23
Revolving In The Figures
Tonkins having at long last delivered the least decrepit of the Maunsleigh curricles, Lord Sleyven was at long last enabled to invite Miss Burden to drive out with him, tête-à-tête. Midge had guessed that this might be his fell intent in sending for the curricle, so she was prepared.
“That would be delightful, my Lord,”—eyes downcast—“but alas, not possible, I fear, for some days.”—A demure look from under the lashes, the same then being quickly relowered.
“When?” he demanded baldly.
“Oh! Well…” Midge allowed herself to go into a terrific flutter. Terrific. In which the lashes duly played their part. Emerging from it to promise his Lordship next Tuesday. If the weather was not too inclement.
The weather was, indeed, becoming colder and damper. His Lordship ground his teeth somewhat.
“I could not possibly break off all these prior engagements.”
“Or even one,” he said through the teeth.
“No, well, you see, there is your cousin, Lady Julia Morphett’s daughter, Mrs Percy Knighton, with her cousin, Mrs Dougherty: if I were to put them off it would offend— And then, on the Monday, I am most particularly promised to Mrs Moresby, it would not do to— After she has been so kind, giving me that delightful tippet and mu—”
“Yes!”
“—muff. Though possibly I could tell Major Vane-Hunter... But that might offend Lady Caroline’s Cousin Camilla.”
“Yes, so you claim!” he said impatiently. “Pray do not reiterate the details, even my poor brain has grasped that your social calendar is entirely filled for the next fortnight!”
“There is the Friday, but you did promise we could attend the parade,” said Midge on a wistful note.
“Er—oh. Vyv’s damned parade: yes,” he said with a sigh.
“I suppose we could merely drive out instead,” said Midge wistfully.
“No, a parade would be so much more exciting,” returned the Earl grimly.
“Oh, exactly!” she cried, clapping her hands. “And Thursday is the day we go to Greenwich, of course.”
“Mm.”
“If you are too busy after all—”
“Miss Burden, I am not too busy, and we shall visit the Observatory as promised. If it pours, I am not responsible.”
“What if it pours and Lady Caroline says we may not go?”
“Then we shall go ANOTHER DAY!” he shouted.
“Yes, thank you so much, sir. I see I am taking up your valuable time, so I will go,” said Midge quickly, going.
Left abruptly alone in his green salon, his Lordship stared blankly at the closed door. He had not meant— She was the most infuriating woman that ever walked!
Thursday duly arrived. It was an overcast, dull day, but not actually raining. Miss Burden thought they had best take the carriage. Jarvis could not but agree that it would be the sensible course. And he had not really thought that Aunt Caroline would allow him to take Miss Burden alone to Greenwich. On the other hand, he had not thought that Miss Burden might have invited other persons to accompany them.
On his suggesting politely that they might leave, Miss Burden replied: “Oh, but they are not here, yet!”
“Who?”
“The other gentlemen, of course.”
“Miss Burden, disabuse your mind of the conception that I am prepared to escort yourself and a party of fribbles to Greenwich,” he said tightly.
“Can one disabuse a mind of a conception, precisely? Well, no matter!” she said gaily. “The thing is, sir, they are not for me!”
“They will be for Aunt Caroline: I see.”
“No!” she said with a startled giggle. Lady Caroline remained unmoved. Swallowing, Midge said: “I do beg your pardon, dear ma’am. Um—well, no, Lord Sleyven, I asked Captain Cornwallis, because although I think he is much too old and not entirely suitable for Katerina, I think the poor man deserves a chance with her. And of course he is a Naval gentleman: he will be able to tell us all about the meridiums and things!”
“Miss Burden, I have been carefully refraining from saying this, because I do understand that algebra and associated subjects are not your forte—”
“I know: I’ve got the word wrong, haven’t I?” she said sunnily. “Yes: dear Admiral Dauntry mentioned it, and so did Micky F—I mean Captain Foxe-Forsythe; though Commodore Hallett did not, though I could see him thinking it: do you not think he is the sweetest man?”
“No.”
“Oh. Well, perhaps he does not show that side of his nature to other gentlem—”
“Miss Burden, whom have you INVITED?” he shouted.
Midge opened her eyes very wide. “I thought I said?”
His nostrils flared. “Not to me.”
“Oh. Er—dear sir, pray forgive me for mentioning this, and of course as I have no town bronze as yet I really ought not to presume to criticise you: but I think that Lady Caroline does not care for you to shout in her presence.”
“That is very true, Millicent,” said that lady with complete calm. “While I thank you, I must beg you to have pity on him: he is a mere man.”
“Yes!” said Midge with a trill of laughter worthy, at the least, of a Lady Viola Bennington. “I do apologise for teasing you, dear sir!”
The Earl’s face was very red. He gave her a baffled look.
“Oops!” said Midge gaily. “Now you are piqued and repiqued! Such was not my intention, I promise! I have invited Captain Cornwallis for Katerina, and pleasant young Mr Harry Morphett, for I think he admires Janey, and your friend Major Renwick and his little sister.”
“And presumably Katerina and Janey: I see. Is Lattersby to be of the party?”
“I am not perfectly sure: he may wish to escort the girls. I find him such a pleasant man: I cannot understand why you do not care for him, Lord Sleyven.”
“You are mistaken,” he said stiffly.
“Well, he is a very different type from yourself, of course.”
The Earl took a deep breath. He might have replied to this tremendously irritating statement, though at the precise second he could not have said what he might have replied, but before he could open his mouth Slight announced Major and Miss Renwick.
Little Yolanta Renwick came in looking very shy: Jarvis was glad to see Miss Burden speak kindly to her. He had begun to wonder—not if he was mistaken in her character, no: but if London had gone to her head, rather.
As it remained fine, though still overcast, the ladies voted to commence the visit by strolling in the grounds to appreciate the delightful architecture of Greenwich to the full. Jarvis was pleased to see that Janey very quickly made friends with little Miss Renwick, but a trifle disconcerted to note that, as the two strolled along with Harry Morphett and Major Renwick, it seemed to be Walter Renwick who was putting forward his best efforts to please Miss Lattersby. Captain Cornwallis, to no-one’s surprise, had possessed himself of Miss Bottomley-Pugh’s arm and was now behaving rather like a dog with a bone over it. As to the lovely Katerina herself... Jarvis could not for the life of him tell whether she favoured poor old Leonard or not. She was pleasant to him, but then, her good manners were such that he knew she would not have been otherwise; but as to whether she favoured him above the score of other fellows he’d seen enjoying her company over the past weeks...
Eventually he was driven to say, leading Miss Burden a little aside: “Miss Burden, if you would be so kind as to enlighten a mere male whose perceptions do not partake of the keenness of those of you ladies—”
“Um, yes?” said Midge, licking her lips nervously and wondering what was coming next.
“Er, well, in the first instance, does it appear to you that Walter Renwick rather admires little Janey?”
“Um—yes. Do you disapprove?”
“I? Lord, no, he is the most decent fellow in the world!”
“Yes. I didn’t mean that.”
“Oh. Er... well, Walter is a serious sort of fellow, Miss Burden,” he said on a dubious note.
