Suspicion

19

Suspicion

    “I know I agreed to this—this trial period,” said the Earl, frowning, “but frankly, this past month I have scarce laid eyes on Miss Burden!”

    Lady Caroline appeared unmoved by this plaint. “You may see her at the ball at Dinsley House, Jarvis.”

    He took a deep breath. “Aunt Caroline, there is surely a question as to whether my attending would give rise to more talk than my not attending.”

    “Very true,” she agreed placidly.

    He gave her an indignant look.

    “Should you wish me to make the decision for you, however, Jarvis, I am quite willing to do so,” she said politely.

    “Er—no,” he replied with a reluctant smile. “Many thanks, Aunt, but—no. I suppose I had best attend. I feel my absence might occasion slightly more remark than my presence.”

    “On the whole I agree. And your absence would certainly give the local gossips more opportunity to hint unpleasantly to Millicent.”

    He reddened. “I had not thought— Yes, you’re right,” he said, frowning again and striding around the room.

    Lady Caroline watched him drily for a little. Then she said without emphasis: “My dear man, did it never occur to you that in a sense, you yourself are on trial during this period?”

    He stopped pacing, and swallowed. “You mean she— But she did not give me any indication that—” He broke off, his mouth tightening. After a moment he said: “So, what do you advise I should do to earn Miss Burden’s approval?”

    “Escort us to the Dinsley House ball, for one,” she said blandly.

    Jarvis had to take a very deep breath indeed in order to stop himself from shouting at her. “Very well.”

    “And in more general terms, I think you could pay her some little attentions.”

    “Little—!” he choked. “You ordered me yourself not to keep calling at Bluebell Dell while she has no older woman living with her!”

    “I do not think I ‘ordered’,” said Lady Caroline majestically.

    “Very well: indicated it would be inadvisable! And if that was how you felt, why the Devil could you not have persuaded her to stay at the Deanery or remove to Kendlewood Place?”

    “I might have suggested Kendlewood Place,” she said as Lady Judith came in, pulling on her gloves, “were it not for Mrs Langford’s confinement. But I did not suggest the Deanery, for I did not want to give Millicent the impression,” she said with a very dry expression on her face, “that the Wyntons were jockeying her into anything before she was ready for it.”

    The Earl went very red.

    Lady Judith looked from one to other of them, but said only: “I am sorry to have kept you waiting. Shall we go, Aunt Caroline?”

    The Earl was in fact about to escort the ladies to Kendlewood Place to inspect the very new Master Justin Charles Albert Langford. Lady Caroline rose. “Yes: I am quite ready.”

    “Are we to call for Miss Burden?” asked Jarvis as he assisted the ladies into the carriage.

    “No, did not Aunt Caroline say?” replied his cousin. “She and Janey will meet us there.”

    “Oh? Having made their way thereto on a cart?” he said on an acid note.

     “No, no,” replied Lady Judith quickly. “Colonel Langford is sending a carriage. It was all arranged, Cousin; I thought you knew.”

    “No. And if this be a trial period for an engagement, perhaps it will surprise you to know that I am finding it very much of a trial,” he said flatly.

    Lady Judith bit her lip. “Well, no, it would not surprise me as much as all that, Sleyven.”

    “In that case, I can only apologize for the remark, Cousin Judith,” he said grimly.

    The Wynton ladies did not exchange glances, but he could feel that it was only their good manners preventing their doing so.

    The carriage set off. After a moment Lady Caroline said: “As I was saying. you might pay Millicent some little attentions, Jarvis. Flowers would not come amiss.”

    He sighed. “Would not a more substantial token be appropriate?”

    “Entirely inappropriate, as I think you must know. Wait until she agrees to be engaged. You might then offer her a string of pearls.”

    “Aunt Caroline,” he said with a sigh, “if I am never to spend any time with her, she will probably never agree to be engaged at all!”

    “I am not unsympathetic, Jarvis. But this is not an easy time for Millicent. You will have much more opportunity to spend time her when we all remove to London.”

    He stared at her. “Aunt, are you implying that—that you have been deliberately keeping us apart, with all these dashed tea-parties and so forth?”

    “You may certainly take it that way, if you please.”

    “But why?” he cried.

    “Yes: why?” croaked Lady Judith. “I thought you approved of her?”

    “I do: in fact I think she may be very good for Jarvis. –Once she has acquired a little town bronze,” she added with a little smile.

    “Then why in God’s name may I not at least get a glimpse of her?”

    “Pray do not badger me, Jarvis. It is not an easy thing to express, and I do not wish to give you the wrong impression. But I have had the feeling that Millicent is very uncertain about this arrangement; and the circumstances, with the Marsh woman flaunting herself all over the county, are not making it easier for her. Nor, of course, placing yourself in a particularly favourable light.”

    “And exposing her to my presence, unfavourable light and all, would make her more uncertain?” he said indignantly.

    “Possibly not. But I do not think that tact is your forte, is it? I would not like to risk your making the situation worse.”

    “Aunt Caroline,” he said, taking a deep breath: “it is very good of you to concern yourself, and I am not ungrateful for your interest, but in the end the thing is between myself and Miss Burden!”

    “In the end, yes. But let us hope this is not the end.”

    “Sleyven, I think my aunt is right,” said Lady Judith urgently, looking at the expression of gathering wrath on his face. “You must admit you made pretty much of a mull of things, earlier. And I do beg you to believe that if Aunt Caroline feels the situation is delicate, then it must be!”

    “Mm,” he conceded, chewing on his lip.

    The two ladies watched him sympathetically. Eventually he admitted: “I thought— Well, I admit her manner was rather odd, when she consented to—to at least this arrangement, before considering an engagement. But I thought that at heart she truly wished for it.”

    “I am sure she does,” said Lady Caroline kindly. “But I think we need not blink at facts: she is a little country mouse—do not look at me like that. dear man: she has never had the opportunity to be anything else—and the situation between yourself and Mrs Marsh has necessarily been a very great shock for her. We must not expect her to get over it all at once.”

    “In especial while the woman is under her very nose,” said Lady Judith on a sour note. “And I really do think you might spare her the engagement party, Aunt Caroline!”

