Captain Lord Vyvyan Gratton-Gordon, a dashing hussar with a mop of silky black curls that, though they bore an amazing resemblance to those of Captain Harry Minogue, were not from the hand of any perruquier. “Evenin’, sir,” he greeted the Earl. “I say, Nettleford’s in your county, ain’t it? Heard the most extraordinary story about Kitty Marsh and a Russian prince what was stayin’ down in those parts. Don’t s’pose you know the details, do you?”
Jarvis felt Miss Burden stiffen. He said evenly: “No, Vyv, I don’t, and if you will give that brandy-fuddled head of yours two minutes to think—if it can—you will perceive that that was a damned tactless remark.”
“Eh? Oh, Lor’, is this the one?” he said, gaping at Midge. “Terribly sorry, sir, wouldn’t for the world— They told me that she was an antidote,” he said glumly.
“Since you’ve now put both feet in it, perhaps I should introduce you?” said Jarvis coldly.
Captain Lord Vyvyan, grinning ruefully, admitted he would not half like an introduction, bowed very low over Miss Burden’s hand, allowed his lips to brush it in a way that was not quite proper—Midge repressed a start—gave her a look of unconcealed admiration, apologized to the Earl again, and, assuring Miss Burden cheerfully that the dinner would be dashed good, but parties at Pa’s and Ma’s were always too stiff for words, took himself off.
“He is a numbskull. And that was not intentional,” said the Earl, as Miss Burden, her cheeks very red, was silent.
“He—he seems to know you, sir,” she ventured.
“Mm? Oh! Yes, he thought he’d be a real soldier, once: he was in the regiment for a short period, before he thought better of the whole idea.”
“Oh.” said Midge, rather puzzled. “But I think you referred to him as ‘Captain’, sir?”
“Yes!” he said with a smothered laugh. “Transferred!”
After a moment he realised that Miss Burden was emanating a puzzled silence. “Was that Greek?” he said with a twinkle.
Miss Burden gathered her forces and achieved a very creditable pout. “Oh, pray do not regard me, sir: if I did not understand the precise reference, I at least grasped that it was one of those soldierly things that gentlemen understand!”
The Earl shook with laughter for some time. Miss Burden unaccountably found herself very pleased by this reaction to her gambit. She had just discovered that this pleasure was for quite the wrong reasons, when Lady Caroline came up, looking entirely placid, with a formidable matron, a vivid-faced younger lady, and a pleasant-looking young gentleman in tow. Mrs Henry Quarmby-Vine, her daughter, Mrs Antrim, and Mr Antrim.
Greetings having, been exchanged, Mrs Henry Quarmby-Vine immediately said: “But the very man! My brother-in-law, Charles Quarmby-Vine, mentioned to me that you spent the summer at Maunsleigh, Lord Sleyven: I suppose you bumped into this false Russian prince who appears to have captured Mrs Kitty Marsh’s heart?”
“If not her fortune!” said Mrs Antrim with a giggle.
“Well, quite,” acknowledged her mamma.
The Earl replied smoothly: “Yes, I met him. I think the most of the county was taken in.”
Undeterred, Mrs Henry Quarmby-Vine pursued: “They are saying she was left standing at the altar!”
Midge could only conclude that the hyphen should have warned her.
… “Most of the ones I met were like that,” she admitted much later that night to Janey and Katerina, sighing. “Both at dinner and at the Claveringhams’ rout-party.”
“So were ours,” acknowledged Janey. “Though some of the gentlemen were not so bad.”
“Of course not,” said Midge with a sigh: “you and Katerina are young and pretty.”
“Possibly. But that does not count, when dinner partners are in question!”
Midge had been so far up the table that she had not been able to see much of the girls’ dinner companions. “Oh, dear: were they not pleasant?”
Janey replied grimly: “Judge for yourself. I had a minor Claveringham on my right. A Mr Timothy. He was pleasant, in that he did not refer to my ancestors, to yours, to Lord Sleyven’s eligibility as a partner for the highest in the land, to Russian princes, or indeed, to anything objectionable. On the other hand, he told me a terrific lot about the exploits of his older brother, a Mr Edward Claveringham, who from his report is a sophisticated man of the world, accomplished in all the arts of dandyism, a positive Corinthian in the sporting arena, and a Casanova with the ladies.”