“Yes,” Midge allowed, eyeing the quartet nervously. He did not appear precisely serious at this moment: he was laughing immoderately, and Janey was giggling and shaking her very fetching new bonnet at him. However, she perfectly took the Earl’s point. After a moment she said: “Was there a second instance?”
“Mm? Oh: yes.”
“I would doubt that Mr Harry is serious.”
“No, I didn’t mean that. Well, so would I doubt it, he is destined to marry money, and Sir Derek Morphett has already a squint-eyed, pug-nosed heiress picked out for him. –No: I would like your opinion as to whether Katerina Bottomley-Pugh cares anything for Leonard Cornwallis.”
Midge swallowed. “I see. Um—although I know her quite well, she is a very self-possessed person, who does not display her true feelings easily.”
“So I had gathered: mm.”
“And she is also highly intelligent,” said Midge uneasily.
“Yes. Well, Leonard is not a dullard, but he does not aspire to wit.”
“I don’t think she wants that.”
“Then possibly that is a hopeful sign. You have not said what you think,” he murmured.
“No,” agreed Midge honestly: “for I do not know what to think. I am sure she likes him, and I am sure she was pleased to find he was in London. But I cannot say if it goes deeper, with her. Do you think it does, with him?”
“I would say so, yes. He does not bear the appearance of a man enjoying a light flirtation. And I am very sure he would not allow himself to pay attentions to a lady as young as Miss Bottomley-Pugh if he were not serious.”
“No, well, I’m glad to hear that,” said Midge with a little sigh.
The Earl pressed her hand closer into his side. “Yes.”
They strolled on peacefully for a little. He was almost beginning to think that everything was all right between them after all, and to wonder if he might suggest that they make the engagement official, when damned Lattersby came up, all smiles, to say that Lady Caroline had “ordered the brigade” indoors. Miss Burden, giggling very much, immediately saluted him, and Major Lattersby saluted back: so that was that.
The day of Captain Lord Vyvyan Gratton-Gordon’s parade dawned to a stiff wind with much high cloud, but unfortunately no driving floods of rain or ten-foot drifts of snow. Miss Burden appeared early in the breakfast room with a shining morning face. “Good morning, Lord Sleyven: is it not exciting?” She took a roll, beaming at him.
“Good morning. I am glad your opinion of the Wynton House kitchens’ offerings has risen so much, Miss Burden.”
“What? No! –I mean, the hot rolls are always splendid, of course,” said Miss Burden, directing the beam at the Wynton House butler, who was, his Lordship had not asked why, in personal attendance on the breakfast table this morning.
Slight immediately said: “Thank you, Miss Burden: I shall inform the chef, if I may.” And handed her the butter which Jarvis had just been about to offer her.
Miss Burden bit hungrily into a roll and said, chewing and swallowing: “I meant the parade, of course. Will they all be in their best uniforms?”
“Er... It is not actually possible to answer that question, ma’am,” he said limply.
“But surely you must know, when your soldiers went on parade, whether you ordered them to put on their best uniforms, or not!” she cried.
“It’s the definition of ‘best’, Miss Burden,” he murmured. “More coff—” He broke off: Slight had already noticed she had drained her cup, and was refilling it. Jarvis watched silently: apparently the Wynton House butler was aware that what Miss Burden considered morning coffee consisted of a quarter of a cup of the usual fluid with the drinking vessel topped up with warm milk.
“Well, ‘best’!” she said, smiling. “What the soldiers wear for best!”
“Was not your late brother in the Army?”
“Yes. He was an officer, though,” she said, buttering another roll.
Jarvis gave up. He was almost sure the whole thing was a leg-pull. “Let us just say that they will most certainly be in their best uniforms, Miss Burden, or Vyv G.-G. and his ilk will know the reason why.”
Miss Burden nodded over the roll, swallowed and said: “I cannot imagine him hauling a soldier over the coals for anything.”
There had been a discernible emphasis on the “him”: he eyed her drily. “Whereas you can imagine me?”
“Well, yes, for you are always doing it,” said his almost-fiancée blithely. She reached for the coffee-pot but Slight was before her.
“Always— Slight, that will be all, thank you very much: we can manage.” He waited until the butler, looking sadder than in Jarvis’s opinion a Wynton House butler had any right to allow himself to look, had bowed himself out, and said: “What the Devil do you mean, I am always doing it? Whom have I recently hauled over the coals?”
Miss Burden waved her roll. “Well, me, mostly, I suppose.”
“Miss Burden, if I was not ninety per cent sure that that remark, nay, every word that has passed your lips this morning, was calculated to infuriate me, I should allow myself to become very angry indeed,” said Jarvis levelly.
“See?” she replied.
He reddened. After a moment he said: “I won’t say, you are still doing it. I will say, Do you expect romantic declarations at breakfast?”
Miss Burden held her head a little on one side. “It would be a pleasant change.”
“Very well!” said Jarvis loudly: “I’ll get down on my damned knees and say: ‘My adored angel, I’m delighted that you find the prospect of standing in an icy east wind for two hours watchin’ Vyv G.-G. in his best breeches marching his men up and down in their best breeches an exciting prospect, and I can conceive of no greater bliss than to be allowed to do so by your side, my precious—’ Damn! Good morning, Aunt Caroline.”
“If that was a declaration, Jarvis, pray do not let me interrupt it,” her Ladyship replied on a dry note.
“No, no!” said Midge with a giggle: “I think it was more like an incipient quarrel! Please, come and sit here, Lady Caroline. Are you coming to see the parade?”
“Not in an icy east wind, Millicent, no. You may take her in the barouche, Jarvis.”
“I thought the curricle,” he said feebly: very apparently Aunt Caroline had overheard every word of that speech.
“I think the barouche; you may have the hood up, if the wind worsens. And make sure Millicent tucks the fur rug round her.”
“I am not a delicate flower, dear ma’am: I’m used to the country life!” said Midge merrily.
“Yes. But sitting in a barouche watching Vyvyan G.-G. and his men is not a particularly active way to spend a morning. –You must bring her home directly it is over, Jarvis. I have instructed the kitchens to have hot soup in readiness for you both. And that reminds me, how is that hip?”
Midge looked from one to the other of them blankly as the Earl replied on an uncomfortable note: “I do not notice it, thank you, Aunt,” and the old lady sniffed, very slightly. “Hip?” she said weakly.
“It’s nothing. I broke it years ago.”
“It nags him in the cold, damp weather. Our English winters are certainly doing it no good,” said Lady Caroline.
“I said, it’s nothing, and I do not notice it,” he repeated irritably.
Midge was very red. He had never breathed a word of it to her. After a moment she said in a low voice: “I don’t need to go to this silly parade.”
Jarvis sighed. “Now look what you’ve done!” he said to his relative. “Miss Burden, I am not a frail invalid, the hip is not bothering me, and sitting in a barouche under a fur rug will most certainly do it no harm.”
“Very well, if you’re sure. But it must definitely be the barouche, not that draughty curricle. –Why are men so silly about these things?” she said to Lady Caroline with an exasperated sigh.
“I have no notion why, Millicent, though I have observed that it is so. May I have the butter, my dear? Thank you.”
Jarvis eyed them uncertainly. After a moment he said: “Possibly it has something to do with our besotted parents cooing from the moment we are born, ‘What a fine, stout boy!’”