    “She cannot avoid social embarrassments all of her life,” replied Lady Caroline calmly.

    “But I think this is more than a social embarrassment,” said Jarvis tightly. “And on consideration, I must beg you to spare her it, Aunt.”

    There was a short pause. Lady Judith, though she knew it was cowardly, found she was wishing herself fervently elsewhere.

    “Very well, Jarvis,” said the elderly lady placidly. “You may tell her that you have persuaded me that she need not attend.”

    “Thank you,” he said, swallowing.

    “You may escort her home this afternoon; Janey may ride with us,” she added.

    The Earl swallowed again. “Thank you,” he repeated limply.

    The visit to Kendlewood Place was duly accomplished, and Master Justin Charles Albert Langford duly admired. At the moment his head was covered with a soft black fuzz, but the Colonel, beaming proudly, assured them—twice—that imprimis, Lettice assured him that Polly had been just the same at birth, and secundus, the red hair was entirely on the Burden side.

    “I collect,” said the Earl with a smile, handing Miss Burden into the Kendlewood Place barouche, “that the red hair is entirely on the Burden side!”

    “Yes,” said Midge limply. Oh, dear: Lady Caroline had virtually ordered her to ride home with “Jarvis” in the barouche. And that little pest of a Janey had needed no urging to accompany the Wynton ladies in their carriage: she had hopped up into it, positively beaming!

    “You have your parasol with you, I see,” he murmured, taking it from her as he seated himself.

    “What—oh,” said Midge limply, as he raised it over her. “Thank you.”

    There was a short pause.

    “The—the weather is very warm, is it not?” said Midge feebly.

    “Indeed it is. Is this a very typical August in these parts?”

    “Yes. Though this year we have not had the severe thunderstorms we sometimes get in July.”

    There was another short pause.

    “Nor we have,” he agreed politely.

    With horror Miss Burden recollected that thunderstorm at the ill-fated strawberry  picknick at Verne Lea last summer!

    The Earl glanced down at his almost-affianced’s puce face under the straw bonnet, and smiled, just a little. He did not refer to thunderstorms, but said: “Lady Caroline has given me permission to offer you small tokens, Miss Burden. Flowers will be suitable, so I trust you will feel inclined to accept them. And I gather Arthur pressed small cakes upon Polly: do you like small cakes?”

    “Ye— You are being absurd,” said Midge limply.

    “I hope not, Miss Burden: for I am trying to work my way round very tactfully to asking you if a new parasol would be a suitable token from a man who is merely on trial for an engagement?”

    Flushing brightly, Miss Burden returned: “I do not think it would, sir; though—I am obliged for—for the offer,” she added, belatedly recalling her self-imposed rôle. “And in any case I am very fond of my old parasol, for Polly did the patching herself.”

    He looked up at it, and smiled. “I see! So it was not deliberately created in a patchwork pattern: the patches were added to mend it, is that it?”

    “Yes,” said Midge limply.

    “I should have guessed: for a lady with the Burden hair, even the auburn variety, would not deliberately choose pink,” he said with a twinkle.

    “N— Um, the stuff was left over from a gown of Polly’s. Um—she was only sixteen when she did it, and—and it was a surprise. For my birthday,” said Midge weakly.

    He changed hands on the parasol in order to put his free hand over hers and squeeze it briefly. “I see. I shall not ask you to give it up, then. And I shall certainly not seek to replace it in your affections. But would you not like a second one?”

    “New and shiny and very appropriate to a Wynton fiancée?” said Midge with a sigh, forgetting her rôle entirely.

    “Yes!” he agreed with a laugh. “Very, very shiny, and with at least three rows of frills round it!”

    Midge swallowed. It was very lowering to find oneself all of a sudden possessed of a strong desire to own just such a ridiculous and unnecessary object.

    He squeezed her hand again, very gently. “I can see you do wish for one. Would it be inappropriate for us to go shopping together for one?”

    Swallowing, Miss Burden replied limply: “I’m not sure. I think you had better ask your Aunt Caroline.”

    “Then you will accept it?” he said eagerly.

    She swallowed again, looked away from his shining eyes, and said hoarsely: “Well, yes, thank you very much.” And forgot to flutter her lashes.

    The Earl did not seem to mind the omission: he squeezed the hand again and said in a low voice: “Good.”

    They jogged on in silence for a while. He did not take his hand away and Miss Burden, sad to relate, did not attempt to withdraw hers. Well, after all, it had been such a perfect day, admiring Baby Justin, and seeing Lettice so well and happy and the Colonel in such a state of paternal bliss, and the meal they had eaten at Kendlewood Place had been delightful, and such a blessed change from Hawkins’s cooking, and it was a gloriously fine afternoon—and, in short, a person was entitled to a few moments of happiness!

    It was quite some time before Midge came to herself sufficiently to realise that she had classed sitting with Jarvis Wynton alone in a carriage, hand in hand, as happiness. Sudden tears sparkled in her eyes, and she tried to slide her hand out from under his.

    The Earl held on. “I understand from Aunt Caroline that she has approved your attending the engagement party at Dinsley House,” he said in a low voice.

    “Um—yes,” agreed Midge faintly.

    “I have persuaded her that it would be unnecessarily cruel to force you to go, and she has agreed that you need not, after all.”

    Midge looked at him numbly.

    “Miss Burden, you do understand? You need not go to the damned thing.”

    “Yes,” she said faintly. “Are—are you going?”

    He shrugged. “I suppose I shall at least look in. But that does not mean that you need feel obliged to attend.”

    Midge took a deep breath. “You are very good,” she said flatly. “But I think I should go. Lady Caroline has already spoken to me on the subject.”

    “I know that, Miss Burden, and I am telling you that you need not go! I have talked her out of it.”

    Midge was sure he had, yes. Whether it was merely to spare himself the embarrassment of having one lady on his arm whilst another lady in whom he had had a particular interest celebrated her engagement to another man, or that he wished to see Mrs Marsh one more time unencumbered by the presence of a lady to whom he was almost engaged— Well, very likely it was both. And she should have known. In fact, she had known: what a fool she was. And in fact, again, all that stuff about the parasol had very likely just been in order to soften her up: one more instance of that persuasiveness of his to which Mrs Marsh had referred!