Midge looked at her dubiously.
“Yes, you are right, we met Mr Edward later at the rout party: that pink-faced thing who came up to you and asked you if you knew Miss So-and-so, of whom you had never heard, or a Miss So-and-the-other, of whom ditto, and then fell silent, shifting nervously from foot to foot.”
Shaking slightly, Midge said: “I see! So, Mr Timothy—?”
“Pinker, even more unfledged, of course!” said Janey with a loud giggle.
“Mm. And on your left?”
“A cousin of the Gratton-Gordons. As he hastened to assure me. Mr S,M,Y,T,H. He does not hunt, himself, but old So-and-so and old This-and-that, who are very good friends of his, regularly get out with the Whatever-it-be. And he does not waltz, himself, but he ventured to assure me that old So-and-so, a close friend of his, is a regular dash on the dance floor.”
“Can anything be that inane?”
“And live, you mean, Miss Burden? Apparently so,” she agreed.
Biting her lip, Midge said: “I scarce dare to ask you what you had next you. Katerina.”
Katerina smiled. “Well, I cannot describe them as Janey does, but one was very young and very shy, and could not think of anything to say except that London was quite busy for the time of year and that white soup must always please. I think his mother told him to say that, but I did not like to ask,” she owned with a twinkle in the deep blue eyes. “And the other one was very disappointed to learn that I was not one of the Pughs of Wynde Abbey. He brightened on discovering I was staying with Lady Caroline at Wynton House but relapsed into gloom on learning that I was not a relation.”
“A hyphenated one, then,” noted Midge.
“Well, something very like it, yes.”
After a moment Janey said glumly: “Nice Mr Charlie Grey was not even at the rout party.”
“No,” they agreed sadly.
“I’m sorry,” added Janey: “we have been deploring ours, whilst neglecting to ask you about yours, Miss Burden: what—I mean whom—did you have beside you at dinner?”
“One was a Sir and one was a Lord and they were both hyphenated, metaphorically if not literally,” she said sourly. “Why can they never seat me beside—” She broke off, reddening.
“It doesn’t seem to be done,” said Katerina quickly.
“No,” agreed Janey kindly.
“Yes—um—we’d better go to bed, girls; I suppose tomorrow will be more of the same.”
Smiling, they kissed her goodnight and hurried out. Refraining from laughing until they were safely in Janey’s room.
“It is not all bad!” concluded Katerina.
“It can’t be, if it’s making her wish to be next him!”
“Well, so this is Jenny!” said Nessa Weaver-Grange as Jenny, looking shy, came into the Gothick green salon in her new bronzy-green pelisse and bonnet, with its little trim of fox fur. “My, don’t you look smart!”
Lady Caroline performed introductions smoothly, noting with considerable relief that, although more than capable of it, Nessa refrained from either looking or speaking anything that smacked even slightly of innuendo.
Mrs Weaver-Grange and Miss Burden forthwith departed with Jenny in Nessa’s barouche, towards the great treat of the Tower of London (Jenny’s choice).
The Earl came in some ten minutes after they had gone. He asked where they were, so Lady Caroline told him. As he then expressed his annoyance, she explained calmly that Nessa had undoubtedly offered the treat precisely because, while impressing Miss Burden favourably with her own good intentions, it was so unexceptionable that her great-aunt would be unable to veto it. Adding that at least Eloise Stanhope had not been of the party. And that if he himself had been available to drive Millicent out, it would not have happened. And further, that if he had not taken her advice and bought himself a curricle, he had best have one sent up from Maunsleigh.
“I don’t desire to set myself up as a Corinthian!” he said irritably.
“No-one was suggesting you should. It is an acceptable conveyance for a gentleman.”
“Those things at Maunsleigh ain’t,” he said unguardedly.