Abruptly Midge’s eyes filled with tears. She got up. “Yes,” she said in a stifled voice. “Pruh-pray excuse—” She rushed out.
There was a short silence. Then Jarvis’s relative remarked placidly: “I did not grasp the import of what you said, my dear, but I did grasp that that is by no means an ill omen for you.”
“Do you think so?” he said limply.
Lady Caroline nodded.
“She—she has been impossible this morning,” he said unsteadily.
“Has she? I wonder if she would say the same of you? Did you say something calculated to disappoint her, or crush her?”
“No, I— Damn,” he muttered, biting his lip.
Lady Caroline sipped coffee, looking majestically unmoved. “In some ways, she is very young for her age.”
The Earl reddened, and crumbled a roll into very small fragments, not speaking.
“She mentioned,” said Lady Caroline, after a certain period had passed and he had not looked up from his plate. “that she has not seen a parade since her brother first joined, which I think was when she was about six years old.”
He swallowed.
“Try to be kind, Jarvis,” she said with a little sigh.
“Yes,” he said, clenching his fists, his eyes filling with tears.
Lady Caroline did not appear to notice this unmanly behaviour. But she did not, although the coffee-pot was empty, ring to have it refilled.
“But it’s enormous!” gasped Miss Burden, leaning eagerly from the barouche.
Jarvis put a restraining hand lightly on her arm. “What, Vyv’s helmet?”
“No! Yes!” she choked. “Are they not all splendidly grand? Especially those ones with the breastplates! And look at the man with the drum! –No, I meant the—the display. There must be over an hundred men!”
“Yes: well over. Didn’t Vyv explain?”
“We-ell... I think he did, but I did not perfectly understand. Um—I mean,” said Midge in a sheepish voice, “I thought it would be like the Changing of the Guard. Is—is this a whole regiment, then, Lord Sleyven?”
“Er—no. Look—” He edged forward a little and began to explain the different uniforms, and how to tell a heavy dragoon from an hussar or light dragoon—yes, light cavalry, Miss Burden—and so forth.
“Yes,” said Midge with a deep sigh. “I begin to see the fascination of it all.”
He looked down at her a little uncertainly, but her face was turned towards the parade, and he could not see much except bonnet. “Do you?” he murmured.
“Yes. Though I disapprove deeply of war,” said Midge, forgetting her rôle.
“Er—you would prefer Boney to have crossed the Channel and occupied us, perhaps?”
“No, I think it was wrong in him to wish to wage war.”
“I see,” said his Lordship feebly.
“But I see the—the glory, now. Or some of it. Have you read Henry V?” she asked abruptly.
“Er—certainly.”
“I was used to think it was overblown rhodomontade. The only parts of which I approved were those lines which describe the waste and pity of war.”
They watched silently as some dragoons jingled past.
“Lord Sleyven, I did not imagine those lines, but—but the play extols the glory of battle for one’s country so—so vividly. How can such opposed attitudes co-exist in the one work?”
“I cannot say how. The fact that they do—alongside such a true depiction of the scoundrelly, unworthy, and entirely human rag, tag and bobtail who form the armies who wage the battles for the glory of one’s country—must surely confirm the opinion that Shakespeare was our greatest literary genius.”
“That is so right!” she said, turning to him with shining eyes.
“I think he is generally acknowledged to be so,” he murmured.
“No, no: what you said about the men! –They were all so cross, in the village, when His Grace of Wellington’s phrase became known: ‘an infamous army’. I was, myself. But—but now I realise,” said Midge in a shaken voice, “that he was right.”
“I should think meeting Hutton would alone have indicated that to you, Miss Burden: it did not need Shakespeare, surely?”
“It was not Shakespeare: it was what you said,” she said simply.
He flushed. “I’m glad.”
After a few moments Midge said: “Have you felt it?”
“‘God for Harry, England and St George’? Certainly. And the fear. And besides, what I can only honestly describe as bloodlust. And which I pray you may never know as long as you live, Miss Burden.”
Midge looked up at him uncertainly. His lips were compressed, and the nostrils a little flared. He looked frighteningly grim. “Duh-do you mean you wished to kill your opponents?” she faltered.
“Mm. Goes with the glory,” he said, grimacing. “Er—never mind. Forget it. We are not at war, now. Enjoy your parade. Look: you were asking me about the Greys: here they come.”
Midge watched them, frowning. “Do all soldiers feel that?”
“I don’t know. Not all, I think. But many who have done so would not consider it a cause for self-disgust.” He shrugged slightly. “And I am sure none of them would speak of it to a lady.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! I’m not—” Midge broke off, belatedly remembering she was supposed to be Millicent, and not herself, as of this moment.
Jarvis swallowed. He edged even closer to her, slid his arm around her waist, and gripped her fiercely. “No. I’m glad,” he said hoarsely.
After quite some time Miss Burden, whose mouth was now trembling, managed to say: “I don’t think you ought to do that, sir.”
“No,” he agreed vaguely, not releasing her.
After another few moments she hissed in tones of pure horror: “Oh, help! Lord Sleyven, please release me, and please do it as inconspicuously as possible, because that military person opposite us is not another soldier, it is the Black Brunswicker!”
“Er—oh, good God!” he said with a choke of laughter. “So it is. The damned woman has the cheek of the Devil and the hide of a water-buffalo!”
“Yes. And a malicious tongue,” said Midge feebly—he still had not released her. “So—so please—”
“Mm? Oh. No, Miss Burden,” he said with an odd inflection in his voice: “it will do Mrs Everard Stanhope no harm at all to see my arm around you.”
“Um—don’t you mean, it will do me no harm to be seen thus?”
“What? Oh!” he said with a little laugh “Yes, of course I do, my dear Miss Burden!”
Midge was silent, her cheeks burning.
After a few moments there was a gap in the defile; Mrs Everard Stanhope was seen to glance across the thoroughfare. Miss Burden waved, and was very puzzled to see the Black Brunswicker—with, if she did not mistake at this distance, a very wry look on her face—direct a laconic salute at their barouche.
“What—Oh!” she gasped, looking up at him in horror: “you’re saluting her!”
“Mm. Though she,” he said, again with that wry inflection in his voice, “saluted first.”
“You are right: she does have the cheek of the Devil,” said Miss Burden in awe.
His Lordship did not think it was altogether that, in this instance: but he agreed mildly. And did not point out that today was, surely, the day that Eloise Stanhope and Nessa Weaver-Grange were supposed to be entertaining guests at The Willows?
The parade ended with yet another band, and what with the noise and the excitement, it was not until some time after it had passed that Miss Burden looked across the way and noticed: “Oh, she has gone.”
“Good,” he said brutally. “Now, I have my orders: we are to go straight home, and you are to drink hot soup.”
“I scarce dare to correct the Colonel,” said Midge with a flustered laugh—for the creature had still his arm around her waist—“but I think the orders were that we were both to drink soup!”
“Aye. –Home, Perkins, when you can get out of this crush!” he ordered cheerfully.
Miss Burden did not know whether she was relieved or not, when he then released her waist, and tucked the rug warmly round her. At least, of course she was relieved, what was she thinking of? Her cheeks burned: she did not look at him.