    “Oh, but I have already told Janey we shall go. And planned what dress to wear, and even bought fresh ribbons,” she said, pouting, and fluttering her ashes.

    “Are you trying to tell me you do not care?” he said in amazement.

    For a moment Midge thought he meant, did not care for him, and almost shouted at him for his conceit; then she realised he was referring to the painfulness of attending a party at Mrs Marsh’s house and involuntarily went very red.

    “Yes, you do,” he discovered, squeezing her hand very tightly. “Of course you do. But please don’t feel it is your duty to attend, or any—any nonsense of that sort.”

    Very relieved that his Lordship had given her her cue, Miss Burden returned, fluttering the lashes frightfully: “But I am quite persuaded that it is my duty to attend, sir, and quite determined to do so.”

    “Oh,” he said limply.

    Miss Burden just waited, fluttering the lashes a little.

    “Very well, then: I suppose we can face it out together,” he said grimly.

    This was not quite the response that Miss Burden had required; she was, however, too angry with him to allow herself to reflect on its implications, and merely opened her eyes innocently wide, saying: “Indeed. Lady Caroline assures me that white or lilac satin ribbons will be appropriate; but I shall not dance, of course. And I think I shall wear the black sash, for personally I feel that a white or lilac sash would be too much.”

    He released her hand. “Er—yes.”

    They drove on in silence. The gentleman stared at the landscape on his side of the barouche, frowning, not seeing it. The lady stared blankly at the landscape on her side of the barouche, concentrating very hard on not bursting into tears.

    The turnoff to Cherry Tree Lane was in sight before he said somewhat stiffly: “Miss Burden, believe me, I would not wish you to place any concept of duty before your—your mental comfort.”

    “I dare say it will be slightly awkward, but it will not be so bad for me as for you,” said Miss Burden, looking demurely into her lap.

    “N— Oh. Won’t it?”

    “Well, no. I would not wish to remind you of this,” she said disingenuously, favouring him with a soulful look, “but no blame in the case attaches to me.”

    She waited, but he did not say anything about wishing the Prince would cart Mrs Marsh off to Russia, or some such. Her suspicions that his feelings for the woman were not entirely of disgust came back in a rush, and she said nothing more.

    At the gate he handed her down politely and said: “Well, shall we plan to do a little shopping in Nettleford, the next day you go over to the Deanery?”

    Miss Burden was now so angry with him that she had no difficulty at all in placing her hand to her bosom in very silly, affected manner indeed, and gasping: “Oh! Well, only if your aunt approves it, sir!”

    “Yes,” he said, with a puzzled smile. He held out his hand. Simpering, Miss Burden put hers in it. He squeezed it hard, though bowing politely as he did so. “I shall look forward to it. Good-bye, Miss Burden.”

    “Good-bye, Lord Sleyven,” said Midge, fluttering the lashes terrifically.

    He smiled uncertainly again, but as Hawkins had now opened the front door, said nothing more.

     “I have deserted Westerwayes, and my poor Jimmy and his little Penny,” confessed the Dowager Countess of Frayn deeply, “with a whole houseful of guests, in order to see this Wussian of Mrs M.’s for myself. –For I am convinced,” she gurgled, breaking into helpless giggles: “that he is the most fwightful imposter!”

    “Yes,” said Lady Judith, somewhat limply. “Millicent, Janey: this is my youngest sister: Corinna, Lady Frayn. The Jimmy and Penny to whom she refers are her son and daughter-in-law, the present Earl of Frayn and his wife. –There is nothing ‘poor’ about him, I hasten to add.”

    “Unless it be the point of his being left with a houseful of his mother’s guests to entertain,” noted the Dean.

    “Yes!” Corinna agreed with a fresh burst of giggles. “How are you, my dear Millicent? I am so vewwy pleased to meet you! We were all agog, you know, when our Cousin Jarvis inhe’wited,” she confided artlessly, “as to what sort of woman his fancy might alight upon for his countess. But I said at the time—did I not, Judith?—that unless he had changed vewwy much since India days, one might wely on his taste in such a se’wious matter. And I perceive I was not w’ong!”

    “How do you do, Lady Frayn?” responded Midge feebly.

    “Corinna, that will do: you are putting Millicent out of countenance,” said Lady Caroline severely.

    “Oh, pooh, dear Aunt!” she cried merrily. “You are not out of countenance at all, are you, Miss Burden? No, well, the thing is, those of the family who did not know him were pwedicting anything at all, and in fact my Aunt Charlotte—”

    “Corinna, that will do!” repeated Lady Caroline sharply.

    Unabashed, her Ladyship continued: “My Aunt Charlotte, who as perhaps Judith has not mentioned, is the most pessimistic of cweatures, was persuaded that he would put something like Mrs M. in poor dear Wose’s place!”

    “As I heard it, Lady Charlotte’s main concern was that the new countess would insist upon redecorating that hideous large yellow drawing-room,” said the Dean drily. “Miss Burden, ignore Corinna: we have found in the family that it is the only thing to do.”

    “Quite,” agreed Lady Judith, glaring at her sister. “Stop it, Corinna. Allow me to introduce Miss Lattersby.”

    Lady Frayn merely laughed, acknowledged the introduction to Janey nicely, and continued on her previous theme: “But Judith, this Pwince must be an impostor, for we had Count Stoyanoff himself at Westerwayes when your letter came, and neither he nor Her Excellency have ever heard of any Pwince Petwoysky, and in fact dear Natasha swears the title is spuwious!”

    “The—the Russian Ambassador and his wife?” gulped Midge.

    “Of course.”

    “Russia is vast,” said Lady Caroline composedly. “The Prince may be from some obscure eastern sector.”

    “Well, for myself,” noted the Dean with a twinkle in his eye, “I incline to Corinna’s opinion. Judith’s information on his mother’s birds must confirm it, y’know.”

    “Oh, what, David?” cried his sister-in-law eagerly.