“Then buy yourself one, Jarvis.”
He sighed.
“And do, pray, visit—I was going to say your tailor. Oblige me, and allow me to ask my nephew, Victor Grey, to recommend you to his tailor.”
“Aunt Caroline, Viccy Grey’s the next thing to a Bond Street beau— Oh, very well.” he said with a sigh.
“Good. And do you wish to receive the Waldgraves?”
“Of course!” he said in amazement. “Don’t tell me Slight showed ’em the door!”
“No such thing. Merely, they left cards.”
“Then pray ask them to dine. And I beg you, do not ask old Julius Foxe-Forsythe or Pussy Vane-Hunter, or any of the more obnoxious of your Grey connections. I include the entire Wigzell family in that category, by the by, ma’am. Likewise the Weaver-Granges.”
“Then whom should you wish me to invite. Jarvis?” she returned with majestic calm.
“Do you seriously wish me—”
Very evidently she did. Groaning, the Earl sat down and scratched out a dinner list. Noting that he would leave it to her to balance the numbers.
It was a sparkling fine, crisp morning, and Mrs Weaver-Grange, Miss Burden and the young ladies, bedecked in the prettiest of autumn bonnets, had set out for a stroll in the Park, the which was not far at all from Blefford Square. Meeting up with the Miss Waldgraves by arrangement.
Mrs Weaver-Grange and Miss Burden, each with one of Nessa’s little fluffy, foxy-coloured dogs on a lead, walked on ahead, and the four young friends were free to discuss the previous evening’s entertainment.
“Well, Amanda?” said Janey on a dry note. “I trust you enjoyed the sophisticated delights of dinner at Wynton House?”
Poor Miss Amanda gulped.
“Janey, do not tease,” said Katerina. “That was Mr Timothy Claveringham, that Lady Caroline had given her.”
The young ladies walked on for a little in silence.
“We did think they’d be better in London,” admitted Portia dolefully.
“Mamma’s connections are all horrid!” burst out Amanda. “And I do not care if Mr Albert Drew be a Gratton-Gordon on his Mamma’s side, he has sweaty hands, and I do not care for plump young men!” –Not a circumlocution in sight, as her friends noted in silent sympathy.
Portia sighed. “Mr Octavius Gratton-Gordon is no better. And he thinks young ladies should read the Bible every evening, and not waltz.”
“I would not have him, then,” advised Janey.
“No, I shall not,” she said, pouting.
The young ladies walked on for a little in silence.
“Who was the pleasant-looking gentleman with the bad limp?” asked Portia eventually.
“If you mean that pleasant-looking gentleman whom Lord Sleyven was monopolising yester evening when you arrived, and whom he continued to monopolise when the gentlemen returned to the drawing-room after dinner, all we can tell you is that he is a Major Renwick, and a former military man,” said Katerina drily.
“We did not manage to get near him, either,” explained Janey redundantly.
“We thought that Lady Caroline Grey would find you some nice ones,” ventured Miss Portia.
“So did we,” admitted Janey sourly.
The young ladies walked on in silence.
… “And did you meet any pleasant persons in the Park?” asked Lady Caroline kindly on the return of Miss Burden with her four young friends.
“We met a lady, Lady Caroline,” admitted Amanda mournfully. “She was most agreeable.”
“A Mrs Stanhope,” explained Midge.
“A Mrs Stanhope?” echoed Lady Caroline without hope. “An older lady?”
“No, I would say she a little more than my own age,” replied Miss Burden with a smile.
“Mrs Everard Stanhope,” stated Lady Caroline flatly.
“Er—why, yes, I think so. Mrs Weaver-Grange called her Eloise. Er—should we not know her, dear Lady Caroline?” said Midge cautiously.
The young ladies brightened, and looked at Lady Caroline almost avidly.
“One cannot avoid knowing her, Millicent,” she said lightly. “I shall see you all in a little, my dears.” She nodded kindly and sailed out.
“Buh-but is she an unfit person for us to know, or not?” faltered Portia.