The crush abated slowly: the barouche edged along at a snail’s pace. After some time she said faintly: “You must have your fair share of the rug.”
“Well—thank you. My hands are cold,” he admitted, smiling.
She attempted to spread the rug across his knees: he laughed, and took it from her, spreading it over them both, the which necessitated his edging up very close again. And put both hands under the said rug and seized both of hers.
“Oh!” said Midge.
“I’d kiss you here and now, chota memsahib,” said Jarvis conversationally, “were it not for the fact that it would shock Perkins’ sensibilities.”
Miss Burden found she was incapable of speech. Though the creature ought to be reproved most severely.
They returned to the house with the lady quite silent, and his Lordship’s hands clasped tightly over hers under the rug.
The soup had barely passed their gullets before damned Vyv G.-G. was announced, but Jarvis by this time scarcely cared. Vyv was still in his regimentals and Miss Burden informed him he looked “lovely”, but take it for all in all, she could have told the fellow he was Adonis in person and Jarvis would scarce have cared.
The House was sitting that night: Midge did not see him at all after the ladies rose from the dinner table. She did not know whether to be glad or sorry. –No, she was glad, of course! Well, sorry that she was afforded no further opportunities for tormenting him, in the persona of “Millicent.” Oh, dear, and she had not asked him if the hip had felt the chill while they were watching all those stupid soldiers—the which was, of course, all to the good, for he would think her a silly and uncaring featherbrain!
Miss Burden fell asleep very late, having listened in vain for his tread on the stairs, with her round face wearing a cross, defiant expression which could only have been translated into words as “So there!”
Lady Jessamine Heyne poured tea. Lady Jessamine was a very elderly lady, undoubtedly in her eighties, but although she was slightly deaf her mind, very clearly, was as sharp as her sister Caroline’s. She was much shorter than her commanding sister, and very thin, presenting the appearance of one whom a puff of wind would blow away. Unfortunately there were no puffs of wind in her formal but tasteful sitting-room at Richmond.
She had already remarked how like “Jarvis” was to his father’s late cousin, the third earl: that was only to be expected, all of the Wynton relatives had done so. Not all had added, as Lady Jessamine did: “But it is to be hoped that there is less resemblance in character.”
“He was upright enough,” murmured Lady Caroline.
“Too upright: that stiffness of his was merely an unthinking habit, owing everything to his conception of his consequence and none to any true realisation of his duty to his lands, his people, or his family!” her sister retorted smartly.
“Jessamine, let us not go over old ground,” murmured Lady Caroline.
“The family fortunes have never recovered from his selling Wynton Manor!” she snapped.
“But I thought—” Midge broke off.
“Yes, Millicent?” said Lady Jessamine courteously, inclining her lace-capped little old head in her direction.
Midge quailed. “I beg your pardon, Lady Jessamine. I was going to say that I had had the impression that the—the Wynton fortunes were—um—”
“Large. So they are,” said Jarvis quickly. “Lady Jessamine is judging them by the standards of another day, I fear.”
“Nonsense,” said the old lady, frowning. “They may be large to you, I do not deny it: but in my father’s day, we could have built ten Castle Howards, and not noticed it.”
Miss Burden was looking bewildered: Lady Caroline said calmly: “There was some scheme that our father would advance a sum to aid in the completion of Castle Howard, but rather fortunately, nothing came of it.”
“Complete a castle?” faltered Midge.
“It is,” said Lady Jessamine with satisfaction, “the most hideously spurious pile one could possibly imagine. Which possibly comes of having a playwright design it. I will say nothing of the lack of taste in the choice of the name.”
“It is said there was once a castle on the site,” murmured her sister.
Lady Jessamine snorted.
“I think that takes the Howards off with their cloaks over their faces,” murmured Jarvis, trying not to laugh at the bewildered expression on his almost-fiancée’s face. And reflecting that it was just as well, not to say completely understandable, that Aunt Caroline had not hurried them out to Richmond to visit her sister on their first reaching London.
“Yes,” said Midge faintly.
“But you may rest assured that the Wynton fortunes are not only large, in today’s terms, but secure,” he murmured. “I will have no trouble in providing for you.”
“Y—No!” gasped Midge, turning purple. “I wasn’t thinking that!”
“Of course she was not, Jarvis: I am surprised at you,” Lady Jessamine reproved him.
“Er—I beg your pardon, Miss Burden,” said the Earl limply.
“No, that’s quite all right,” replied Midge lamely, avoiding everyone’s eyes.
Lady Jessamine then handed a plate of small sandwiches and said: “Judith writes that nothing more has been heard of the Marsh female.”
“No,” agreed Lady Caroline.
“Well, do not leave it at that, Caroline! Was the fellow an impostor?”
“Well, yes. Corinna and Judith have seen him on the stage; did she not write that?”
“Certainly she wrote it, my dear, and she seemed convinced of it; but I am asking you. For,” said Lady Jessamine, picking up her teacup: “I incline to the opinion that she may have been influenced by wishful thinking.”
“Not in this instance. What delicious sandwiches, my dear.”
Her sister appeared not to have heard this last remark, let alone to have grasped that it was intended to indicate that Lady Caroline wished the other subject not to be pursued; and said: “Julia is predicting there will be a law suit.”
“Julia would,” said Lady Julia Morphett’s other aunt with a slight shrug.
“There could be some difficulty in launching a law suit from Italy,” said the Earl calmly. “May we discontinue the topic, Lady Jessamine? I fear it is upsetting Miss Burden.”
“Nonsense, Jarvis. Millicent is not a child. And pray address me as ‘Aunt Jessamine’, if you would.”
He took a deep breath. “Thank you; you are very kind, Aunt Jessamine; but I think Miss Burden—”
“I assure you I do not mind, Lord Sleyven,” said Midge grimly. “I believe it is perfectly true that the so-called prince was an actor, Lady Jessamine, for Captain Cornwallis mentioned to me that he also recognised him.”
“Extraordinary, is it not?” said Lady Jessamine, freshening the Earl’s cup. “What can the fellow have hoped to gain by such a masquerade?”
“Mrs M.’s fortune, presumably,” said Lady Caroline drily.
“But then, why give it up at the last moment?”
Lady Caroline shrugged, very slightly. “One collects that the most favoured theory is that his nerve failed him. But possibly her brother discovered the imposture at the last moment and warned the fellow off.”
“But—” Midge broke off.
“Yes, my dear?” said Lady Jessamine.
“Um—well, it is possible, certainly. But in that case, Major Harrod must be a very good actor himself: for my brother-in-law happened to be outside the cathedral at the time, and—and from his report of Major Harrod’s actions, one would certainly have said that he was as much taken by surprise as anyone.”
Expressing great interest, Lady Jessamine urged her for details. Midge found herself reporting what Colonel Langford had said.
“Harrod could not put on a performance like that to save his life,” concluded the Earl on a sour note.
“No? If Mrs M.’s temper be all that it is reported to be, perhaps he conceived that his life was in question,” said Lady Jessamine, very dry indeed. “It is a pity you cannot get the child away from the woman.”
“I have no legal grounds. Michael Marsh recognised her as his,” replied Jarvis grimly.
“Make the creature an offer: buy the child, if you want her,” said his terrible Aunt Jessamine with a shrug.