    “It’s the parrots, Corinna,” he said solemnly. “One of ’em speaks German, perhaps not so suspicious in itself. But t’other speaks Welsh. It must give rise to the gravest doubts.”

    At this the Dowager Countess of Frayn broke down in helpless giggles.

    Midge, who had heard the Dean on this topic before, watched her with a little smile: Corinna, Lady Frayn, was a most unexpected sort of sister for Lady Judith Golightly to have. Corinna was not very tall; and where Lady Judith’s figure was maturely graceful, hers was rather more like Lacey Somerton’s: slender and wiry. She was very youthful both in appearance and manner and though evidently she had a grown-up son, could scarcely be as much as forty years of age. She was not coolly handsome, like Lady Judith, and certainly not the beauty which Lady Caroline was reputed to have been in her youth. The skin was darkish, and the dancing eyes startlingly like her Cousin Sleyven’s: almond-shaped, and the colour of a dry sherry. The vivid, crooked little face was so continually in motion with her changing moods and emotions that its not being technically pretty became immaterial. She was. in short, a fascinating little creature. Though Miss Burden, rather wryly, was not in much doubt that she knew it.

    Very evidently she intended accompanying them to the Dinsley House engagement party this evening, for she was in full ball dress: an over-grand gown of dark crimson silk; her turban, unlike Lady Caroline’s, did not give a dowagerish effect, but was on the contrary entirely frivolous, being composed of gold gauze, worn very much on the side of the head, allowing a bunch of charmingly curled short, dark ringlets to show. At the corner of the slanted eye on that side was a small beauty spot: certainly it was real, but Miss Burden, taking a second look, was in no doubt that her Ladyship did not scruple to darken it, for effect.

    Midge was a little stunned to learn that there was one of the Wynton family who seemed to know the Earl. And, indeed, Corinna confirmed sunnily as they waited for him that she and “Poppy”—who after some puzzling Midge concluded must have been her late husband—had known him quite well, during the period they had spent in India: Poppy, it appeared, in some sort of official capacity. They had also known Mrs Marsh, and Corinna confided, wrinkling her little up-turned nose, that she was “a fwightful cweature” but the men had been round her like flies, and she did not suppose that she had changed? To Midge’s relief, Lady Caroline at this point intervened with a severe injunction to Corinna to behave herself.

    Midge had had time to reflect, with a sort of sinking feeling in her middle, that the widowed Corinna, Lady Frayn, who was after all only his second cousin, would be a much more suitable bride for Lord Sleyven than her humble self, and had only just had time for the further thought that this was not a matter of concern, since she had no intention of marrying him, when he was announced.

    Lady Judith rose, very possibly with the intention of greeting him properly and introducing her sister to his notice: but was forestalled.

    “But good Heavens, he has not changed one iota!” cried Lady Frayn, springing to her feet. “Cousin Jarvis, dear man, how do you do it? It is so unfair: when one found a gwey hair only last month!”

    “I’m astounded you admit to it. How are you, Cousin Corinna?” he said coolly, bowing.

    “Vewwy, vewwy old!” replied Corinna, laughing, and holding out her hand to him.

    He bowed over it, but with a very dry look on his face. “If you say so. Have you decided to put poor Harris out of his misery, yet?”

    “Certainly not,” she said, looking impossibly prim. “I have told him he is far too young to contemplate allying himself with an elderly dowager.” She pouted and looked at him from under her lashes.

    The Earl replied brutally: “Dare say he’ll sheer off, then,” and Corinna broke down in giggles, gasping: “You were ever the most complete hand, Cousin!”

    “At least there’s one in the family who can give you your own again,” noted the Dean drily, coming forward to shake hands with the Earl.

    Under cover of more general greetings, Janey was able to hiss to Miss Burden: “Is she not fascinating?

    “Yes,” agreed Midge with a lump in her throat. Indeed she was.

    “I think you know my sister, Lady Frayn?” said Lady Judith as they entered the ballroom of Dinsley House and Mrs Marsh, très grande dame in emerald satin, greeted them graciously.

    Before their hostess could reveal whether or no she did, Corinna cried: “Oh, we have been acquainted this positive age, have we not, Mrs Marsh? So although I confess to being the most dweadful gate-cwasher tonight, I am sure you will forgive me! How long ago it does seem, to be sure: you and Mr Marsh, and Poppy and I, and poor dear Lytton-Howe, and Mr Ve’ween and his donkey-cart! My, those velvet Indian nights: were we not giddy and gay?”

    This speech, several persons in her Ladyship’s train noted, had the effect of allowing Mrs Marsh to get her breath, recall who the dark little lady in the crimson was, and gather herself for an appropriate greeting. At the same time, Jarvis recognised drily, it possibly also afforded her the time to recall one or two of the less flattering facts that Corinna, Lady Frayn, knew of in connection with those Indian nights: if old Mr Marsh had been more or less in the offing, and Lytton-Howe and Vereen had both been harmless enough, there had also, at that period in Kitty’s life, been a Mr Protheroe and a Lieutenant Adams. Jarvis was conscious of a strong wish that Charles were here, to appreciate the precise intent of her Ladyship’s artless speech. Though on second thoughts, he might not have found it amusing.

    … “Fascinatin’ creature, my Aunt Corinna, eh?” noted Mr Golightly, some time later, as her Ladyship was whirled onto the dance floor by one of His Highness’s Russian friends.

    “Absolutely,” agreed Midge with a smile that was a little forced. “I was wondering, Mr Golightly: she must have married very young? If she has a grown-up son?”

    “Oh, aye. Frayn’s barely twenty-one, though. Well, yes: Aunt Corinna was married at scarce sixteen. Ran off with old Frayn: m’grandmother wouldn’t hear of the match, y’see: he was something like four times her age. The families hushed it up, out of course. M’mother says they were happy enough. But old Frayn died about six years back. Well, not surprising: must have been well into his seventies by then.”

    Midge winced a little and nodded, watching the vivid-faced little Corinna whirling in the waltz in the arms of the burly Russian.

    “I say, Miss Burden,” said the young man in her ear: “dare say Aunt Corinna’s right, y’know, and Petrovsky ain’t no more a prince than my boot. The Ambassador’s not likely to be wrong about that sort of thing.”