“One must admit that her Ladyship’s opinion did not appear precisely evident,” said Amanda numbly.
“That,” returned Katerina, smiling very much, “is Lady Caroline’s way! We have got used to it, and I can tell you now that Mrs Everard Stanhope must be totally unsuitable for us to know!”
“Ooh!” gasped Portia, clasping her hands, what time Amanda gulped loudly.
“That’s better, isn’t it?” said Janey in a kind voice.
“Girls, you are being silly,” said Midge feebly. “Lady Caroline has not forbidden us to know Mrs Everard Stanhope.”
“No, for she is far too clever to do any such thing!” said Janey with a laugh.
“That is perfectly correct,” said Miss Burden slowly, looking very thoughtful. “How very interesting... Pray excuse me, I must change out of my walking things.”
“What could she have meant?” demanded Portia ere the door had scarce closed behind her.
“That tone was a trifle odd, I thought,” agreed Amanda on a weak note. “She did not sound like our dearest Miss Burden, at all.”
Katerina glanced uneasily at Janey. It was perfectly plain to her that Miss Burden had realised that if Lady Caroline, in her unique way, had indicated that Mrs Everard Stanhope was not a desirable acquaintance, she must be someone whom Lord Sleyven would very much wish her not to know. Oh, dear!
“Well?” demanded Mrs Camilla Vane-Hunter.
Major Vane-Hunter grinned tolerantly. “Oh—pretty dull, y’know, Aunt Camilla. A parcel of little gals. Sleyven’s fiancée ain’t bad: pretty, y’know. Remarkable hair. Quite witty, too. Vyv G.-G. was quite struck: she’s his type. Bit like the Portuguese Widow.”
“Blowsy,” Mrs Barnabas Vane-Hunter deduced with a frown.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Mamma,” said the Major easily. “Pretty. Lovely skin. Full-blown rose type,” he elaborated, as the two elderly ladies merely gave him annoyed looks.
Mrs Camilla sniffed. “She is a nobody. Still, if Cousin Caroline approves of her, what can one say?”
One could say a good deal, and she had already said most of it, but her sister-in-law merely nodded and her nephew agreed easily: “Oh, quite. Seems very agreeable, mind you. And pretty, y’know? Not tall. Dare say he likes that.”
“And the other young ladies, Lance?” pursued his aunt.
“Well, you’ve met ’em, Aunt Camilla! Like I say, a parcel of little girls. Oh: they had some friends there, what was from the country. Parson’s daughters or some such. Dull stuff.”
His relatives sighed.
“I say, Aunt Camilla, may I go and look at the cats?” he asked on a hopeful note.
“Very well, Lance,” she said heavily. “Run along. –And do not disturb Melissa of Macedon, she has not been well and is on an invalid diet.”
“Oh, absolutely! Poor little thing, eh?” The Major, six feet and two inches of heavy amiability, hurried out, his wide, fair face beaming in anticipation of visiting the pussies.
Mrs Barnabas Vane-Hunter sighed again. “Provincial nobodies.”
Camilla looked at her sideways. “Mm. –I own that I was beginning to feel that if he referred to Miss B. as ‘pretty’ once more, I should scream.”
“Yes,” said the Major’s mother grimly. “Precisely.”
“Well?” said Nessa Weaver-Grange.
Eloise Stanhope shrugged a little. She was a dashing brunette with snapping black eyes who affected a military style of dress, usually in black. Nessa, by contrast, had a mop of strawberry-blonde curls and big grey eyes which she was capable of using to great effect. They made, they were quite aware, a striking pair.
“My dear, on first acquaintance she strikes as clever, a little, and pretty, a little. The hair is remarkable, but on a woman of her height it does not make its effect. What more can one say?”
“Can you support her company, though, Eloise?” said Nessa with a gurgle.
Eloise shrugged. “Well, she is not entirely stupid. But why?”
“In order to annoy Aunt Caroline and, I hope, to infuriate that stick, Sleyven!”
“The gallant Colonel Wynton.” said Eloise Stanhope with a curl of her lip. “You do know he’s the man who saved Bobby’s life out in India?”
