24
The Play’s The Thing
Mr Perseus Brentwood’s autumn production of The Bride and The Bear was a howling success. At least, the majority of the audience certainly howled with laughter, including most of Jarvis’s party, so it must have been adjudged so. He himself, whilst remaining firmly of the opinion that Viccy Grey’s expression “ineffably silly” had flattered the thing, was glad to see Miss Burden laughing till she had to mop her eyes. Whilst at the same time being relieved that he had spared Aunt Caroline: Mrs Paige was acting as chaperone this evening. Miss Renwick also laughed till she cried. Walter Renwick did not appear positively overcome by the thing, but he certainly did appear entranced by Miss Lattersby’s laughing till she cried. And offered her his own handkerchief to mop her streaming eyes in the second interval. –The thing had three acts. Which meant there was one more to sit through.
“Here,” said Jarvis on a resigned note, passing Miss Burden his own handkerchief.
“Thank you!” she gasped, mopping her streaming eyes. “Oh, dear: it is so silly!”
“Of course, but that is its charm,” said Yoly, blowing her nose hard and handing her brother-in-law back his handkerchief. “Thank you, John. I’m so glad we came; thank you so much for inviting us. Lord Sleyven!”
“Not at all, Miss Renwick; I’m glad you are enjoying it.”
John Paige, a glint in his eye, rose to his feet. “Yes, so are we all, of course. Lord Sleyven, perhaps you’d care for a stroll in the corridor? And we may see if we can procure some refreshment for the ladies.”
Midge blew her nose hard. “Yes, run along,” she said kindly to her almost-fiancé: he blinked. “And reflect that you will probably get your reward in Heaven.”
Making a quick recover, his Lordship bowed and said smoothly: “Oh, I hope to get my reward much sooner than that, Miss Burden.” And followed John Paige out whilst his almost-fiancée’s jaw was still sagging and her cheeks were still reddening.
“Dearest Miss Burden, you did ask for that!” gurgled Janey.
Samela Paige looked at Miss Burden’s glowing cheeks with a little smile. “But you are right, of course, Miss Burden: the poor man is suffering dreadfully: it was so very kind in him to bring us all!”
“Yes. I’m afraid I—um—well, I knew he wouldn’t enjoy it,” said Midge guiltily, “and—um—I let him go ahead and make up the party in any case.”
“But of course! What else are gentlemen for?” replied Samela with a gurgle.
Midge turned redder than ever and gave pleasant Mrs Paige a very weak smile.
“Katerina should have come,” decided Janey.
“Er—well, I’m not sure that she would have enjoyed it,” admitted Midge. “But since Captain Cornwallis’s cousins had so very kindly invited her to their party—”
“She actually wished to go, too,” said Janey glumly.
“He seems a very good sort of fellow,” murmured Walter Renwick.
Janey frowned, and bit her lip a little. “Yes, of course he is. But—but he is at least as old as my Papa, you know.”
“That does not mean that they may not work it out between them,” said Samela briskly, getting up. “But I think we are being a little previous: from what you have said I do not think they know each other very well, yet, do they? –Miss Burden, if you will excuse me, I think I should like a little stroll before the last act. Walter, dear, will you accompany me? And Miss Lattersby, do you feel like a stroll?”
Miss Lattersby, pinkening, agreed to this proposition, and the three went out.
“I hope she did not imagine that was tact,” said Yoly feebly to Miss Burden.
“I do not think that she imagined that for one instant, Yoly,” replied Midge, considerably amused. “But it worked, did it not? And neither of the two seemed particularly disturbed by the lack of tact.”
“No,” said Yoly, gnawing on her lip. She got up and came forward to the front of the box. After a few moments of staring blindly at the noisy throng in the pit she said: “Janey and Katerina are even younger then me. But I suppose that is what everyone comes to London for.”
“Well, yes, I’m afraid it is,” said Midge awkwardly.
Yoly swallowed. “I’m sorry, Miss Burden: I didn’t mean— I like Janey very much; please don’t misunderstand me.”
“That’s quite all right, Yoly. I understand exactly how you feel. I felt the same when my sister-in-law became engaged to Colonel Langford and my niece, Polly, at almost the same time engaged the affections of a gentleman. When—when things change in that way, especially if the change seems very sudden, one feels that one is not in control of one’s life.”
“Yes: that’s exactly it.” agreed Yoly.
Midge smiled at her. “Now I trot out a platitude along the lines of ‘You will not feel that way once it is your turn, my dear,’ and of course you immediately feel so much better!”
Yoly gave a gurgle of laughter at that, and came to sit beside her. “Oh, you do understand! You’re not like them, after all: I knew it!”
Midge swallowed. “Who?” she croaked.
Yoly waved her hand. “Well—you know! Society ladies. –Not to mention married ladies; I’m afraid Samela can be rather, um, typical.”
Midge twinkled at her. “I think you are lucky to have such an understanding woman for a sister. My own older sisters would have worked me unmercifully as unpaid governess-cum-housekeeper had I been so unfortunate as to have to live with them, but now that they believe I am going to be the next Countess of Sleyven they are showering me with invitations, flattery and gifts. Fortunately they live too far from London to rush up and toad-eat Lady Caroline and the Earl at very short notice, but I am in no doubt that they have that lined up for next Season. And Ursula has already hinted strongly that she and her family should be invited to Maunsleigh for Christmas. But,” she ended grimly, “they will find they are in for a disappointment.”
“Do you intend to tell Lord Sleyven not to invite them?” asked Yoly dubiously.
“What? Oh!” said Midge on a gasp. “Um—something like that.” She bent forward and affected to examine the throng. “I think that is— Yes, it is!” she said with some relief, as Captain Lord Vyvyan Gratton-Gordon rose to his feet in a box further round the circle, bowed profoundly and waved energetically. The two gentlemen with him copied him. “They are coming over: can you bear it?” she said to Yoly with a laugh. as the gentlemen’s box then emptied precipitately.
“Um—yes. Um—who are they?” asked Miss Renwick on a fearful note.
“I am afraid it is Captain Lord Vyvyan G.-G., but you may safely ignore him: he will not realise you are doing it. And the other two are M. d’Arresnes and Mr Marsh. Now, that is not too terrible, is it? You met them at the impromptu foreign-language poetry recital!” she reminded her gaily.
“Yes,” agreed Yoly glumly.
“Yoly, Teddy Marsh is the merest boy, and dreadfully naïve!”
“Yes. We used to play together in India. Not him,” said Miss Renwick, twisting her fingers together in the lap of her fetching new gown.
“The Vicomte? Well, he is not very old, either!” said Midge with a laugh.
“You’re doing it,” replied Miss Renwick in a grim voice.
“What— Oh! Being a Society lady? Help, am I?” said Midge with a gurgle. “I do beg your pardon!”
Miss Renwick smiled weakly, not realising, for after all she had not known Miss Burden so very long, that she was witnessing a very curious phenomenon indeed: for there was no gentleman present and not a Wynton in sight, and here was Miss Burden positively sounding like Millicent!
Lord Sleyven might have been prepared to be quite annoyed, on returning to his box, to find it filled with fribbles, had it not been for the fact that at the very moment of his re-entering it, Miss Burden could be heard confessing to Vyv G.-G.: “I have never seen a play in a real theatre before. I had no notion how—how thrillingly immediate it would be!” Vyv was agreeing in a muddled voice, but the Earl barely noticed that. Especially as Miss Burden then added: “It is very silly, of course: in fact I am told that Mr Viccy Grey has blighted it as ‘ineffably silly’; but I must confess I am so enjoying it: it is such a pleasure to be able simply to laugh mindlessly for an evening, is it not?” Vyv agreed with that, too, though as in Jarvis’s experience he was incapable of anything but the mindless kind— But never mind, she was happy, that was what mattered!
... “So, now you have seen a play,” he said with a smile as they were dropped off at Wynton House and the carriage continued on to Richmond with Yoly and the Paiges.
“Yes: I loved it!” admitted Midge with a guilty laugh. “Thank you so much for taking us, dear sir! And I could see it was an agony for you, so please do not pretend you enjoyed it! But I must assure you that I am very, very grateful.”
“Miss Burden, if it made you happy, then I am content,” he said formally, bowing.
Midge looked up at him doubtfully, feeling a sudden surge of remorse. He was not all bad. But Slight and two of the footmen were in the hall: there was nothing she could say in front of them. “Good-night,” she said in a small voice, going slowly upstairs.