    Midge nodded silently.

    “But in that case,” he hissed: “who are all these Russian fellows he’s trotted out?”

    “I was wondering that!” hissed Midge, her shoulders shaking, and Mr Golightly collapsed in helpless sniggers.

    ... “I should doubt,” murmured the Earl, as he conducted Miss Burden on a little stroll around the room, “that Simon will have the tact to keep this report from Westerwayes under his hat.”

    “What? Oh: about the Prince! Er, well, no,” admitted Miss Burden, eyeing Mr Golightly, now in a huddle with young Mr Bottomley-Pugh and Mr Harry Pryce-Cavell. She took a deep breath. “Why should you care, though, Lord Sleyven?”

    There was an infinitesimal pause.

    “I think you must be aware, Miss Burden,” he said steadily: “that I care, inasmuch as if he be a real Russian prince, he may remove our hostess from the county for good.”

    Midge swallowed, and was unable to formulate any reply.

    “That apart, I do not give a damn, frankly, what he may be.”

    “No,” she said lamely.

    They strolled on. Miss Burden stared blindly in front of her: Jarvis glanced down at her uncertainly. Eventually he said: “I was surprised to see Lady Frayn.”

    “Um—yes. How—how very lively and attractive she is,” replied Midge with an effort.

    “Mm. Gazetted flirt, however: led old Poppy Frayn one Hell of a dance. I believe she was sincerely attached to him, but she is one of those women who appear to consider that marrying a man gives them a licence to torment him.”

    “I see. What was he like?”

    “Mm? Oh—very much older than she. Um—well, a decent enough fellow. Er... tall, thin: quite striking-looking.” He shrugged. “No excuse for her, as far as I could see.”

    “No,” agreed Midge limply.

    He looked at her face. “As far as one has heard, it did not go beyond flirtation: I am not saying she is a loose woman,” he said, more gently. “But in her husband’s shoes I would have found her conduct entirely galling.”

    “Ye-es... I see. You do not wish for that sort of wife,” said Midge, nodding wisely.

    “No,” he agreed grimly.

    “I am certainly not fascinating,” she said with a sigh.

    “What?”

    “Fascinating.” Miss Burden gave him a limpid look. “Several people have said to me, is she not so? And I confess, it was the word that sprang to my mind. also.”

    “Fascinating but insupportable.” he said wryly. “You will find that it is a not uncommon type, when you go to London.”

    “I see.”

    There was a little pause.

    “So,” said Midge, fluttering her lashes. “would you prefer me to become like Lady Judith?”

    “No!” he said unguardedly. “Er—no, not really, Miss Burden,” he added lamely. “Don’t make yourself into a facsimile of either of my Wynton cousins, I do beg you.”

    “Very well,” she agreed obediently, fluttering her lashes and looking puzzled.

    “Just—uh—be guided by Lady Caroline,” he said limply.

    Midge opened her eyes very wide. “Oh. Very well, then, sir. Though it would be easier if there were a lady whom I might copy.”

    The Earl was not entirely satisfied with this reply. But he could not see why: there was nothing inappropriate in it, and Miss Burden was certainly looking very maidenly and—er—compliant. So he did not pursue the point. But he was conscious of a certain unease. Miss Burden, after all, was not stupid, and although she was certainly inexperienced, he would not have said she was entirely naïve. Had she been teasing him? He had the feeling that she had and that, also, she was playing some sort of a deep game of her own... No: absurd. She had been quite frank about wanting this trial period, after all.

    He was left, however, with that feeling of unease, and did not take in very many of the details of Kitty Marsh’s triumph at all.

    Others, of course, were not so blinded. Mrs Somerton’s word was “Insupportable”, Mrs Cunningham’s “Insufferable” and Mrs Patterson’s, very grimly, “Impossible.” Mr Somerton most unwisely pointed out that they could expect some dashed good dinners from Dinsley House if she stayed in the county. Mr Cunningham, almost as unwisely, suggested that they need not see all that much of her—well, just the occasional dinner. Mr Patterson, who, it must be admitted, had more sense than the other two gentlemen put together, politely agreed with his wife. To his brother-in-law, however, he confided dreamily: “Tonight almost makes it all worthwhile.”

    “Eh?” said Captain Cornwallis feebly. “All what, old boy?”

    Sniggering slightly, Mr Patterson replied: “All of two summers’ unavailing pursuit of Sleyven.”

    “Oh! Aye, absolutely! –Frightful, ain’t it?” he agreed with relish. “—Should think Sleyven’ll take the pretty little frigate in the black silk. The Wyntons seem to have taken her up,” he noted percipiently.

    “Mm.”

    “That damned gown’s a bit much,” added the Captain, glancing at Mrs Marsh with an expression of distaste.

    “I would not entirely agree, old man. In itself, take it for all in all, yes; possibly,” said Mr Patterson judiciously. “As to the bodice, however, I’d say it were not enough, rather than a bit much.”

    Captain Cornwallis duly collapsed in sniggers.

    Mr Patterson smirked; but the smirk was rapidly wiped off his face by the Captain’s then deserting him, as a dance ended, for the company of Miss Bottomley-Pugh. That was all they needed, really.

    ... “Caviar to the general,” explained Mr Golightly, waving his hand at the laden supper tables.

    Miss Lattersby collapsed in helpless giggles. Miss Amanda Waldgrave wrinkled her brow uncertainly. And Miss Portia pointed out: “One would expect caviar, sir: after all, His Highness is Russian.”

    “Er—yes. Go and get us some, for the Lord’s sake, Simon,” said Jarvis hurriedly, as Janey’s giggles showed signs of developing into hysteria.

    “Willingly, sir. But do the ladies like the stuff?”

    “I’ve never had it,” said Miss Burden simply.

    “Oh. Uh—it’s fishy, Miss Burden. Salty and fishy,” said Simon feebly, aware of his Cousin Sleyven’s ironic eye upon him.

    “Ugh. I suppose one ought to try it,” admitted Midge.

    “Of course one ought. Go along, Simon,” said the Earl.