Bobby Bon-Dutton was Eloise’s favourite brother. “I hadn’t realised,” said Nessa a trifle limply. “Er—does it signify, though?” she added, rallying.
Eloise smiled slowly. “Well, ça dépend des choses. Do you think she—?”
“No!” said Nessa with a smothered giggle. “Not that! She admits to a preference for older men, mind you.”
“She has that in common with you, then,” returned Eloise, extra-dry. “I suppose I can support her occasional company. Er—if Sleyven is Bobby’s precious Colonel, he’ll know Boy, of course,” she realised.
“All the better!” gasped Nessa with a prolonged burst of giggles.
Eloise raised her brows a trifle, and drawled: “It should enliven the Little Season.”
“Well?” said Mrs Paige.
“Did being taken up by the Wyntons of Maunsleigh come up to your expectations, Walter?” panted Yolanta Renwick breathlessly.
Walter Renwick endeavoured to wither his younger sister with a look, but it did not work: Miss Renwick was unwitherable.
“Well?” repeated Mrs Paige, smiling.
Major Renwick said to his elder sister, pointedly ignoring Yoly: “Colonel Wynton—I should say, Lord Sleyven—appeared very well. Um—well, you know he is not the sort of man to—er—”
“Give anything away,” murmured Samela Paige, nodding.
“Granite-faced,” translated Miss Renwick.
“Y— No!” said Walter, becoming ruffled. “Look, who let her in?” he demanded.
“Forgot to give the butler orders not to admit her,” said Mr Paige.
Walter smiled: the roomy, comfortable, shabby house at Richmond inhabited by the John Paiges had nothing like a butler in it.
Mrs Paige also smiled, but said: “I’m glad to hear he is well. But did he seem happy, Walter?”
Major Renwick rubbed his straight nose. “Hard to say.”
“Granite-faced,” explained Miss Renwick.
“Hush, Yoly,” said Samela, trying not to laugh. “I know he is a difficult man to interpret, and he would not wear his heart on his sleeve, but you knew him for many years in India, after all, Walter. You must have formed an opinion!”
“Men never do,” said Miss Renwick on a dry note.
“That’s a fallacy,” noted Walter. “He did not seem over the moon, but as you say, he is not the man to... He certainly did not strike me as unhappy.”
“Not as granite-faced as the time he found out that the dire Mrs M. was betraying him with anything in a scarlet coat, then,” acknowledged Miss Renwick.
“I really can’t imagine why Pa and Ma didn’t strangle this one at birth,” he noted with distaste.
Grinning a lopsided urchin grin, Miss Renwick promised: “I will be good! But I cannot imagine the terrifying Colonel Wynton engaged to a dab of a country nobody! But perhaps the whole of London has it wrong and she isn’t? Or they aren’t?”
“By the whole of London she means old Lady Jessamine Heyne, and if you value your sanity, Walter, ignore her,” advised Mrs Paige.
“I shall. Oh, hang on: isn’t Lady Jessamine one of the Wyntons?”
“Yes, she’s one of— Well, they cannot be his aunts,” said Mrs Paige, looking slightly disconcerted. “Um—the previous Earl’s aunts, I think.”
“I see! –Hardly the whole of London,” said Waiter witheringly to Yolanta.
“Yes: for though Richmond is ‘so very out of the way’, she receives dispatches—daily dispatches—from the whole of London,” she replied calmly.
Swallowing a grin, Walter conceded: “I’m sure. Officially they are not yet engaged, but that is clearly the intention, as I think you know very well. –Look, the thing is, you females will read too much into it if I say the Colonel didn’t seem as happy as I’d assumed he would.”
“Don’t tell us he has picked on another wrong ’un, Walter!” cried Yoly.
“No, no! Miss Burden is nothing like Mrs Marsh. I suppose she was teasing him.”
“Flirting?” said Miss Renwick in a voice of doom.
“Er—something like it, mm. Encouraging damned Vyv G.-G. You wouldn’t remember him, Yoly, it must be all of twelve years since he was with the regiment.”