Major Lattersby had prevailed upon his widowed sister, a Mrs Goodridge, to act as chaperone to the two young ladies in his care. Chaperoning as performed by Mrs Goodridge was not a very onerous task: she initiated no outings herself, and if some other lady invited the girls to form part of her party, simply let that lady take over her duties. So far Major Lattersby had forced her to attend a concert, a rout party and, for she was rather fond of cards, three card parties given by other persons; and Janey so far had had no trouble in taking innumerable strolls in the Park in the company of persons of the opposite gender, in driving out with half a dozen persons of the opposite gender in their curricles or phaetons, and in making innumerable appointments at the Circulating Library, not all with persons of the opposite gender, but enough. The well-behaved Katerina had secretly been rather horrified at the freedom which Mrs Goodridge permitted them to enjoy, though she had not gone so far as to write her Pa complaining of it.
Today was a day which Janey had appointed for strolling in the Park, and fortunately it dawned fine with only some high cloud. There was a brisk wind, but the girls put on their warm pelisses with their tippets and fur-trimmed bonnets, and hurried out eagerly into the morning. Not pursued by any injunctions from Mrs Goodridge, for she seldom rose before noon.
In the Park it appeared that Janey had merely made an assignation with Amanda and Portia Waldgrave. Their mamma had dispatched them with one of her cousin’s maids in attendance, but Portia explained airily that Mary had an Interest, whom she was used to meet on these occasions in Nursemaids’ Corner, and they would collect her at the gates in an hour or so. Amanda, who was very pink-cheeked, merely giggled.
It then appeared that Janey had not merely made an assignation with these two friends: for after the four young ladies had strolled down a path or so, two eager-looking young gentlemen hove in sight. Janey’s cousins, Bob and Alfie d’Annunzio. Miss Amanda’s cheeks became even pinker and she giggled a terrific lot and immediately allowed Bob d’Annunzio to take her arm and lead her off a little way ahead of the rest: so it was obvious why she had come. And he. Mr Alfie did not appear quite so eager, but glad enough to take Portia’s arm, so it was obvious why Bob had brought him. Miss Portia did not appear precisely displeased, so that was all right.
They strolled on. Katerina by now would not have been surprised at anything, in especial as Janey’s eyes were very bright and there was a naughty smile on her lips. Sure enough, as they turned a corner a short, plumpish young lady in a fetching bottle-green pelisse and bonnet was espied, leaning on the arm of a slim gentleman who had a cane in his other hand.
“Major Renwick and Yoly,” discerned Katerina neutrally.
Janey gave a loud giggle. “I said to him, would she care for a stroll with you and me, you know: and of course he said that she could scarcely come up from Richmond by herself—”
“Janey,” said Katerina in an urgent undervoice: “I am not at all sure that she approves of your encouraging her brother.”
“I am almost sure she does not! But that, you know, was what we call in military circles a tactical move!”
“I would call it a pre-emptive strike,” she said grimly. “I collect that I take her, while you take him?”
Janey gave another loud giggle but, for they were fast approaching the brother and sister, did not speak, merely nodded the fetching russet bonnet with its rowan berries.
Major and Miss Renwick were duly absorbed into the group. Politely Katerina encouraged Yoly to give her impressions of the play she had seen with Miss Burden and the Earl, and the party strolled on, in couples.
It was not very long at all before they espied a wide-shouldered figure in a blue coat.
“Why do they all favour blue coats, even if they are off duty?” wondered Miss Lattersby artlessly.
Katerina had gone very red. “Janey—”
“I merely said to the poor man that we might be taking a stroll this morning.”
Katerina said nothing, for Captain Cornwallis, his hat in his hand and his silvering yellow curls shining in the mild autumn sunlight, was hastening towards them, his heavily handsome face lit up.
The Captain’s good manners would not have allowed him to leave little Miss Renwick to walk on her own, even had Katerina permitted it: they walked on with the Captain between the girls, and Katerina—a trifle maliciously, for it was not his fault, but naughty Janey’s—encouraging Yoly to ask him about the Battle of Trafalgar.
This naval theme was not, however, to be pursued for long: for Lo! They rounded another bend, and there was a slim figure in the nattiest of fawn pantaloons and a wonderful brown coat. Janey tugged Major Renwick back so that they ranged alongside his sister and the other two. “Goodness, I do believe that is M. d’Arresnes! What a piece of luck, Yoly: now you will not have to be a gooseberry!”
Before the luckless Yoly could utter, the Vicomte was upon them.
In very short order indeed Miss Renwick then discovered the impossibility of actively discouraging an attractive young man who tucks your hand in his arm, smiles into your eyes with his speaking grey ones, and gives every appearance of hanging breathlessly on every word of the total inanities you then utter.
Eventually she was forced to say: “Yes, it was funny, sir, but it was the silliest thing I have ever seen!”
“Of course: it was the silliest thing I have ever seen, too; but that is why it is rapidly becoming the hit of the Little Season, non?” he said, the speaking grey eyes smiling right into her round brown ones.
“Um—I suppose. At least it doesn’t pretend to be anything it is not,” said Yoly gruffly.
“Exact!” agreed M. d’Arresnes, laughing a little. “Unlike, one is told, the rival company’s production of Richard III. Have you seen it yet, Miss Renwick?”
She admitted she had not. M. d’Arresnes then wondered if she would care for him to get up a party? Yoly went purple and did not know what to say.
“Or do you not care for the play? Or, perhaps, for the theme?” he said kindly. “Miss Burden mentioned to me that although she intends going, it sadly brings to mind a crippled friend of hers, and she does not care to see a disability turned into a spectacle.”
“Oh. Um, in that case,” said Yoly, swallowing hard, “if it were me, I would not go.”
“No? But then, I think Lord Sleyven wishes to see it, and she wishes to please him, non?” he murmured, the grey eyes dancing.
“Wuh-well, she should not, if it is against her principles!” cried Yoly.
“But is it not a case of conflicting principles? She would not wish to hurt his Lordship’s feelings, surely?”
“No—um—I suppose not!” she gasped.
“No. It is not particularly easy, is it, when one’s principles clash?”
“No. Um—do you think that is truly what she feels?” said Yoly in a small voice.
M. d’Arresnes was not very old. He was, however, considerably older than Miss Renwick, and had considerably more knowledge of the world than she. He looked down at the lowered bonnet and said very kindly indeed: “I think so. I think she cares very much for him. He is a lucky man.”
“She—she is very clever,” said Yoly in a voice that shook.
“Yes? In the sense of very intelligent, Miss Renwick? Why, yes!” he said gaily as she looked up and nodded: “I think so, too. As I say, he is a lucky man. But you have not said whether you care for the piece?”
“Um—well, I’ve read it,” said Yoly cautiously. “It is quite exciting, isn’t it? But he is such a horrid man.”
“For a hero? Mais bien sûr!” he said, laughing. “Yet one cannot refrain from a sneaking liking for him: I, at least, am conscious of a wish to see his plots succeed, and to see him succeed with that poor Lady Anne whenever I re-read it; even though I know all the time that he is a monster and that any sympathy for him is misplaced!”
“Yes, indeed,” said Yoly, staring up at him. “I hadn’t thought of it in quite those—” She swallowed. “I confess, I would like to see the rôle played on stage.”
“Then I shall ask Tante Violette to make up a party!” he said merrily. “You must not expect too much of this performance, however, my dear Miss Renwick!”
“Um—no. Um, you—you mustn’t do that,” said Yoly in a small voice.
“But I insist! Or does your pleasant sister not feel that I am suitable?” he said, making a moue.
“Y— No, of course she—I mean, I have not spoken to her on the topic!” gasped poor Yoly, turning puce.
“I am sorry to hear that! But she has not warned you that I am a penniless Froggy who must marry money?”
Gulping, Yoly shook her head.
“Well, that is good,” said M. le Vicomte d’Arresnes placidly.
Miss Renwick, for all her stout heart, found she did not dare to ask if he were indeed a penniless Froggy who must marry money.
… “They seem to be getting on very well,” noted Walter Renwick in a low voice.
Janey twinkled up at him. “Well, yes: I have remarked that M. d’Arresnes rather admires your sister!”
“Yes,” said Walter evenly, “I am sure you have. Have you also remarked that Yoly is a little the same type as Miss Burden, and that he also admires her?”
“Naturally,” replied Janey with utter self-possession.