    Noting that his wish was his command, Mr Golightly collected up Mr Harry Pryce-Cavell and Mr Vaughan Bottomley-Pugh to assist him, and hurried off.

    The Earl looked at the fresh young faces sharing a table at supper with himself and Miss Burden and found he could not think of a damned thing to say to any of ’em. Somewhat limply he beckoned a footman to fill their glasses. Then he found that that seemed to be the wrong thing.

    “Ooh!” squeaked Miss Amanda, tasting hers eagerly. “Bubbles!”

    Miss Portia was about two seconds behind her sister. “Cold! Sour!” she gasped.

    Janey simply drank hers up quickly before any of her elders noticed her and stopped her.

    “Lord Sleyven, you meant it kindly, but—but I don’t think the young ladies should be drinking champagne,” said Midge limply.

    “Er—too late, I think?” he said with a quizzical smile, as Janey set down her empty glass with a sigh.

    “Yes,” said Midge, unaccountably flushing up to the roots of her hair as those pale sherry, oddly slanted eyes met hers. She looked away and licked her lips. “Um—there are Katerina and Captain Cornwallis,” she croaked. “Shall we—”

    “Of course,” said Jarvis quickly, trying to ignore the thundering of his pulses. He waved; Leonard Cornwallis, he fancied, gave him a dry look, but led his charming companion over to their table with every appearance of complaisance.

    Apparently Miss Bottomley-Pugh, alone of the young ladies at their table, had tasted caviar: she said politely that she did not much care for it. And, as the Captain signalled to a footman, that she would drink lemonade, please. Jarvis watched drily as Leonard Cornwallis, apparently taking this with a good grace, went off to forage for food for them.

    “Now!” said Simon with a laugh as the young gentlemen returned with piled plates.

    Miss Amanda and Miss Portia tasted eagerly, looked stunned, and swallowed with difficulty. Miss Lattersby tasted cautiously, also looked stunned, and swallowed thoughtfully. Subsequently taking a little more and starting to look very interested. Miss Burden tasted cautiously, choked, and clapped her napkin to her face.

    “I’m sorry,” she said limply.

    Mutely the Earl held out a glass of lemonade.

    She took it quickly and gulped it down. “I suppose if I say there must be something wrong with this, I shall merely be showing up my ignorance?”

    “Yes,” said Jarvis with brutal frankness.

    “The consumption of caviar is of course a sine qua non of ladylike behaviour in your set,” she noted.

    “Not at all, it’s a damned expensive habit. I would not advise you to acquire it,” he returned coolly.

    Midge bit her lip, as Janey gave a crow of laughter. “Just don’t develop it, Janey,” she warned limply.

    “Oh, pooh! I confess I didn’t expect it to be at all like this, but I think I like it! The closest thing I can think of to compare it with is anchovies.”

    “Eh?” said Simon.

    “Rubbish,” said the Earl.

    Captain Cornwallis, however, who had returned in time to hear this exchange, agreed, smiling. He sat down, ascertained that the food he had provided appeared suited to Katerina’s tastes, drank some champagne and remarked, taking a savoury: “Y’know, talking of things that remind you of other things, the more I see of the Prince, the more I’m sure I’ve seen him before.” He chewed, and swallowed. “Different setting.”

    “Gibraltar?” suggested Jarvis without interest.

    “No.”

    “Malta?” said Katerina with a smile.

    Looking vastly gratified, the Captain replied: “Don’t think so, no. Don’t recall meeting any Russkies at all when I was in the Med.”

    “London. After the Peace,” drawled Jarvis, looking bored.

    “No-o... Well, don’t think so.”

    His Lordship shrugged.

    “It’ll come to me,” said the Captain definitely.

    His audience tried to look, politely, as if they believed him. They had all heard Captain Cornwallis say this at least a dozen times. Even Janey and the Bottomley-Pughs were no longer in the least disturbed by it.

    ... His Royal Highness was again dancing with his fiancée, having just favoured Lady Frayn with a country dance. “Thwilling!” reported Corinna with a shiver and a giggle.

    “Apparently, yes,” replied Jarvis, yawning.

    Corinna eyed the pair on the floor thoughtfully. “I keep having the oddest feeling that I know him...”

    “Calcutta?” said Jarvis with another yawn.

    “No-o... Almost definitely not. Though he does put me in mind, just a little, of dear little Mr Kimble: do you wecall him?”

    “No.”

    “Oh, Cousin Jarvis, you must wemember him! His papa owned the house that Mr Ve’ween took after the wains of... I forget; ’09, was it? You must wecall, Cousin: that was the year that he was flooded out, and declared he did not care for himself, but the donkey contwacted a fluxion de poitwine and he was in the gwavest anxiety for its health for weeks!”

    “No. Don’t think I was in Calcutta that year.”

    “Oh. Well, never mind: Mr Kimble, Senior, was a gwossly fat man, and not vewwy pleasant: and of course he had a wife at home in England, which made it wather sad. But little Mr Kimble was the dea’west thing: flashing dark eyes—”

    “Cousin, are you talking of that damned chee-chee that Vereen tried to foist on Poppy as a secretary or some such?”

    Lady Frayn nodded the gold gauze turban very hard. “But of course! Such a pwetty boy!”

    “Mm,” said the Earl, glancing at the innocently interested Miss Burden. “Wasn’t he? But I have to say it, Petrovsky doesn’t in the least put me in mind of him, Cousin Corinna.”

    Her Ladyship went into a trill of silvery laughter. “Not in that way, silly one! No, in looks, merely! –He went on the stage, you know, eventually.”

    The Earl shrugged.

    “Well, he had a natu’wal bent that way: I suppose you will claim you do not wemember what a succès fou he made when Mrs Livermore’s gwoup did The Wivals the following year?”

    “You are entirely correct in that supposition,” he said with finality.

    Corinna merely laughed and said it would come to her, and she was almost sure it was something related to Mr Kimble.

    “Or to Vereen’s donkey. Aye.”

    Miss Burden at this point disgraced herself by collapsing in giggles. She put her hand over her mouth, gasping out an apology. But, strangely, neither Wynton seemed to disapprove in the least of this lapse in manners.