“Of course I remember him, he was one of the hopeful suitors!” she said, smiling at her sister. “The very young one with the black curls who used to bring Samela papers of jullerbees and barfees!”
“Which you kindly ate for her,” agreed Walter. “Well, the past twelve years or so haven’t managed to knock any sense into him. Miss Burden was encouraging him to make the usual ass of himself. Him and that idiot Lance Vane-Hunter. –I know you don’t know him, Yoly: he’s in the Guards.”
“Ooh! The Guards!” gasped Miss Renwick, clasping her hands. “Should we salaam when you come through the door, huzzoor?”
“Yes,” said Major Renwick brutally.
Choking slightly, his brother-in-law said: “Well, this does not sound too dreadful, old man.”
“Was it meant to spur the Colonel on?” asked Miss Renwick,
“Help, it would not do so: he is not that kind of man at all!” gasped Mrs Paige.
“No,” agreed Walter. “—No, actually, I don’t think it was,” he admitted, frowning over it. “I had the distinct impression that it was calculated to annoy.”
Regrettably, Miss Renwick collapsed in sniggers, gasping: “Perfect! I wish I could meet her!”
Mrs Paige had to swallow a smile, but she said: “I don’t like the sound of that. His is such an estimable character: I would so like to think he was happy at last.”
Her husband said with a shrewd look: “Of course, Samela, but I doubt he is the type to be happy with a doormat.”
“No, no, he would walk all over a little mouse. It sounds as if he’s met his match in this Miss Burden!” said Miss Renwick eagerly.
Her relatives smiled a little: Yoly, in spite of the sharp mind, the frequent dryness of manner, and the undoubted moments of cynicism, was only twenty years of age. She would have been about eight at the time when an unfledged Vyvyan Gratton-Gordon was wooing Samela Renwick with offerings of sweetmeats.
“Well, let’s hope so,” admitted Walter. “I liked her, you know.” He got up awkwardly, the stiff leg visibly hampering him. “I can’t stay, I’m afraid: an appointment in town.”
John Paige returned from showing him out and said heavily: “He is riding, Yoly: you were right, damn the fellow.”
Miss Renwick grimaced and nodded. “That leg’s still giving him a lot of pain.”
“Yes. Don’t let’s discuss it, Yoly,” said her sister. “Mayhap he will see more of Colonel—Lord Sleyven, and—and it will work out as we’d hoped: he will be encouraged to find a lovely girl of his own and settle down with her in a pleasant country house.”
Mr Paige scratched his head. “Aye, let’s hope so. Well, we ain’t goin’ to find him a nice girl in Richmond,” he noted drily.
“Lady Jessamine’s a widow,” offered Yoly.
“Of eighty-six: yes,” he agreed.
“Yes!” Yoly got up and walked over to plant a kiss on his broad forehead.
“Er—thanks, Yoly,” he said feebly. “What was that for?”
“Just a thank-offering that I got you for a brother-in-law and not a granite-face like Colonel Wynton!”
Samela was smiling at them. But to her husband she confided later: “You know what Walter is. It would be so like him to say that he will not foist himself on Colonel Wynton now that he is an earl!”
Mr Paige winced, but said: “Well, there’s only one thing for it, we’re going to have to convince the fellow that it’s his duty to launch poor old Yoly! I’ll suggest it to him,” he offered nobly, “and you can put it to Yoly.”
“No, thank you, John, for I am a rank coward.”
“Well, in spite of the remarks about granite-faces and so on, she always very much admired and respected Colonel Wynton, didn’t she? Get Walter to trot her along to call on this Miss Burden. On the excuse she can give her the once-over,” he said with a wink.
“Y— Um—that might work. Once,” said Samela pointedly.
“It’ll be a start: get the good ship Yoly launched! We can only hope she won’t then just bob about on the surface, ignorin’ all the fish.”
Mrs Paige then beating him unmercifully with a cushion, conversation lapsed.
Next chapter:
https://thepatchworkparasol.blogspot.com/2022/11/cotillion.html
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