“Mm,” said Walter on a grim note. “Perhaps you will be so good as to tell me, Miss Lattersby, whether this entire morning was engineered by you?”
“Well, yes!” Janey admitted with a giggle, peeping at him. “Only to please everybody concerned, dear sir! Are you cross?”
“I am not, no. But I take leave to wonder whether perhaps the Vicomte d’Arresnes’s family might be rather cross. And whether, on the one hand,” he said, glancing at Amanda’s fetching pink bonnet very close to Mr d’Annunzio’s handsome dark head, “your uncle might not be best pleased and, on the other hand, Miss Amanda’s family might not be pleased, by that conjunction. And I am most certainly wondering what your friend Miss Bottomley-Pugh’s family might feel about that other conjunction.”
Janey waited but he did not say it, so she said: “Not to mention what the Cornwallises might feel: yes. But did you not mention yourself at the play that he is a very good sort of fellow? And we have it on excellent authority that his mamma and the older brother who is the head of his family are not interested in him: I hope that puts your mind at rest.”
“Not entirely, no. May I ask whether it was your idea or Miss Bottomley-Pugh’s to meet up with the Captain this morning?”
Janey was now rather red. “It was mine; why not?”
“Miss Lattersby, I think you know as well as I that it is not right in you to encourage it, when Miss Bottomley-Pugh is not in her own family’s care,” he said levelly.
Janey pulled her arm out of his, pouting. “You are being horrid! There is nothing in it that anyone could object to, and he is not a man who will overstep the line!”
“No, from all I have heard of him, I do not think he is. But he is three times your lovely friend’s age and her parents are not here to advise her. I shall speak to your father.”
“You could not be so horrid!” she gasped.
“Yes,” said Walter Renwick levelly, meeting her eyes: “I could. I shall inform him of what you are up to, and advise him to write to the girl’s father.”
Janey’s lower lip wobbled. “You are an utter beast!”
“On the contrary,” said Walter, sounding very calm, but also extremely cold, for he was by now very angry, both with her and with the fact of his own feelings for her: “I am a sensible man.”
Janey gulped. They walked on in silence. After quite some time she managed to say: “Please don’t speak to Papa, Major Renwick. He—he would say I have abused both his trust and Katerina’s. I shall speak to him myself.”
“Good,” said Walter in a low voice, licking his lips.
After a moment Janey offered in a tiny voice: “I only meant it for the best.”
“I don’t think that is entirely true. You certainly did not mean harm, and you wanted to please both your friend and the Captain. But you also did it for the sheer joy of being naughty. Well, I was as silly at your age: sillier, in some ways,” he said with a smothered sigh. “I suppose the Army helped to lick me into shape.”
“Then there is no help for me, for I clearly cannot take the King’s shilling!” retorted Janey crossly.
“Just as well; I’d hate to have to try to drill you into the semblance of a soldier!” said Walter, laughing a little. “Don’t be cross. I’m very glad that you will speak to your father.”
“Um—but what if Mr Bottomley-Pugh forbids Katerina to go on seeing him?”
“That is the risk you take. But it is his right to do so.”
After a moment Janey said glumly: “Yes, it is. Mind you, I think he quite likes him, but as to whether he wants him for a son-in-law... I think that on the whole Mr Bottomley-Pugh despises our class.”
“Really?” said Walter weakly.
“Yes,” said Janey, nodding the bonnet. “I wish I could tell you— But I cannot, the story is not mine to tell. But I will just say, that if you could get to know him, I think you would find his a most interesting character. He has,” she said, a reminiscent smile on her lips, “the most intricate mind I have ever encountered.”
Major Renwick had to swallow. “Really?”
“Yes. It’s a great pity that Mr Vaughan—that is Katerina’s brother—does not take after him, for if he did, I would marry him on the spot!” said Janey cheerfully.
“Poor fellow,” said Walter drily.
She dimpled and nodded the bonnet at him, and slipped her arm through his again in a confiding manner. Walter Renwick was conscious of a strong hope that this gesture might have more to do with Miss Lattersby’s feelings towards him as a man and less to do with her desire not to be reported to her father. But he was not at all sure that the hope might be fulfilled: clearly, Miss Lattersby also was possessed of “an intricate mind”.
When the Vicomte had turned up and borne off the little Renwick girl Captain Cornwallis had felt so pleased he could have given the fellow a medal. After a while, however, he became aware that Miss Bottomley-Pugh had become very silent. He hesitated, then said: “Is anything wrong?”
“Why, no,” said Katerina, trying to smile. “Of course not.”
The Captain hesitated again. “I think I see,” he said at last. “This is a plot by your little friend, is it not?”
Katerina cleared her throat. “Well, yes, I think it must be.”
“Then I apologize for taking part in it,” said the Captain stiffly, going very red.
“No! It was not your f— I mean, you could not know—”
“So you were not expecting to meet me?” he said on a grim note.
“Well, no, Captain Cornwallis. Did she give you to believe—? Oh, dear,” she said, as he nodded. “I am so sorry.”
“No: I am,” he said tightly. “Perhaps I had best take my leave.”
“You—you must not feel,” said Katerina in a trembling voice, “that you should do that.”
His face lit up. “No? So you do wish for my company?”
“Wuh-well, I—I think so,” said the self-possessed Miss Bottomley-Pugh in a tiny voice that shook considerably.
The little hand on his arm also shook: the Captain put his free hand over it for an instant. It felt very cold, right through the glove. His hand tightened a moment, and he said: “You are cold. You must carry a muff. Do you have one?”
“Yes. But it was such a clear day—”
“Yes, but these autumn mornings are deceptive, my dear.”
“Yes: I think you are right: I shall carry my muff in future,” said Katerina weakly, wishing they could get off the subject of muffs. Though possibly that was preferable to the previous subject.
The Captain looked down at her uncertainly. “May I ask what the trouble is? For I think something is wrong.”
“It is only,” said Katerina, her face flaming, “that I am very sure that Major Lattersby knows nothing of this morning’s expedition, and—and I am not altogether sure that my Pa would approve if he knew how much freedom we are being allowed, in London.”
After a moment the Captain said: “Or that he would approve of my seeing you, is that it?”
“Well, yes. I think he likes you,” said Katerina honestly, “but it is not always easy to tell, with Pa. That—that appearance of openness that he presents is—is—”
“Totally and utterly misleading!” said the Captain with a sudden laugh. “Yes, Miss Bottomley-Pugh, I had grasped that, after the Russian intrigue!”
“Mm,” she murmured, smiling in spite of herself.
They walked on in silence for some time. Leonard Cornwallis was very tempted to cover that icy little hand with his again, but did not do so. Finally he said: “I shall go down and see your father; I think that would be best.”
“What?” she gasped.
He made a wry little face. “You may feel it is too soon, and of course we do not know each other very well, as yet. But I do not want your father to get the impression that I wish to do anything behind his back. I shall merely request his permission to—to see a little of you while you are in town.”
“But—” Katerina bit her lip and fell silent.
“Do you not wish me to?” said the Captain huskily.
She looked up into his face. “Sir, to tell you the truth, I am not absolutely sure. I know that I like you, but...”
“I’m too damned old for you, is that it?” he said tightly.
“It— Not precisely!” she gasped. “It’s not the age difference as such, but...”
“I think it is,” he said bleakly.
Katerina looked up at him shyly and was horrified to see the forget-me-not eyes had filled with tears. “No, it’s something much sillier,” she said bravely.
“What?” replied the Captain blankly, blinking.
Suddenly she gave his arm a little squeeze. “I know it is impossibly Missish, but when I think of living in a gentleman’s house, perhaps many miles from my family, and—and having to deal all by myself with things such as emergencies in the kitchen, and butlers who up and leave, and—and having to—to report it, when things go wrong, I... There; I said it was impossibly Missish,” she finished in a small voice.
He gave a shaken laugh. “But my darling girl, you would not be in the position of some inept little Middy, hauled up on Captain’s Report, you know!”
“I cannot help thinking it would feel very much like it,” said Katerina frankly.
“I see,” he said limply, thinking in spite of himself that girls took some very strange notions into their heads.
Katerina watched him anxiously as he thought about it.
“Yes, well, in the first instance I do not have a house as yet. My two girls are with their Grandmamma Walshe, at Richmond, and I am merely living in rooms. I think the question of a house, and whether we can contrive so that it is not miles from your family, is one of the points I should discuss with your father. And in the second instance, I think it is high time that you met my little girls: for in the happy case that I do succeed in immuring you in my house at the mercy of domestic emergencies, you will not be alone there, you will have Harriet and Jessica to support you! Mind you, they have been up on Captain’s Report in their time,” he said, shaking his handsome head.