    … “Well?” said Lady Judith, very dry indeed, as, Miss Burden and Janey having been safely deposited at Bluebell Dell, the Deanery carriage turned for Nettleford.

    “All one had hoped for and more! The most hideously vulgar evening party I have ever attended!” said Corinna with relish.

    “Er—yes. I have to admit I agree.”

    “Added to which, those eme’walds the cweature was wea’wing were not a set!” said Corinna gleefully.

    “They appeared to be a set, to me,” returned Lady Caroline mildly.

    Corinna giggled. “Yes, but then, dea’west Aunt, you do not know their histowy! I am almost sure that she would not have worn them, had she known that I—or indeed, any lady who knew her fwom India days—would be pwesent!”

    “Go on, let us hear the worst,” said Lady Judith heavily.

    “I was hoping you’d spare us the worst,” noted the Dean, yawning.

    “I cannot imagine what led you to hope that, dear bwother-in-law!” replied Corinna with her trill of laughter. “Well, not to keep you all in the worst kind of suspense, the bwooch on the bosom was a gift fwom Jarvis when he was besotted with the cweature. Mind you, this was nigh on fifteen years back, she was passable, then. He had it from Cwowe’s in Delhi—the most wespectable of firms, I assure you.”

    “There can be very little doubt, then, that she wore it to spite him,” admitted Lady Caroline, smothering a yawn.

    “No doubt at all, though of course we’re glad to know it,” said the Dean politely.

    “No, but listen! That is not the best!”

    Lady Judith sighed. “Corinna, for Heaven’s sake! It’s nigh on three in the morning: just say it!”

    Lady Frayn detailed with relish the provenance of the rest of Mrs Marsh’s emerald set. Possibly some of the story was apocryphal, but the Dean went into a spluttering fit anyway. Lady Caroline merely shrugged slightly. And Lady Judith noted with a sigh: “More than like. It is only what one would have expected of the creature. I actually intended to ask you, Corinna, what you thought, not of Mrs Marsh’s idea of an engagement party, but of Millicent.”

    “Oh! I like her vewwy much, Judith.”

    “What about Petrovsky?” asked the Dean drily.

    “Oh, thwilling, David!”

    “Mm. Apart from that.”

    “We-ell... I do not think it is apart fwom that,” she said earnestly.

    “Eh?” replied the Dean simply.

    “I am positive I know him, and the thwillingness is vewwy much part of it... I cannot get little Mr Kimble out of my head in that connexion, and yet, apart fwom the effect of the flashing eyes and the dark hair, they are not so alike... It will come to me!” she said definitely.

    The Dean sniffed slightly. “Yes. Like it will come to Cornwallis, no doubt.”

    Lady Judith hesitated. Then she said: “Apart from the thrillingness and the likeness to this Mr Kimble of whom none of us has ever heard, Corinna, is there no other connection that springs to mind?”

    “No, I am afwaid not. Why, have you made some other connection?”

    “No,” she said with a sigh. “It’s his voice, I think.”

    “That or his parrots,” noted the Dean, yawning widely.

    “Welsh...” said Corinna thoughtfully.

    “Well?” asked her sister eagerly.

    “No: nothing,” she said sadly.

    “Shall we get Sleyven to invite Stoyanoff down?” drawled the Dean, yawning yet again.

    “Ideal!” squeaked Corinna, clapping her hands.

    “Do not be ridiculous: he has no hostess—” Lady Judith gulped, and broke off. “In any case,” she said in a weak voice, “surely we do not wish to prove Mrs Marsh’s fiancé is an impostor?”

    “Quite,” said Lady Caroline drily.

    The Dean had been waiting for this to dawn. He broke down in horrible sniggers.

    The two younger Wynton ladies were coldly silent for the rest of the drive.

    His Highness having professed himself too tired for a discussion that evening, the conspirators met next morning over a belated breakfast.

    “Well?” demanded Aunt Cumbridge, since no-one seemed inclined to volunteer.

    “Kitty’s safe enough,” said Sid, yawning.

    “Not ’er!” she said irritably. “Anyroad, she ain’t: that Captain Whatsisname and ’er brother had their heads together, and what’s more ’e spends ’alf ’is afternoons over there playing billiards with the feller: the little girl told me.”

    There was a short silence. None of the younger men dared to ask the formidable old lady precisely what she meant. Natasha Andreyevska eyed her nervously. Harold Hartington, not usually backwards in coming forwards, merely stared glumly at his plate.

    Eventually Sid said with a laugh in his voice: “Dear ma’am, there was a slight confusion of personal pronouns, there! Who is it who plays billiards, and—er—over where? And why is it a danger to us?”

    “The little girl told me,” she repeated sourly. “You needn’t look at me like that, Sid Bottomley, I never let on I understood a word of it. Only I was in the kitchen,”—Sid winced—“and she come round to the back door.”

    “To see the dogs,” explained Nancy.

    “And to get some o’ them cakes you keep handing out,” said Aunt Cumbridge sourly. “Be different if it was you what had to bake ’em! Anyway, she come, and I pretended I was just giving Natasha Andreyevska her orders. And she,”—giving the young woman an evil look—“produces a plate of cakes and a glass of milk, so of course the brat sits down and starts talking. And what she comes out with, see, is that her Uncle George—Major Harrod, to you,” she said evilly to the young actors: they blenched—“was over to Verne Lea playing billiards with Captain Whatsisface, like what ’e does every other afternoon.”

    “That’s what I thought you meant,” said Mr Pouteney pleasedly. “So what’s wrong with that?”

    “Noddy!” she snarled. The elegant Mr Pouteney quailed. “Captain Whatsit is the feller with the yeller curls what’s been hanging round our Kate, and don’t tell me ’is intentions is honourable, ’cos I know better!” Nobody dared to tell her any such thing: she went on, glaring at the unfortunate Mr Pouteney: “And he—the Captain—has been saying for weeks he’s sure he knows Sid, and any minute now he’ll put his finger on ’oo ’e is!”

    “Saying he’ll put his finger on it, yes. Which is not to say he will put his finger on it,” said Sid calmly.