Jarvis found that Miss Burden was looking at him eagerly. “Out of that diminished Wynton fortune? Mm. Well, it is an idea, Aunt Jessamine, certainly: but apart from the impossibility of explaining it all to little Jenny in a way that would not hurt her, Kitty Marsh would but have to get an inkling that it is something that I desire very much, to dig her toes in over it until her dying day.”
Miss Burden’s face had fallen. “Oh, dear,” she said.
“Added to which,” noted Lady Caroline, “the female is as rich as Croesus, Jessamine: Michael Marsh was a gazetted nabob, and half the fortune came to her outright. Most unfortunately, she has no need of Jarvis’s money.”
“Could we offer her something else?” said Midge eagerly.
She found that the Wyntons were all three looking at her kindly. Lord Sleyven, indeed, had an expression of pathetic gratitude upon his normally coldly impassive face. Midge went pink, and smiled weakly at him. There was no possible way of explaining that she had let herself get carried away by the topic without pausing to reflect whether Millicent should or shouldn’t, or that, whether or no Jenny came to live with him in his house, she herself had no intention of doing so, or— Oh, dear.
... “Well, Miss Burden? How did you find Lady Jessamine Heyne?” asked Yoly Renwick with a twinkle in her clever brown eyes, some half an eternity later.
Miss Renwick having taken her out for a little stroll in the fresh air, Midge was able to reply frankly: “Insupportable! She looks so tiny and frail, but she is so—”
“Dreadful: yes!” said Yoly, nodding her curly head. “She does not care what she says, I am afraid. She has told Samela to her face that dearest John is ‘nothing very much’ and that a Renwick should have done better for herself. Oh, yes!” she said, as Miss Burden looked at her in horror. “Well, you see, as well as not caring what she says, Lady Jessamine has very high standards!” she said with a giggle.
Midge nodded numbly.
“I shall not press you for details; I perceive that it must have been truly terrible,” said Yoly kindly, hugging her arm.
To her horror, Midge found that her eyes had filled with tears. “Not—not really,” she whispered.
“Oh, the old beast!” cried the sympathetic Miss Renwick, leading her to a rustic bench and pressing her down tenderly onto it. “Sit here, Miss Burden: and please, ignore every word the horrid old hag said!”
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t that, exactly,” said Midge, blowing her nose hard. “It was just that he—he has a duh-daughter, you see, and—and— Oh, dear. I hadn’t realised how much he wanted to have her to live with him, and—and the old lady raked it all up... I’m sorry, Miss Renwick. I would tell you the details, but the story is not mine to tell,” she said with a wan smile.
“Um—well, in the first place, I would be very gratified if you would call me Yoly, as my family do,” said Yoly, pinkening, “and—um—in the second place, I think I had best tell you that we were with the regiment for so long that we know all about the Marsh creature and little Jenny baba.”
“Oh,” said Midge limply.
“Well, the whole of the regiment knew,” Yoly explained apologetically.
“Mm,” she said, blowing her nose again. “I am glad; now I can talk of it. The thing is, Yoly,” she said, her eyes filling again, “the Wyntons do not scruple to speak of it before me!”
“Unendingly, if I know old Lady Jessamine: yes,” said Yoly Renwick grimly. “Well, I suppose that is because they are very grand, you know, and such things are quite commonplace, in the great families.”
Midge blew her nose again. “Yes.”
“But on the other hand,” said Yoly with determined cheerfulness, “it must indicate that they have truly accepted you into their circle, do you not think? Rather than freezing you out; and I must admit that Samela and I both thought that the frightful old creature might!”
“Um—yes. I suppose you’re right. She was really very cordial. Kind, even, within her lights.”
Yoly nodded hard. “Actually, we thought that she might try to freeze both of you. You and the Colonel,” she explained.
“The C— Oh,” said Midge, turning puce. “Him. Yes. Um, no, actually, I think she likes him. She told him to call her Aunt, and she is not a true aunt at all.”
“Good gracious, did she really? Before she met him she told Samela that he was a parvenu and his mother was a nobody! It must be his charm,” she decided. “He had scores of ladies sighing over him in India. Samela says it is in part the unexpectedness of his smile. And also, of course, he is not afraid of anybody: the old thing likes that.”
Midge nodded numbly.
“She must like masterful men!” decided Yoly. “She was a great belle in her day, though you wouldn’t think it now, would you?”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes! Perhaps not precisely beautiful, but fascinating, I am told. Do you know her niece, Lady Frayn? Very like her, they say.”
After a moment Midge said slowly: “So that is what the Lady Frayns of the world become in their old age.”
Yoly collapsed in giggles, nodding frightfully. “So you don’t like her, either!” she beamed, squeezing Miss Burden’s hand.
“Lady Frayn? Well, she is very charming.”
“We hate her,” confided Yoly. “She made a dead set at Walter when she and that decrepit old husband of hers were in India, and had him dancing on a string for years. Well, him and half a dozen others. But poor Waiter, his is such a serious nature: he really felt deeply for her. However, we think he may be over her at last,” she added on a more cautious note.
“I am glad. It’s really quite easy to see that sort of spoilt charm, used to having everything its own way, turning into a Lady Jessamine in later life, is it not? It would be very sad to see your brother tied up to that.”
Miss Renwick beamed, nodded, and forthwith imparted a terrific lot of information about “Colonel Wynton” and India days. Midge listened avidly.
It was not until quite some time later that evening, when Lord Sleyven had disappeared into the card room with a cluster of older gentlemen to play whist and she herself was at the mercy of an intimidating Mrs Potter and Mrs Potter’s friend, a majestic Mrs Compton, equally intimidating, being quizzed as to her antecedents, connections, and expectations, that she recalled that she was really not in the least interested in anything he might have said or done in India, or how admirable his character was, or how splendid a leader of men he had been, or how truly kind he had been to the Renwicks when Walter had the cholera, or— Anything. So there!
Tuesday dawned wet and windy. Jarvis was downstairs betimes, largely because he had slept very little and woken very early. He dawdled over his breakfast and was eventually rewarded by the appearance of Miss Burden, looking very fetching in a dark green woollen gown adorned with a little goffered frill of white at the neck and a single knot of lilac ribbon just at the base of the throat. He rose politely, silently determining that he would purchase her a pretty cameo brooch to wear in place of trifling bows of ribbon, and be damned to Aunt Caroline’s opinion!
“Thank you, George. How are you feeling this morning?” said Miss Burden, smiling at the footman who had sprung forward to hold a chair for her before Jarvis could.
“Very much better, thank you, Miss Burden,” said George, one eye on his master.
“Oh, good!” she beamed.
“George, just fetch a fresh pot of coffee, if you would, and then leave us to serve ourselves,” said Jarvis quickly.
“Certainly, my Lord.”
“What was wrong with him?” he demanded, as the door closed behind the man.
“He had twisted his ankle quite badly, poor boy: did you not notice he was off duty for a couple of days? And then he was still limping badly, so I told him to try cold compresses.”
“I see.”
“But he didn’t know precisely how, so I just slipped upstairs and showed him,” said Miss Burden sunnily, taking a roll.
“You penetrated to the fastnesses of the servants’ quarters?”