“Um—yes,” she croaked, not knowing whether to laugh or—
“Though it usually ended in the miscreant sittin’ on the Captain’s knee, bawlin’ her eyes out,” he said, the forget-me-not eyes now definitely twinkling. “A tradition which I would hope to see continued. Though the bawlin’ bit ain’t mandatory!”
“Oh!” she cried.
The Captain laughed. “That’s better! So, are you beginning to see that your fears may be unfounded?” he added gently, though still smiling.
Miss Bottomley-Pugh bit her lip. “Wuh-well, yes.”
“And would you care to meet my girls?”
“Yes, I would, sir. But only,” she said, taking a deep breath and looking him firmly in the eye, “if Pa permits me. For I do think that—that we should get our position quite clear, before requiring your daughters to contemplate the possibility of—of any change in their circumstances, sir.”
Quite unaccountably, at this very firm speech the Captain’s forget-me-not eyes shone very much and he even forgot himself so far as to cover that cold little hand with his big, warm one and press it very hard. “Yes, my dear. Just as you say,” he said huskily.
Katerina went very pink and looked away, her heart fluttering in her breast.
Captain Cornwallis who, for all his respectability, was not entirely inexperienced, felt such a surge of relief on perceiving this emotion in her that his knees went quite weak. For although she had said she did like him, liking was not at all the emotion he had hoped he raised in Miss Bottomley-Pugh’s maidenly breast!
They walked on together in complete silence, neither of them aware that they had ceased entirely to communicate in words.
When the gates hove in sight and Miss Amanda came up to them and said eagerly: “We shall confidently expect to see you at the play, then, dear Katerina?” they both jumped.
“The play?” echoed Katerina weakly.
Amanda nodded her pink bonnet vigorously. “Yes, indeed! Mamma and Aunt Catherine intend getting up a party: I am sure I mentioned it!”
“Oh. Well, I have not seen it, but Janey—“
“Not The Bride and The Bear,” said Amanda regretfully. “Mamma says it does not sound quite respectable. No: Richard III; it is said to be positively thrilling!” She beamed at them.
“Richard III,” echoed Katerina numbly.
“Everyone’s going,” said Captain Cornwallis kindly. “The ladies are said to be aux anges over it.”
“Oh, quite, Captain!” agreed Amanda, nodding the bonnet at him. “Aunt Catherine’s dear friend, a Mrs Clive, informs us that the interpretation is calculatedly chilling, but at the same time possessed of an eerie charm!”
“I’m sure,” he said, the broad shoulders shaking slightly.
“No, but dear sir!” gasped Katerina. “It is Roland Lefayne!”
“Oh,” said the Captain numbly.
Katerina gave him an agonised look.
“Oh, well, in that case, my dear, I can guarantee you will have an intriguing evening,” he said brazenly.
“My dear Katerina, I venture to support Captain Cornwallis in that assurance!” urged Amanda. “And Mamma is greatly looking forward to having you and Janey join our party.”
“Lovely,” said Katerina in a hollow voice, trying to pull herself together. “Please convey our grateful thanks to your mamma and—and tell her that we shall look forward to it.”
“Tremendously,” prompted the Captain.
Miss Bottomley-Pugh was driven to give Captain Cornwallis an evil look. Regrettably, her admirer’s broad shoulders then shook silently for quite some time.
“We thought Millicent might care to make up a party for the thing,” said Nessa Weaver-Grange airily.
“You are very kind, but I am afraid we have already made up a party for it,” replied Jarvis, carefully polite.
“Oh? But then, let us join our parties, my dear Sleyven!” cried Nessa with an artless look.
“Our group will include some very young persons whom I think you would find dull, Mrs Weaver-Grange,” he said politely.
“Oh, but tell!” said Nessa, opening her big limpid eyes very wide at him: “Why are you inflicting such voluntary torture on yourself, Sleyven?”
“They are the children of old acquaintances.” he said shortly.
“Really? Eloise tells me that Bobby claims you had ever a strong sense of your duty to the children of old acquaintances, in the regiment.”
“Does he?” said the Earl in a bored voice. “He might well do: I have known Ferdy Bon-Dutton since I was in short-coats.”
This was Bobby’s and Eloise’s father, and a considerable amount, of which Nessa knew the Earl must know she was aware, was going unsaid here. She gave him a look of veiled dislike from under her lashes. and drawled: “Oh, I am sure.”—Most of what was going unsaid related to an unsavoury scrape in which Mr Ashley Wemyss, during a very short-lived sojourn in India just after he left school, had involved Bobby Bon-Dutton.—“But I do assure you I am used to the boring children of old acquaintances: does one meet anyone else, in London? Do let’s join forces!”
The Earl gave in. “Do not say you have not been warned. Shall we dine together, then?”
“Thrilling, my dear!” said Nessa with a trill of laughter. rolling the eyes at him. “But not amongst the troglodytes of Wynton House, I do beg! Come to us: Uncle Dougie will adore to see you!”
“Thank you: we shall look forward to it,” he said, bowing.
Nessa gave another trill of laughter, and rustled off to report to Eloise.
Neither Jarvis nor Lady Caroline was surprised to see that Nessa’s party consisted merely of herself, Eloise, Boy Wemyss, and their host. Mr Weaver-Grange did not accompany them to the theatre, however, having, as he pithily expressed himself to the Earl, no taste for Shakespeare of the ranting variety. At the theatre Nessa discovered with a great show of disappointment that their box was at the opposite side of the circle from the Earl’s: after considerable fussing, the trio took themselves off to it.
“Now we can be comfortable.” said Midge with a sigh. “I’m sorry about that dinner, Susi-Anna: unfortunately, those are the sorts of persons whom one cannot always avoid in London.”
Susi-Anna Marsh blushed a little and made polite disclaiming noises; smiling, Jarvis saw to it that she was comfortably seated by Miss Burden, and himself pulled up a chair close behind them.
“I should warn you not to expect too much of this,” he murmured.
“Lord Sleyven, you have warned all of us innumerable times!” cried Midge, laughing. “We are not expecting too much, and in fact are prepared for anything!”
Captain Lord Vyvyan Grafton-Gordon, having discovered that both Harry Morphett and Teddy Marsh would be with them, had elected to join the Earl’s theatre party, privily confessing to Miss Burden that the Vicomte had asked him, but although little Miss Renwick was quite a dear little thing, the sight of d’Arresnes moonin’ over her turned his stomach, rather.
“Not for a laugh, though,” he put in on a glum note.
“Dear Captain Lord Vyvyan, you should have come with us to The Bride and The Bear, if you wished for a laugh!” responded Midge, twinkling at him.
“Yes, but you didn’t invite me, Miss Burden,” he said mournfully.
“Ignore every word, Miss Burden: the fellow told me himself he was on duty that night,” said young Harry Morphett.
“Dissembler!” cried Miss Burden, shaking her head very hard at the gallant hussar.
“No, I ain’t, Miss Burden: you do me an injustice. For the fact that I could not come does not mean that I was invited.” He looked smug.
There was a short silence.
“After that stunning piece of logic—thank you, Vyv,” said Jarvis in a faint voice: the Captain grinned—“all there is left to say is that you will not have a laugh tonight, but instead you may expect your blood to be chilled—or was it curdled, Miss Burden?”
“Both!” she said, laughing. “No, I think it was chilled. Look: there are the Waldgraves, we may ask them!” She waved, beaming.
“Oh, Lor’, that’s Cousin Egbert Lush with ’em,” muttered the gallant Captain glumly. “Could have done without him.”
“Is your cousin the man in the blue waistcoat, Captain?” asked Susi-Anna shyly, going very pink. “I do not think he looks prepared to enjoy himself.”
The Captain peered. “Oh, good: nor he do!” he discovered happily.
“It’ll be because Miss Amanda’s been tellin’ him that her Mamma’s friend found it chilling—no, actually: think the expression was ‘chillingly eerie’, Vyv,” noted Teddy Marsh.
The Captain grinned, but confided on a glum note: “Mamma’s been makin’ noises. Says the Waldgraves are very respectable and we know all about them and their antecedents.”