    “Ho, won’t ’e, just? And what’s the betting Major Harrod’ll be playing billiards with ’im when ’e does?”

    “She has got a point,” said Harold Hartington gloomily.

    “Mm... Well, I have to admit,” said Sid, the dark-fringed grey eyes dancing, “that when Lady Frayn honoured me with a dance, she spent half of it dropping Russian names, having assured me that the Russian Ambassador and his wife had just spent several weeks at her son’s country seat, and the other half of it speculating as to where we had met.”

    “Drury Lane,” said Mr Hartington gloomily.

    “If ’e means she’s seen you at the theatre, all I can say is, I told yer so!” snarled Mrs Cumbridge.

    “Yes, but dear Aunt Cumbridge, it ain’t bad! We were about to pack our traps and vanish into the night, anyway!” he said with a laugh.

    “Just like that?” said Harold Hartington limply.

    “Well, have you come up with a better scheme, Harold?”

    Mr Hartington shrugged heavily.

    “No,” agreed Sid. “And on consideration, simply vanishing would seem to be the—er—better part of valour. Rather than holding out for matrimony and a large pay-off,” he explained courteously.

    Mr Hartington winced.

    “So—uh—we just up and leave? Leave ’er flat?” said the old lady.

    “Why not, Aunty? Well, I admit I might hide out at Joe’s for a bit, to get a first-hand account of her reaction!” he said with a smothered laugh.

    “Ye-es... Look, the Earl ain’t safely engaged to Miss Burden yet.”

    “Oh, pooh! Those terrifying Wynton ladies have taken her up: they are very evidently grooming her to bear the heir!”

    “Ar, well, you’re not wrong. Only...”

    “Mm?”

    “Kate tells me she’s only doin’ it to spite the feller,” she said glumly.

    “Eh?” croaked Sid.

    Gloomily Mrs Cumbridge explained.

    Alas, Sid Bottomley went into a helpless sniggering fit. “A woman after my own heart!” he gasped, wiping his eyes.

    “Yes, very possible, only she sounds to me like a woman that’s going to throw all our hard work down the drain!”

    “I don’t think so,” he said with a smile. “—Oh, she may believe at this moment that she’s only doing it to spite him, but in his company, believe me, dear Aunty, that is not the impression she gives!”

    “I was too scared she’d recognise me to go near ’er,” she admitted. “Do you really think so?”

    “Certainly. And—er—well, to put it tactfully, he don’t strike as the sort of gent what’d be content to sit back and let her get away with it!”

    “No-o... I’d hate to think our efforts was wasted, though.”

    “Well, yes, though it has been the most tremendous fun. But I’m due to do Richard Crookback this autumn: I should spend next month mugging up the part.”

    “Your public won’t like it,” Harold Hartington reminded him sourly.

    “True. But I’m a bit bored with romantic leads!” he said with a laugh.

    “Very witty.” Mr Hartington rose, looking sour, and walked out.

    “Lard, what’s up with him?” demanded Mrs Cumbridge.

    “He’s fallen for the widow, ma’am, didn’t you know?” said Samuel Speede gloomily.

    “Lard. Well, just as well we’re gettin’ on out of it, for there ain’t no hope for ’im, there!”

    “No,” he agreed. He went out, shaking his head.

    “But wait!” cried Mr Pouteney excitedly.

    Sid got up. “Drop it, Paul. –Think I might go and start packing.”

    “No, but listen, Sid: Harold could pick up the pieces!”

    Sid looked down at him sardonically. “Would this be as Peter Ivanovich, major-domo to His Disproved Highness, as Septimus Gordon, trusted legal advisor to His Ditto, or as Baron Strepelsky, close friend of the same, Paul?”

    Mr Pouteney had gone very red, but he cried valiantly: “He could do the Baron, who’s to say he might not have been taken in by you?”

    “Rubbish,” said Sid coldly, walking out.

    “He could!” he cried crossly.

    “I think he could, aye,” agreed Mr Fitzwallis.

    Mr Masterson objected uneasily: “He might put it over well enough, Vyv, but he ain’t got hardly a penny to bless himself with, y’know.”

    “She didn’t care for that with Sid!” said Mr Mainwaring eagerly.

    “Pack o’ noddies,” noted Mrs Cumbridge briefly to Mrs Andrews. Nancy nodded feelingly.

    “But listen!” cried Mr Darlinghurst. “It could work!”

    Mrs Cumbridge rose. “Rats. The woman’ll be mad as foire: the place’ll be crawlin’ with Bow Street Runners. They’d sniff him out in no time. –Look, they’ve only got to find a feller to say two words in Russian to ’im to prove it!” she said in violent exasperation.

    The young actors’ faces fell. “Oh,” they said sadly. “Yes.”

    Mr Bottomley-Pugh scratched his chins. “Ar. You’re not wrong, Sid: I’d say suspicion’s roife!” He shook slightly. “There was at least five fellers at that party what said to me they was sure they’d seen you somewhere but they couldn’t quite put their fingers on it!”

    “Mm. What with that and the Wyntons turning out to have this relation who knows the Russian Ambassador—!”

    “That were to be expected!” he wheezed, shaking.

    “So what do you think, Joe?”

    “We-ell... You pack up, Sid. But don’t go just yet. Let it come to the boil. Let ’er rub their noses in it good an’ proper: did you say she was talkin’ about booking the Cathedral for the wedding?”

    Sid nodded, grinning.

    “Aye. Give ’er toime to do that, then. Now that she’s sure of you, she’s going to start showing ’er true colours. Well, we saw a bit of that, t’other night: what with patronising the Lord Lieutenant’s lady on the one hand, and cutting poor Miss Harrod down to size in front of Lady Judith Golightly and the vicar’s woife—ar. I think his Lardship’s safe enough from ’er. But it won’t be playin’ our game for folks to go and start feeling sorry for ’er, will it?”

    “No, very true. Well, if you think it’s safe to hang on, Joe.”

    “Ar. Let it come to the boil!” he repeated.

Next chapter:

https://thepatchworkparasol.blogspot.com/2022/11/the-russian-scandal.html