“Yes, of course. George, Frederick and James all share a room, and I was glad to see that it is not too poky, and Mrs Sharp assures me they are allowed to have a fire whenever the weather is unpleasant.”
Jarvis had been about to pass her the butter. His hand remained suspended over the dish. “Do I gather that you feared that Mrs Sharp and I between us had ordered that my menservants should freeze all winter?”
“Not precisely. But sometimes in a big house the master is not aware of exactly what is going on. And then, when there is a butler, he often will rule the menservants with a rod of iron, and the housekeeper may be the best woman in the world but unable to improve their lot. So I took the opportunity to check,” said Miss Burden simply.
“I do trust you have concluded that Slight is not a monster and that Mrs Sharp is at one with him over allowing the menservants fires!”
“Yes. They are both good people. Mrs Sharp was telling me she was formerly assistant housekeeper at Blefford House, and that although it was excellent training, the former Countess was a hard woman to work for, and would pinch every penny when it came to things like fires and candles for the servants.”
“Yes: it is generally acknowledged that the Dowager Lady Blefford has as mean a character as the Dowager Lady Hubbel and even colder a manner.”
Midge nodded. “But the present Lady Blefford is a lovely person: Mrs Sharp said they all cried when she called them together after the old Earl died and said that the rule of no fires after the first of April would cease immediately. –The women servants, I mean, not the men!” she said with a smile. “Lord Sleyven, please may I have the butter?”
“Oh—I beg your pardon.” He watched as she buttered her roll. “This rule of no fires: I collect you mean here in town, at Blefford House? –Yes. Dare I ask if it was the same at Blefford Park?”
“Mrs Sharp says it was, but as the Bleffords used customarily to come up to town for the Season at around that time, um—”
“I see.”
Miss Burden ate a mouthful of roll and said: “Did you choose her yourself?”
“Uh—oh: Mrs Sharp? With Mrs Fendlesham’s aid, yes. My late cousin’s housekeeper was an elderly woman who wished to retire.”
“I know all about that,” she said, nodding.
He looked at her uneasily. “Oh?”
“The last Earl made no provision for her or the old butler in his will even though they had been with the Wyntons all their lives. You are paying their pensions.”
“I— It is Wynton money,” he said feebly.
“That’s true. Nevertheless it was good of you to think of it.”
“Thank you, Miss Burden,” he said weakly. “May I conclude you are expressing tempered approval of me, then?”
Miss Burden looked thoughtfully at the butter dish. “Well...” She broke off: George had returned with the coffee. He was accompanied by James, bearing a dish of fresh rolls, and by Frederick, bearing a posy and a salver of mail, but on the whole Jarvis would have been astonished at anything less. In fact the only surprising thing was that Slight was not hovering over Miss Burden in person.
Once these offerings had been presented and Jarvis had got rid of the three footmen, he prompted: “You were about to let me know whether you provisionally approve of me, I think?”
“What?” said Miss Burden, squinting at the posy, which, doubtless because it had an envelope attached, Frederick had deposited at his master’s elbow. “Oh! I do think it was well done in you to see that your late cousin’s faithful servants received suitable pensions, yes.”
“But?” said the Earl on a resigned note, picking up the posy.
“But you have not been to see how they are getting on.”
He stared at her.
“I know they were not your servants; and you would not be remiss in the case of, say, Hutton or Tonkins, whom you truly love. But you are the new head of the family whom they served all their days: they would appreciate it so very much if you were to call in person.”
After a moment he said: “You had this from Mrs Sharp, did you?”
“Not exactly. I mean, she told me of the pensions, yes: I was asking what had become of the former staff, you see. And then I wondered if you had thought to see for yourself how they are going on, so I asked her.”
“I see. Where do they live?”
A cautious expression came over Miss Burden’s face. “Well, somewhere in London.”
“Yes, Miss Burden?”
“Um—well, do not be cross, will you? The thing is, they are married.”
Lord Sleyven stared at her.
Midge attempted an airy smile. “To each other, I mean.”
“Unless they be brother and sister I believe that is quite legal, in England.”
“No! Silly!” said Midge with a startled choke of laughter. “Um—no, well, the thing is, they were not supposed to be.”
There was a short pause. “I think I see. You mean they were married while they were servants in this house?”
“I knew you’d be cross,” she said glumly.
Sighing, Jarvis rang the bell and sent for Mrs Sharp. Midge watched him nervously, letting her coffee grow cold and forgetting to ask him if she might have the posy. And quite forgetting to flutter her lashes, or simper.
“Mrs Sharp,” he said when the rosy-cheeked housekeeper came in, smiling and bobbing, “Miss Burden has been telling me about a household rule of my late cousin’s day which forbade the servants to marry. Or was it to marry each other?”
“Tuh-to— Well, both, really, my Lord!” she gasped.
At this Midge forgot her rôle entirely, and cried loudly: “I do not care if it is the custom in the great houses or no! If you are to continue it, it will be the most inhuman thing in the world!”
“I am not continuing it,” he said levelly. “Mrs Sharp, I wish you to understand that should you or Slight wish to marry—or even Frederick or George, or any of the household—you will have my blessing. In fact, Miss Burden and I will come and dance at the wedding.”
“Thank you, my Lord! I mean—well, yes! We did understand your Lordship’s wishes!” she gasped.
“Good,” he said calmly. “I’m sorry to have taken up your time. I wished Miss Burden to be assured that the old rule no longer applies.”
“Of course, my Lord!” said Mrs Sharp, now positively beaming.
“Yes, but what about Michael? He left,” said Midge anxiously.
“Oh, bless you, my dear! Miss Burden, I should say,” Mrs Sharp corrected herself comfortably. “Michael’s pa-in-law owns a snug little tavern that he’s helping to run; were you thinking he had to leave because he was married?”
“Yes. None of the other footmen are married,” said Midge.
“No, but they’re just lads,” replied Mrs Sharp comfortably.
His Lordship agreed smoothly with this statement, ascertained from Mrs Sharp the correct address of his late cousin’s old butler (and wife), and dismissed her kindly.
Beaming motherly approval at them both, and curtseying very low, Mrs Sharp departed.
Miss Burden was very flushed.
“I trust that has allayed your anxiety?” he said courteously.
“It was not anxiety!” said Midge loudly.
“What was it, then?”
“It—” She broke off, glaring at him.
“An access of doubt as to my probity?”
“Oh, be silent, you silly man!” she cried.
Grinning, the Earl said: “Here, this floral offering is addressed to you.”
“I don’t want the stupid thing!”
“Good.” He glanced out at the wet, windy day. “It is scarcely the weather for a drive in the curricle.”
“Oh—no,” said Midge lamely.
“But if Aunt Caroline will permit it, I shall take you to visit old Horrocks, and presumably Mrs Horrocks, in the carriage.”
“I do not think she will,” she said, swallowing.
“We’ll see. Your coffee will be cold, I think: may I ring for more?”
Limply Miss Burden let the infuriating creature ring for more coffee. And for more hot milk.
Lady Caroline graciously gave her permission for “Jarvis” to take “Millicent” to see old Mr and Mrs Horrocks. With no riders or caveats or, indeed, injunctions of any kind. Except that Millicent must wrap up warmly. Miss Burden tottered off to get into her warm pelisse. She found she was not capable of formulating any coherent thought. Except: Help!