The remark seemed to be addressed to Miss Marsh: jumping, she gasped: “Really? Well, that is true, of course, sir! And—and Amanda has a sweet nature.”
“Dare say. But I ain’t on the shelf,” he said with a frown.
“N— Um— Can a gentleman be on the shelf?” she gasped.
Looking pleased, he said: “That’s what I said to Mamma. But she said: ‘Vyvyan, regardless of whether a gentleman can, you are, my dear: think about it.’ Then she starts in to list all me friends what have got leg-shack—um, married.”
“Lucas Claveringham,” said Harry Morphett neutrally.
“That was years back! And he weren’t a particular friend. And I dare say he is five or six years older than me!”
“Harley Q.-S. ain’t that long married, neither.”
“That was years back and besides, he is many years older than Vyv,” said Jarvis smoothly.
“Look, stop ganging up on me!” he cried. “It ain’t that I dislike the idea, but I ain’t in love with Miss Amanda nor Miss Portia! And besides, where would I live?”
The assembled company looked at him blankly.
“In a house?” suggested Harry.
“Do not be so unkind, Mr Morphett! I know what you mean, Captain Lord Vyvyan,” said Susi-Anna kindly. “You mean you do not have an establishment, is that it?”
“Yes,” he said gratefully. “And besides, would I sell out?”
They looked at him blankly.
Eventually Lady Caroline said: “That would be a matter that you and your fiancée would discuss, Vyvyan.”
“Would it, ma’am? S’pose it would, aye. But then, you never know what they’ll want, do you? –Pa says I’m a dunderhead and might as well stick with the Army.”
Several persons had to bite their lips, but Susi-Anna responded gallantly: “But do you like the life, Lord Vyvyan?”
“Not all that much. It wasn’t bad when we were fighting Boney, but I don’t like being a Hyde-Park soldier.”
“Transfer,” said Jarvis in a bored voice.
“Yes: then you could go to India!” cried Miss Burden. “That would be very exciting; Lord Sleyven and Colonel Langford saw such a lot of action there!”
Jarvis smiled a little, but pointed out drily: “He tried that once.”
“Pa wouldn’t stand for it. Started adding up how many of ’em are between me and the title. Wrote me these dashed mournful letters. –More than a fellow could stand, y’know,” he said to Susi-Anna.
“I see. Wuh-well, that is—is very understandable, sir.”
“Sell out. Get Wade to set you up on a snug country estate, do a bit of farming.” said Jarvis in a rather kinder tone.
“But would he, sir? That’s the thing.”
“Vyv, you cannot know unless you ask him.”
“Aye,” said the Captain glumly. “—Oops, look out, here they come,” he muttered.
Sure enough, after a lot of signalling Miss Amanda and Miss Portia, with “Cousin Egbert” in attendance, were seen to be leaving their box.
Miss Portia greeted the company breathlessly with: “Good evening, Lady Caroline; good evening, Lord Sleyven; good evening, Miss Burden! Mamma and Aunt Catherine send their best compliments, Lady Caroline, and Aunt Catherine wishes to know, should you care to join us for supper afterwards?”
Graciously Lady Caroline accepted for their party.
Captain Lord Vyvyan greeted his cousin glumly with: “Hullo, Egbert. Wouldn’t have thought Shakespeare was your cup of tea.”
Mr Egbert Lush was a tall, broad-shouldered man, quite good-looking, rather after the Captain’s own style, but with a very gloomy appearance to him—though the gloom might have been due immediately to the Shakespeare. He shook his head slowly and replied: “It ain’t. Said to Mamma, I did not come up to town for jollifications.”
“Goodness; what did you come for, sir?" ventured Midge. “The Parliament, perhaps?”
He looked at her sadly. “No. Heard Bobby Amory got married.”
“It’s a hum,” said the Captain instantly.
“Yes,” agreed Harry. “He did get married—though I concede he is twice your age, Vyv—but he ain’t sellin’ his horses.”
“Well, dammit, why did I come?” demanded Mr Lush sourly.
No-one was capable of responding to this gambit, not even Lady Caroline; after a moment Midge managed in a weak voice: “Why should getting married be supposed to induce a man to sell his horses?”
“Not all his horses, ma’am: his chestnuts,” said Mr Lush gloomily. “Drives ’em tandem. Perfectly matched: trained them himself.”
“I apprehend,” said the Earl, beginning to lose control of his mouth, “that a fellow's bride might be expected to tell him that drivin’ tandem is a dashed dangerous pursuit.”
“Aye, and that he ain’t to do it no more,” agreed Captain Lord Vyvyan, shaking his head.
“That's it,” said Egbert Lush to Miss Burden.
Midge gulped, and failed to achieve a simper. "I see,” she croaked.
Luckily for the gravity of several of the Earl’s party the Waldgraves, with some parting reminders from Miss Amanda as to chillingness and eeriness, then took themselves and their cousin off. Silence then fell in the Earl’s box.
It had crossed Major Lattersby’s mind to wonder, as the night of the performance drew nigh, if something was up, for Janey seemed to be in a state of continuous giggles and Katerina, whom he had thought a very sensible sort of girl, was not far behind her. Well, it was doubtless something and nothing—relief on Janey’s part at not having been severely reprimanded for the illicit assignations in the Park, no doubt, and maidenly nerves on Katerina’s on account of Cornwallis’s having gone down to see her father.
As they took their seats in the box with Mrs Lush, Mrs Waldgrave and their party the girls were giggling again and very flushed, but he thought nothing of it—indeed, was quite pleased that they considered it a treat. He himself was fully prepared to be horridly bored. He did not care for historical plays, and he particularly did not care for historical plays with ranting grotesques in ’em.
As the curtain went up on the first scene he winced. Expectable. Lived up to Viccy Grey’s description of the thing, in fact. A lone, hugely hunched, apparently headless, black-draped figure... There’d be fellows holding lanterns in the wings to make that eerie shadow, doubtless. Expectably, most of the audience had jumped, gasped, and rustled. There was an expectable pause... Then the figure turned slowly, pushing back the immense hood of the giant cape. “Now is the winter of our discontent—” The Major could remember his mother having had just such a hood, it was the stiffened sort that ladies had been accustomed to wear over their high powdered wigs in his childhood—“made glorious summer by—” Ho, hum.
In front of him Janey produced a sort of strangled squeak and dug Katerina violently in the nibs. In the cramped confines of the box Major Lattersby quite distinctly heard Miss Bottomley-Pugh gulp. All over the theatre similar reactions could be seen and heard: the ladies, of course, adored Roland Lefayne. The Major rolled his eyes a little: the sensible, well-behaved Katerina, too?
The cape thing had been fair warning, even had Viccy Grey not already performed that kind office: Jarvis observed with immense resignation, as the fellow turned and pushed the hood back and the ladies jumped and rustled, that he was playing Richard as a sort of hunched Ivanhoe in black lovelocks. The face very pale, the eyes huge, dark and smudged, the lips very red. And the lovelocks very long and curly. The wide lace collar that set the locks off was scarcely Mediaeval, in fact it looked like early Stewart: in the long gallery at Maunsleigh there was a portrait of a Wynton ancestor who had fought for Charles I in an identical one. Oh, well. Apart from that, the actor was entirely in black except for his white stockings: velvet and satin, largely. Incredibly cross-gartered, diapered and purfled, pinked and scalloped, not to say positively crenellated. The crenellated sleeves trailed on the ground, as did, of course, the cloak.
Midge at first was transfixed as the curtain swept up, the dramatic figure on stage was revealed, and a deathly hush fell over the house. It was not until the positively riveting scene between Richard and the Lady Anne was over that she blinked and registered that the setting was all immensely Gothick: it looked, in fact, like the drawing-room of Wynton House. Help!
Richard had exited, limping hugely, with a sneer on his white face, on a delivery of “That I may see my shadow as I pass,” that, being a compound of bitterness, viciousness, and a sort of sly deviltry, was calculated to send shivers down the ladies’ spines. Which, judging by the visible and audible reactions from the audience, it had done. The Vicomte d’Arresnes swallowed a sigh: the thing was about as bad as Viccy Grey was saying all over White’s it was. However, Miss Renwick had sat bolt upright with a flush on her round cheeks throughout the first two scenes, so it was not all bad!
“What do you think?” he murmured.
“Oh! It’s marvellous!” she gasped.
Looking into her excited brown eyes. the Vicomte found it was quite easy to express agreement with this sentiment.
Janey and Katerina, meanwhile, were incapable of speech. Neither of them dared to glance at the Miss Waldgraves. After a few moments Janey rolled an eye enquiringly at her friend. Katerina gritted her teeth. Janey leaned over and put her head very close to hers. “An eerie charm, indeed,” she said sepulchrally. “Does it remind you of anyone?”
“Do not,” said Katerina in a strangled voice.
Shaking slightly, Janey sat up straight again.
The Major, whilst chatting politely with Mrs Waldgrave and Mrs Lush. had time for a puzzled glance, and a fleeting feeling of relief that the two of ’em didn’t seem to have fallen for the fellow, after all.
Amanda and Portia, it soon transpired, had noticed nothing. Oh! It was so thrilling! Was it not a powerful performance?
Egbert Lush hunched glumly into his chair. The damned fellow was a mountebank, and why had no-one warned him it was some damned Gothick thing?
… “Well?” said Nessa Weaver-Grange with a twinkle in her eve.
Eloise replied coldly: “I have always maintained that Viccy Grey’s taste is impeccable. And I perceive that his judgement, once again, has not erred: the ladies do indeed appear to be aux anges over the creature.”
Nessa collapsed in delighted giggles.
Mr Wemyss agreed happily: “Ain’t it appallin’? I say, did you notice when he got to ‘Myself to be a marvellous proper man,’ he—er—”
“Hitched himself!” agreed Eloise with a yelp, collapsing in sniggers.
“Possibly in Shakespeare’s day it would have been played like that,” conceded Nessa feebly, blowing her nose.
Eloise recovered herself. “Very possibly. But I venture to suggest it would not have been played in Shakespeare’s day with one eye continually on the ladies in the audience.”
Mr Wemyss made a face. “Aye. –I say, ’tis paddin’, ain’t it?”
Nessa and Eloise promptly yelped and collapsed in renewed hysterics: Mr Wemyss was not referring to the hump.
This variety of opinions being pretty typical, and most persons being eager to ensure that their companions were made aware of their feelings, not much of the scene that followed was audible. But, as Captain Lord Vyvyan was heard to assure Mr Marsh, it didn’t matter, it was only the plot. The entrance of old Queen Margaret brightened things up a little, in especial as it dawned that she was being played by a man. On Richard’s re-entering the audience sat up and took notice again: at least. the ladies did. The final scene of the act, being the murder of Clarence, was riveting enough to keep anybody on the edge of their seats. Almost anybody.
“Phew!” concluded Captain Lord Vyvyan, mopping his wide white brow.
“It was so terrifying!” gasped Susi-Anna.
“Surely in the script— Um, never mind,” said Miss Burden feebly.
“I fancy,” the Earl returned politely, “that your recollections coincide with mine: though Shakespeare’s directions to his players are known to be sparse I cannot recall, either, that the script dictates that one murderer be one-eyed with a hideously scarred face, a twisted shoulder and a leer, or that t’other one be one-legged. With half a nose.”
Susi-Anna Marsh shuddered.
“They do it with paint, Miss Marsh,” said Captain Lord Vyvyan kindly. “And false noses and beards and so on, y’know.”
“I suppose one might fairly expect murderers to be horrid,” said Miss Burden feebly.
“Indeed,” agreed Lady Caroline, unmoved.
“Those other fellows are pretty bad, too,” allowed Captain Lord Vyvyan fairly.
“Rivers and Grey? Certainly,” agreed Lady Caroline. –These lords were being played as immensely effeminate, with colourful pastel costumes as elaborately Mediaeval as Richard’s, and fair or red lovelocks. Possibly no-one had worked out which it was of Rivers and Grey that was blond and which ginger, but then, possibly few of the audience had worked out who they were supposed to be in any case.
On the far side of the circle of boxes Eloise Stanhope warned her companions: “If I have to sit through one more thunder-roll with accompanying puffs of coloured smoke—whether or not they occur in what is ostensibly an interior scene—I shall go into hysterics.”
“You’ll match those damned queens, then,” noted Mr Wemyss. “Don’t think that Elizabeth understood a single word of her lines. Never seen such misplaced handkerchief-work in me life! As for Margaret—I grant you she’s a fellow, but even so, could anything that bent and crone-like actually breathe, let alone walk?”
Nessa sniggered, but Eloise merely said grimly: “I am going out to stretch my legs.”
“Eloise, go home!” said Nessa with a gurgle.
Eloise hesitated.
“If anyone looks like making unwelcome advances,” said Nessa deeply, pulling an awful face. “I’ll seek Sleyven’s protection: it will be a pleasure to watch him suffering through the thing! You two run along. I shall stay: I must see this revolting Richard get his just desserts!” She shuddered deliciously.
Eloise shrugged. “Very well, then. Come along, Boy.”
As they exited Nessa sat back, quite unperturbed, and looked slowly round the house, a little smile on her lips.
Act II was just about to start, and some of those present had resigned themselves to more of the same, when Lord Sleyven’s almost-fiancée glanced across and discovered Nessa alone in her box. “Lord Sleyven, I think possibly Mrs Weaver-Grange’s friends have deserted her.”
“Seen ’em do it before now,” allowed Captain Lord Vyvyan.
Jarvis rose resignedly. “Which do you wish me to do? Join her or fetch her?”
Midge got up hurriedly. “I very much doubt that she would allow herself to be fetched.”
“Not by a fellow, no,” agreed the Captain. “Er—sorry,” he muttered, as the Earl’s glacial eye met his.
“Millicent is correct, Jarvis: Nessa would enjoy refusing to accompany you, in order to create a scene,” said Lady Caroline with her customary calm.
“Perhaps if we were to join her for this act, sir, then she might care to come back with us in the next interval?” said Midge.
“Very well, Miss Burden,” he agreed heavily. “Quickly, then: I think the thing’s about to start again.”
In the corridor she took his arm and said with a giggle: “The ‘thing,’ Lord Sleyven?”
“Er—oh. I beg your pardon.”
“We ladies,” Midge reminded him with a smile: “are aux anges over it.”
“Mm. Chillingly eerie, too, ain’t it?”
“Yes!” she choked.
“Absurd child, is she not?” he said with a smile.
She nodded. He looked at her dubiously, and said: “Miss Burden, forgive me, but I think I right in assuming that the Waldgraves will have only small portions?”
“Well, yes. Reverend and Mrs Waldgrave are not wealthy.”
“Mm. I couldn’t help noticing damned Pooter Potter infesting their box in this last interval. I wonder if someone had best warn Mrs Waldgrave that—er—any hopes there would be misplaced: the little worm is a gazetted fortune-hunter.”
“Oh, is that what you wonder, my Lord?” said Miss Burden in a high, mad voice. “And doubtless you also wonder whether that someone had best be me?”
“Er—well—”
“Now, for my part, I rather wonder if it should not be you, for he is your vicar!”
“He is not ‘mine’,” returned Jarvis on an annoyed note. “Why are you being so deliberately provoking?”
“I?” Midge rolled her eyes madly. “Never! And of course he is your vicar: I do not believe I am mistaken in saying the living of Lower Nettlefold is within your gift?”
“Very well. I’ll warn Mrs Waldgrave myself,” he said, scowling.
“Actually, I doubt there will be any need to,” admitted Midge in a squashed voice. “I am sure that Mrs Lush knows the Potters, mother and son. And I was not being deliberately provoking, I was merely teasing.”
His nostrils flared. “You were being,” he said grimly, “deliberately provoking, Miss Burden.”
“I was not! Why can you never take anything I say lightly?” cried Midge, turning very red.
“I suppose I have not been used to take anything much lightly, for most of my life.”
“But Colonel Langford says you have a particular sense of humour! Though I have not seen it.”
After a moment Jarvis returned tightly: “No, perhaps you have not. But then, Mrs Longford says that you have much sweetness in your nature: permit me to say, Miss Burden, that I have not been privileged to see much of that.”
“I am too busy ladifying myself to be ‘sweet’,” replied Midge grimly, forgetting entirely to be Millicent.
They had reached the door of Nessa’s box: he hesitated, and said in a low voice: “We have spoken of this before: there is no need for you to feel you need ladify yourself for me.”
“I think I have told you that there is every need. Please, may we go in? I do not want to miss any of the next act.”
Lips tight, he bowed her in.
The curtain had just gone up: Nessa greeted them with a hiss of: “Look: more carved frogs and troglodytes! Wynton House to the life!” and Miss Burden collapsed in smothered giggles. His Lordship sat down in silence and glared unseeingly at the stage.