The carriage set off: the Earl, who had handed her up into it—pre-empting Frederick—ascertained that the hot brick was warming her feet and that the rug was tucked snugly round her. Then a sticky silence fell. At least, Miss Burden felt it was sticky. His face, she saw, sneaking a look at it, was expressionless. This could mean, of course, that he wasn’t thinking of anything. Or that he was thinking of something else entirely. Or—Miss Burden took a deep breath—that the creature was trying not to laugh!
“How delightful this is, my Lord!” she fluted.
“Rubbish, you’re quaking in your boots,” he replied unemotionally.
“I am not!”
“Rest assured that I cherish no evil intentions towards you, Miss Burden.” he murmured.
“I was not thinking any such thing!”
Jarvis ignored that. “But I do cherish intentions, and now that we have a chance to talk, I think perhaps we might discuss them, don’t you?”
Miss Burden was just about to shout at him when she recollected that she was Millicent, an almost-fit bride for a Wynton. She gulped. “Um—very well.”
“Aunt Caroline has explained to me that this sojourn in town is not merely an opportunity for you to acquire a little town bronze, but also for you to decide whether or not you could bear my company on a permanent basis,” he murmured.
“What?” she croaked.
“Actually, the phrase was that I was ‘on trial,’ if I recall correctly,” he murmured.
“You— Rubbish, it is no such thing!” she gasped.
“I confess I’m very glad to hear that, Miss Burden,” he said politely. “For it has felt very like that indeed, these past few weeks.”
“It was you and your relatives who—” Midge broke off.
“Yes?”
She took a deep breath. “Lord Sleyven, I am not sure what foolish notion you have taken into your head, but the purpose of my stay in town is for me to acquire some town bronze under the kind tutelage of your relatives and for you to have a little breathing space to consider whether, in fact, I am the lady whom you wish to make your countess. I do not think you could truly imagine it to be otherwise.”
“Mm.” he said noncommittally. “And what if I were to tell you that I do not wish you to acquire any town bronze at all?”
Midge achieved a very silly laugh. “Dear sir, that is very flattering, but I do not believe you for an instant! Recollect that your proposal to me was based on the assumption that I would much improve myself before I could possibly be fit to be the mistress of a great house!”
“Midge, I was an unmitigated idiot ever to suggest any such thing, and I beg your pardon for it. Please consider my idiocies unsaid, and—and agree to become engaged,” he said: quite evenly until the last phrase, when his voice suddenly shook.
Miss Burden was also shaken: very shaken. She had thought— Well, she had thought he might try to kiss her once they were cooped up in the carriage alone. Or, on the other hand, that he might say that he had seen through her Millicent-ish behaviour and she was to stop it instantly. Or that he might do either of those things, but still press for an official engagement, yes: she was not unaware that, Millicent or no, he still seemed to wish for that. But an apology was the last thing she had expected from him.
“Well?” he murmured, as she did not reply.
Midge licked her lips uneasily and glared out of the window for inspiration.
Very, very unfortunately, or so the well-wishers of Miss Burden and the Earl would have considered it, the route to the humble little house of Mr and Mrs Horrocks lay through the quiet, neat area where Jarvis had found a house for the Marsh children and Miss Harrod. Midge blinked, suddenly realising where they were.
“Won’t you accept my apology?” he said hoarsely.
She took another one of those deep breaths. “Oh, but you have nothing at all to apologize for, Lord Sleyven! I quite agreed at the time. and I fully agree now, for my eyes have been opened since coming to town, that I was unsuitable in every way to be the mistress of Maunsleigh. Indeed, I have had several chats with Mrs Sharp, you know,” she said earnestly, “and that has made me more than ever aware of how little I know of how a gentleman’s house ought to be run.”
“Miss Burden, Mrs Sharp is more than capable of running Wynton House, as I think you must be aware, and Mrs Fendlesham of running Maunsleigh: I do not wish for a housekeeper, I wish for a wife!” said Jarvis, rather loudly.
“Oh, yes, I know.” agreed Midge, opening her eyes very wide. “But a suitable wife, who can talk to all the fashionable ladies and gentlemen as one of them, and—and not put the wrong ones next each other at dinner, and so forth! By the by, was that not a perfectly disastrous affair at Mrs Wedderby’s house the other evening? Geddings next to Miss Harmondsworth? Calamitous!”
“Miss Burden, please be serious! I do not care about damned dinner tables!”
“Possibly not at this instant, but of course it is the sort of thing that matters very much in your world. And I do think I am improving, for when we left Lower Nettlefold I had not the slightest idea who Lord Geddings was!” returned Midge, fluttering the lashes and lying in her teeth.
“Damn Geddings. And Wellington, too,” he said sourly.
“Well, there you are, you see.” She nodded her fashionable bonnet at him. “A month ago I would not have understood that remark at all: for I had no notion that Lord Geddings was manipulated by the Duke.”
“Never mind— And you do have now,” he said slowly, staring at her.
For an instant Midge could not imagine why he was staring; and then she recollected that Millicent, relatively recently, had been so naïve about politics and political gentlemen that she had claimed to believe that Lord Sleyven’s daring to disagree with His Grace in the House would result in his being ostracised by Society: help! Making a quick recover, she fluttered the lashes terrifically. and fluted: “Oh, indeed, sir! For dear Admiral Dauntry explained it all to me, in great detail. And then later Commodore Hallett very kindly explained that in Naval matters, it is the Admiral himself who, er—”
“Is manipulated by the Duke: Yes.”
“I was going to say, puts His Grace’s point of view; but yes,” she murmured.
“Mm.” The mad suspicion that had crossed Jarvis’s mind was not entirely allayed. For Miss Burden had certainly been entirely frivolous—well, almost entirely frivolous, barring a certain concern for the welfare of his menservants!—in both manner and speech since coming to town, in a way which was most unlike her. Not that he had taken her for a coolly sensible bluestocking, of course. And she was a delightfully feminine creature, of course. This latter opinion might have astounded some of the inhabitants of Lower Nettlefold and environs who thought they knew Miss Burden; but, though they would probably not have expressed the sentiment in just those words, it was certainly shared by, for example, Mr Lumley of Nettlebend Farm, Mr Potts the poacher, Mr Bottomley-Pugh, and even Powell Humphreys; though the last-named also had a pretty fair grasp of the capacity of Miss Burden’s excellent intellect.
“So you see: I have improved very much, and shall continue, I hope, to do so!” she fluted.
“What? Oh. Yes. Never mind that nonsense; will you agree to become engaged?”
“I could not possibly before Christmas: it would not be fair to you, sir. –Did we not say Christmas, in any case?” she asked, wrinkling her brow.
“What? No!”
“Oh. Perhaps I merely thought it. Well, in any case I have decided that we should not make up our minds before Christmas.”
“I have made up my mind!” he said angrily. “Why are you being so obdurate?”
“Only for your sake, dear sir,” said Miss Burden dulcetly.
His nostrils flared. If the memory of his involvement with Kitty Marsh had not just hardened Miss Burden’s heart, she would have quailed. As it was, she merely fluted airily: “It will be most convenient, you know, for then we may have a great party at Maunsleigh and invite all the quizzy ones like Mr Julius Foxe-Forsythe who would expect to come for Christmas anyway, and get them over with in one fell swoop!”