As the second scene of Act II commenced Captain Lord Vyvyan was heard to mutter: “Who the Hell are they?” But on the whole none of the persons left in the Earl’s box found it in their hearts to condemn him for this confusion.
As Act II ended Mr Egbert Lush was discovered to be asleep, but Amanda and Portia did not find it in their hearts to condemn him. True, Amanda did assure him that Richard had been “Amazingly evil,” but was unable to explain exactly what had happened in the act.
“I do trust that you are both as baffled as I!” said Nessa gaily, as Act II ended.
Jarvis came to with a start. “Er—yes.”
“You were asleep!” trilled Nessa. She went into a peal of silvery laughter.
“If you were, you did not miss much,” Midge admitted.
“Er—has he killed off the Little Princes, yet?” he asked sheepishly.
Mrs Weaver-Grange went into another trill of laughter. Miss Burden, gasping: “Not yet!” immediately followed suit.
He sighed. “Would you care to come back to our box, Mrs Weaver-Grange?”
“No, I thank you: it has Vyv G.-G. in it,” she explained.
“I rather think he has fallen for Susi-Anna Marsh,” said Midge, smiling.
“Thrilling,” returned Nessa blightingly.
“Well, it is to me, for I am very fond of her.”
Nessa raised her eyebrows very high. “Oh? How magnanimous you are, my dear Millicent. I do not think, in your place, that I could be so.”
“It is not at all magnanimous of me: I shall be very glad to resign him to her.” replied Midge blandly.
Nessa smiled slowly. “Of course.”
Jarvis was about to change the subject when to his relief there was a tap on the door. He would have welcomed anything, even Vyv in person, or damned Rodney Hallett: but it was only Miss Amanda, on Major Lattersby’s arm.
“We have escaped,” said the Major frankly.
“Yes: our box suddenly filled with Potters!” explained Amanda, giggling.
“We were all baffled, over there. But perhaps on this side of the house you are true Shakespeareans?” ventured the Major.
“Lord Sleyven cannot be said to have been baffled. But can he be said to be a true Shakespearean? He did not hear one syllable of it!” replied Midge, laughing.
“Aye, thought you was asleep, Sleyven,” noted the Major, winking.
“And I am completely baffled,” put in Nessa serenely. “I have just confessed as much.”
“Yes, she has,” agreed Midge. “And I am almost completely baffled, though I have grasped that Richard is filled with evil intent.”
“I think the first two minutes of the play explained that, Miss Burden, did they not?” returned the Major politely.
“Who was the lady in the pink?” asked Amanda abruptly.
“Almost undoubtedly a queen,” said Nessa judiciously.
At this Amanda collapsed in giggles, gasping: “But they all are!”
“The very old lady is, definitely,” said the Major cautiously.
“Not in pink, however,” noted Jarvis drily.
“Not a lady, either!” gasped Nessa.
“No!” squeaked Amanda helplessly, shaking all over.
“Who is he? He’s overplaying it horridly, but I think with some judicious direction—which it’s evident he ain’t getting—he could be rather good,” said the Major.
“I cannot tell you, for Boy took my programme: he was using it as a fan,” replied Nessa.
No-one had a programme, so the player’s name was clearly destined to remain a mystery.
Miss Amanda, seating herself next Miss Burden at the front of the box, then remarked placidly: “You know, I have the most curious feeling that I have seen the Richard before.”
Jarvis blinked. Hell: could it be—? His Cousin Judith had written him the man’s actual name, but he was damned if he could remember it. He looked uneasily from Amanda’s innocent blonde face to Miss Burden’s equally innocent pink-cheeked one.
“Really?” murmured Nessa on a malicious note, allowing her eyes to flicker reflectively over the Earl’s face for a moment. “Eloise and I decided in the last interval that he reminds one somewhat of the late unlamented Curwellion: Cur had that mixture of bold, nay flaunting masculinity and sneering slyness of this Richard.”
“He sounds horrid,” said Amanda faintly.
“Yes,” agreed Midge, looking uneasily at the Earl. The Richard had not reminded her of anyone in particular: but could it possibly be the actor who had deceived Mrs Marsh? But surely Lord Sleyven must have checked on that, before bringing Susi-Anna and Teddy to see the play?
“Well, this Richard is certainly horrid,” said Jarvis with something of an effort.
Miss Amanda brightened. “Oh, is he not? But all the while that one is admitting how horrid and thoroughly wicked he is, one is fascinated by him! Do you not find it entirely curious, Lord Sleyven? For myself, I would not have said that one could be simultaneously both repelled and thrilled by a person!”
“I confess that I am only repelled, but then I am a mere man, Miss Amanda.”
“The actor has the reputation of thrilling the ladies, in whatever rôle he takes,” said Nessa with a shrug.
“I own,” said Amanda, blushing and fluttering her lashes, “that I should like to see him in a more sympathetic character.”
The more he thought about it, the more Jarvis got a sinking feeling that she already had. He avoided everybody’s eye, and looked gloomily at the crowd.
Major Lattersby and his fair companion had remained in Mrs Weaver-Grange’s box. As the next act ended the Major took a deep breath. “That was the most sanctimonious thing I have ever seen.”
“Yes! Is he not artful?” gasped Amanda, clasping her hands.
“Artful. Aye,” he agreed limply. “Should you ladies care for refreshments?”
The ladies accepting, the Earl got up, noting: “I’ll help you,” and the two gentlemen staggered out.
In the corridor they looked at each other limply.
Jarvis said neutrally: “Viccy Grey tells me it gets worse.’
“Sleyven, it cannot get worse, the fellow was wearing a friar’s robe and carrying a crucifix as big as his head!” retorted Major Lattersby loudly.
“You may stay your arm, I’m only the messenger.”
Groaning, the Major replied: “Well, come on. Will those young women drink champagne?”
“Er—yes, but I don’t think I should encourage you to give it to Miss Amanda.”
“Rats. I admit there’s about twenty years between us, but she’s a good few years older than my little Janey, y’know. And forgive my pointing it out, but talking of twenty years between persons of the opposite sex—”
“Very well, Lattersby, on your head be it.”
Sniggering gently, the Major took his arm and headed for the refreshments.
Miss Amanda appeared not in the least disconcerted at being offered champagne, and lapped it up like a lamb. Though she did refrain from glancing over at her mother’s box as she did it. Since Miss Burden was also lapping it up like a lamb there was very little Jarvis could say. Nessa’s box then filled with persons such as Commodore Hallett, his friend Commander Gore, and Major Vane-Hunter, so there was nothing much anybody could say above the hubbub. The Earl lapsed into glum contemplation of the crowd. Two acts to go. He was now gloomily convinced it must be the fellow that had played the Russian Prince: the lovelocks gave a different shape to his face, and the tone he was using for Richard was utterly different, but the voice itself, once one thought about it, was exact. Was it too much to hope that none of ’em would recognize the fellow?
Act IV ended with Richard declaiming: “Away towards Salisbury! While we reason here, A royal battle might be won and lost! Away! Towards Salisbury!” Of which the first two lines were reasonably authentic. And exiting on a hugely dramatic flourish of his cloak, which was as long and trailing as the one he had worn in the first scene, but edged with ermine and adorned, on a scarlet ground, with the white rose of York, the black boar which was Richard’s own device, and the golden lions of England: a striking sight.
Probably very few of the audience realised that an entire small scene had been omitted at the end of this act: however, it related only, as Vyv G.-G. would have said, to the plot, so it scarcely mattered.
Miss Amanda certainly had not noticed any omissions: her cheeks were scarlet and she clapped madly as the curtain fell. So did most of the ladies in the audience, so the speech must have had its effect. Not to say the suit the fellow was now wearing, which was all white where before he had been black. Just as diapered, purfled, pinked and scalloped, though. With trailing, crenellated sleeves again. It was somewhat enlivened by the blue ribbon of the Garter on one shapely leg, and by a broad purple riband of unknown significance across the chest. He was wearing his crown, but that was only to be expected.
“That was so thrilling!” the scarlet-cheeked Amanda gasped, still clapping.
Midge, also clapping, shuddered and laughed. “Oh, indeed! I had completely forgot how he seduces Edward’s queen into promising him her daughter!”
“Ugh: when he kissed her!” gasped Amanda.
“Yes!” agreed Midge, shuddering again.
“Delicious, was it not?” drawled Nessa.
“Well, yes!” Midge admitted quickly, seeing that Amanda was suddenly looking distressed and had given Mrs Weaver-Grange a doubtful look. “I admit the soft impeachment: I am utterly thrilled by him!”
“Artful fellow, ain’t he?” said Major Lattersby kindly. “Viccy Grey was tellin’ me he made the prettiest Hamlet imaginable, er—think it was last year.”
“Incredibly pretty!” agreed Nessa, laughing. “All fair curls and fluttering forests of lashes! Most of we ladies, of course, were thrilled by the fact that he played nine-tenths of it in a frilled shirt open to the waist over Mediaeval drawers of the most revealing kind! He looked all of two-and-twenty years of age: one would scarcely think it was the same man; but then, the make-up, you know, is so entirely different this time!”
Amanda at this stared at her, her mouth open.
“Er—I do assure you, my dear Miss Amanda—”
“No! I mean— It cannot be! Oh, but it is!” she gasped.
“So you did see the Hamlet?” asked Nessa, smiling.
“No! Oh, my Heavens!” cried Amanda, clapping her hands to her cheeks. “The Prince! I knew that purple ribbon reminded me— Oh!”
Midge gulped. “Good grief, it cannot be—”
“But it is, Miss Burden!” she cried. “When one thinks about it, the deeper tones of his voice are just so exact! It must be he!”
Miss Burden rounded angrily on her almost-fiancé. “You fool! Why did you not make sure he was not in it before you brought Susi-Anna and her brother to it?”
Nessa’s eyes were very bright. “Does one collect that Roland Lefayne was Mrs Marsh’s Russian Prince?”
“Yes!” gasped Amanda, nodding frantically.
Jarvis passed his hand across his forehead. “That was the name, now I come to think of it: yes.”
“Wonderful!” gasped Nessa, going off into a peal of silvery laughter. “Could not be bettered, indeed! The only wonder is he did not succeed in marrying the fortune!”
Major Lattersby grinned, but glanced with some sympathy at the Earl. “I gather it never dawned?”
“No; I didn’t think,” he groaned.
“Then you are an uncaring brute!” snapped Midge, rising to her feet. “Amanda, I must beg you not to breathe a word of this to Susi-Anna or Teddy: we must just hope that we can get them out of it before they recognize him. –I shall go back to our box,” she said grimly to Jarvis. “Do not accompany me, please.”
He was very red. “You cannot go alone.”
“I’ll take her,” said the Major hurriedly, getting up.
“Dear, dear,” drawled Nessa as they exited, raising her eyebrows very high at Jarvis.
“I suppose,” said Amanda, swallowing hard, “that none of us thought we might see him.”
“No, well, I for one, though I admit I scarce gave the fellow two seconds’ thought, assumed he would lie low for a bit,” Jarvis admitted, passing his hand over his forehead.
“Yes,” she said, very pink. “I—I must apologize for bursting out with it, my Lord.”
Jarvis attempted to pull himself together. “No, no, it was perfectly natural in you.”
“I for one am very grateful to you, Miss Amanda!” said Nessa gaily. “And I utterly promise to spread it all over London!”
“You—you could not be so cruel,” she whispered, the big blue eyes filling with tears.
Jarvis got up abruptly. “I am afraid she could, my dear: London is full of such pretty cats as Mrs Weaver-Grange. Come along, let me take you back to your box.”
Looking very grateful, Amanda took his arm, and he led her out.
Once again alone in her box, Nessa snorted and shrugged. She would not have refrained from spreading the story in any case: but Sleyven could scarcely have given her more encouragement to do so.
During the interval before Act V Janey had suggested that she and Katerina look in on Miss Renwick, in the Vicomte’s box. Mrs Waldgrave and Mrs Lush had not been precisely reluctant to let them go, for that would leave Egbert Lush for Portia! But it would, of course, have been most unseemly for two young ladies to wander round the theatre alone. Although Mrs Waldgrave was not precisely reluctant to meet a vicomte and a vicomte’s aunt, this was not the most convenient moment: so on Mr Harry Morphett’s appearing in their box, he was appointed, and the two older ladies settled down to it.
“Throwing him at Portia’s head!” concluded Janey, giggling terrifically. “Poor soul!”
“Which?” said Mr Harry on a dry note.
“Do not be horrid, sir, I warn you,” she retorted, “for we can be far more horrid back! –Is it not thrilling, dearest Katerina? Though I grant the performance is much exaggerated. But we know, do we not,” she said pointedly, “that Roland Lefayne can give a much subtler and altogether more convincing portrayal, at need!”
Katerina nodded, trying not to laugh.
In the Vicomte’s box some little time passed in polite nothings. And then, for they were well placed to get an excellent view of Nessa Weaver-Grange’s box, before Janey’s and Katerina’s starting eyes first Miss Burden was seen to berate his Lordship and walk out on him; and then Amanda, obviously distressed, was seen to be escorted tenderly out by the Earl. The girls exchanged horrified glances and waited with baited breath.
Miss Burden reappeared in the Earl’s box, and sat down by Lady Caroline. There was a short interval. Then Amanda reappeared in her Aunt Catherine’s box. The girls waited expectantly. But nothing happened.
Major Lattersby soon arriving to fetch them, they had the details from him on their wav back to Mrs Lush’s box. Unfortunately for themselves, they did not manage to appear astonished at the news that the Richard III had been Mrs Marsh’s Russian Prince.
“Why is it that none of this appears to be news to the pair of you?”
“We saw what happened in Mrs Weaver-Grange’s box, sir,” said Katerina feebly.
“Katerina, it is not like you to prevaricate,” returned Major Lattersby grimly.
“We recognised Roland Lefayne as Mrs Marsh’s Prince immediately, Papa!” said Janey quickly.
“Rubbish. You couldn’t have recognised your own left foot under that hump and that white powder.”
“Um—no. Almost immediately.”
“I see,” said the Major on a grim note. “Well, just be sure the pair of you do not spread it around. In case you haven’t noticed, those are the Marsh children in Sleyven’s box.”
The girls gulped. After a moment Katerina said in a tiny voice: “I can promise you we will not discuss it with anyone, sir.”
Major Lattersby opened the door of their box. “I’m glad to hear it. Go in. I’m just going to go and advise Sleyven to get those unfortunate children out of it before the farce.”
He disappeared forthwith, and Janey promptly hissed: “Whether or not we discuss it with anyone, if Mrs W.-hyphen-G. has hold of it there is no hope of its not being all over London by breakfast time!”
Katerina nodded.
Janey’s eyes twinkled. “It will certainly make your Uncle Sid’s piece the hit of the year!”
“Ssh,” she said, trying to frown. “Go in!”
Janey went in, smiling.
During the final act Miss Amanda sat on the very edge of her seat, her eyes glued to Richard. This behaviour was not markedly different from that evidenced by her throughout, so no-one particularly remarked it. As Roland Lefayne took his curtain-calls she breathed, clapping very hard: “Incredible!” But as it pretty well had been, no-one remarked this, either.
As it turned out they did not have to wait very long for a sequel. Though the interval before the farce was not short.
“I’m told that sometimes the fellow takes a part in the farce himself,” said the Major, once Mrs Lush and Mrs Waldgrave had ceased lamenting the fact that the Earl’s party would not, after all, be joining them for supper: Lady Caroline had the headache.
“That will be amusing,” said Janey composedly, avoiding Katerina’s eye. “Ow!” she gasped, as Katerina’s hand closed tightly on her arm. “I only—”
“Not that. Look!” she hissed.
Janey followed her gaze. She gulped. Miss Burden, escorted by a smug-looking Captain Lord Vyvyan, was re-entering Mrs Weaver-Grange’s box. The girls looked round frantically: but the rest of the Earl’s party had gone.
A short interval ensued.
“Look!” gasped Amanda, hurling her reticule to the floor.
“Help!” gulped Janey.
Katerina was incapable of speech. She merely goggled.
“Ooh!” said Portia. “Surely that is King Ri— No, wait!” she gasped.
Mrs Waldgrave had just been about to tell her girls to stop gaping: for really, in front of Catherine and the Major— Her jaw dropped. “That is not—”
“Mamma, it is!” gasped Portia.
Sid Bottomley had just entered Mrs Weaver-Grange’s box.
Next chapter:
https://thepatchworkparasol.blogspot.com/2022/11/the-plot-thickens.html
No comments:
Post a Comment