“A scheme worthy of the most accomplished of Society hostesses: I congratulate you,” he said sourly.
“Well, thank you.” replied Midge dubiously. “But I do not think it is: I fear the most accomplished of Society hostesses would think of some way to spare you the quizzy ones.”
“Short of an infestation of the Black Death at Maunsleigh, there is no way to do that,” he said with a sigh, leaning back in his corner of the carriage.
“No, probably not; at all events I cannot think of one!” said Midge with a silly laugh.
The Earl did not reply.
Miss Burden waited for him to press his suit again; or offer a grovelling apology for the presumptuousness of his previous offer of marriage; or tell her again that he did not wish her to Millicent-ify herself; or—something along those lines. But he did not. And he certainly did not try to kiss her. Nor did he bring up the subject of Kitty Marsh, which in Miss Burden’s opinion if he truly wished to marry her he should do: in order to get it all straight between them, and make it perfectly clear that he did not wish to see the woman again and—so forth. But he did not do that, either. Though as it happened, it could not signify, for she had no intention of marrying him, whatever he said! So there!
Midge stared out of her window with a ferocious scowl on her forehead and a horrible pout round her mouth.
After quite some time Jarvis said with an effort: “Should you care to go to the play? Viccy Grey was telling me there is a production of Richard III which is not too bad.”
“I should like very much to see a play: I have never been to the theatre.” Not noticing the effect this had had on him, she admitted: “But to read, I find it rather a boring piece.”
“Viccy assures me that whatever else the production is, it is not tedious. Indeed, the scene between Richard Crookback and the Lady Anne is positively thrilling.”
“I cannot imagine Mr Grey saying any such thing,” said Midge weakly: “Viccy” Grey was an extremely elegant man-about-town of around the Earl’s own age. “Mildly amusing” was about the strongest encomium he had ever been heard to use.
The Earl’s mouth twitched a little. “Well, no. What he actually said was that the ladies should find it so.”
“Lord Sleyven, if you wish to go only so as you may sneer at the performance, I shall not accompany you!” said Midge loudly.
“Er—no,” he said feebly. “I—”
“I know that amateur theatricals can be both tedious and embarrassing to watch, but even if it is as bad as that—”
“Miss Burden,” he said, laying a hand gently on hers: “it is at Drury Lane: it cannot be as bad as that. But I should warn you that it will probably smack somewhat of the melodrama.”
“Good; possibly it will be lively after all.”
“So you will come?”
“Yes; thank you very much.” After a moment she added: “Lord Sleyven, is King Richard played very much as a grotesque?”
“Mm? Oh. Yes, so I am told.”
Midge bit her lip and did not say that one of the reasons she did not care for the play was that it always made her think of Mr Humphreys’s disability.
“My dear, if you dislike the idea I shall take you to another piece. I believe there is a comedy which is very popular, but I thought it might strike you as rather silly. It’s called—er—The Bride and the Bear.”
“Bear?”
“Mm. The bride, or so I am told, is carried off by the bear, which remains a bear, and does not metamorphose into a handsome gentleman, let alone a prince.”
“But— You said it was a comedy?”
“Yes. The bride decides she much prefers life in the bear’s cave to marriage to her unfortunate groom, and the rest of the play consists of his attempts to—er—gain back her affections.”
“That all sounds most unlikely,” she said weakly.
“Mm. Viccy Grey assures me it is ineffably silly. He goes to all the theatrical pieces, Miss Burden: he is a connoisseur of the theatre. –I can see from your face that you are thinking that anything that Viccy Grey found ineffably silly will be great fun, so we shall go,” he ended drily.
“No, I— Oh, dear! Yes, I’m afraid I was thinking that! –Does she make a pet of the bear, is that it?”
“Miss Burden, I don’t know! We’ll go, and you shall find out!”
“Yes. Thank you.” She peeped at him uncertainly.
“Now what?” he said with a sigh.
“I suppose we could not go to both? Am I being greedy? But if I never come up to town again—” Midge broke off in horror at what had just come out of her own mouth.
“Of course we shall come up to town again!” he said impatiently. “We shall come every damned Season, if the House is sitting, and probably every autumn if these autumn sittings continue!”
“Yes, um—”
“Oh, I see! I am not proposing to immure you down at Maunsleigh, chota memsahib!” said Jarvis with a sudden laugh.
“Um—no,” said Midge, very red and flustered. “I mean— Um, are you not? That’s good.”
He patted her hand, and laughed again, and said: “Yes, isn’t it?”
Miss Burden observed with some annoyance that the creature was apparently himself again. Well, apparently very pleased with himself again. Though what on earth there was in what she had just said to induce that reaction in him—! Men, decided Miss Burden grimly, and not by any means for the first time, were odd.
... “Well, my dear?” said Lady Caroline, on the travellers’ return.
“He wants to take us to the play. Two plays.”
“Jarvis does? Well, that will be very pleasant,” she said placidly. “But I meant, how were the Horrockses?”
“Oh!” said Midge with a jump, turning scarlet. “Very well, and terribly pleased to have his Lordship visit. Um—they sent their granddaughter back with us: old Mrs Horrocks said you knew about it.”
“Yes: May Horrocks has been in service with my daughter Amelia. Amelia thinks she is a little young, perhaps, but she has performed very well, and with a little advice from Mrs Sharp or Mrs Fendlesham will make you a suitable lady’s maid.”
“Me?” gasped Midge in horror. “But I can’t possibly—”
“Of course you can, my dear. Naturally I understand your circumstances: officially, she will form part of the household here until your marriage; and then she will come to you at Maunsleigh.”
“Lady Caroline—” Midge broke off, finding it impossible to formulate a speech indicating that May should not be encouraged to form false expectations. Oh, dear: this was terrible!
“Did you not like her?”
“I— Well, it was hard to form an impression of her character: she was overcome at riding in the carriage with Lord Sleyven, and who can bla—I mean, no wonder. But she struck me as a very pleasant girl. But—um—Lady Caroline, what if I change my mind? Or—or if he does?” said Midge in a trembling voice.
“I can assure you it is unlikely that Jarvis will. But if you cannot take her, there will be no problem in finding her a place elsewhere.”
“Oh—good,” said Midge limply. “Um—does this mean I have to take her everywhere?”
“Take her— I see. No: you are not a débutante, Millicent. Though it would certainly be more convenable, let us say, if she were to be present during any future drives in closed carriages with Jarvis.”
“Oh!” cried Midge. “I knew you—” She broke off.
“Yes,” said Lady Caroline placidly. “Indeed I did. However, do not judge me too harshly: I did allow you the drive one way, tête-à-tête.”
“Lady Caroline,” said Midge in a very high voice: “pray do not imagine that I—”
“Yes?” said her Ladyship, as Millicent had stopped.
“Nothing,” said Midge, turning purple. “Pluh-please excuse me, I must change out of this pelisse.”
Lady Caroline watched with considerable amusement as her charge hurried out of the room. She would not, she decided, bother to ask Jarvis how the visit had gone: it was obvious that it had gone splendidly!
Next chapter:
https://thepatchworkparasol.blogspot.com/2022/11/the-plays-thing.html
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