Charles Palliser (56 page)

“No man,” Mr Mompesson said, “can be an absolute boor who has four thousand pounds clear per annum.”

“By that reckoning,” said Harry, “you’re a couple of thousand short of acceptance in good society.”

“I positively don’t know how you would know anything about good society that you did not hear from me,” Mr Mompesson said coldly.

Harry flushed but continued to smile as he turned to me: “Pray don’t think, Miss Quilliam, that Mompesson patronizes me. The truth is, I patronize him. By insulting him in company I encourage the idea of his humility SECRET BENEFACTORS

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and magnanimity. I am like the Old Cumberland Beggar, in that poem of the atrocious Wordsworth, who goes about providing opportunities for the exercise of charity and thereby benefits his fellow men.”

“Then you are a greater benefactor than anyone I know,” Mr Mompesson said quickly. He turned to me: “He even tried to benefit my father in the manner he has just described.”

I thought Harry winced at this, but he said gaily: “Indeed I did. But unfortunately the old gentleman declined to avail himself of the opportunity.”

“And yet Sir Perceval has such a strong sense of family,” Mrs Purviance commented.

“Only look at his kindness to that poor child Henrietta.”

“It is precisely because my father has that sense that he declined to profit from Harry’s benevolence,” Mr Mompesson remarked, and if I was puzzled by Mrs Purviance’s words, I was the more so by his. Was Harry or was he not a relative of Sir Perceval?

“How is … ” Harry quickly began, as if to turn the subject.

Mr Mompesson, however, rode over him: “I heard such a good thing the other day. I was talking to Berkeley Tessymond at White’s.”

“Is he not,” put in Mrs Purviance, “the recorded son of the late Earl of Huntingdonshire and therefore the elder half-brother of the present earl?”

“Exactly so, and therefore jocularly called the Early of Huntingdonshire,” Mr Mompesson said with a sidelong glance at myself. “He was talking of his paternity and quoted something that had been said to him by a young Frenchwoman he met at Mrs Mauleverer’s in Hill-street. Possibly you know the house, Mrs Purviance?”

That lady merely nodded somewhat curtly and he went on: “They were discussing her origins and she said that although one did not always know one’s father, which was a pity, one was certain to have had one, which was a consolation.”

Nobody laughed and I turned away to conceal my blushes. At this moment the waiter began to lay the dishes before us.

“What is this?” Harry demanded of the man, staring at his plate in comical surprise.

“Veal, sir.”

Harry stabbed it with his knife: “Then it is veal tottering on the edge of beef.”

We laughed and the moment of embarrassment passed. The others were drinking freely of a white wine which they told me was called Tokay, and which they assured me

— urging me to partake of it — was hardly stronger than table-beer. Certainly this seemed so from the quantities they were quaffing without visible effect, and so, at last, unwilling to seem stiff and unconvivial, I consented to drink a very little. I later realized that it must have been stronger than I knew at the time, but it was perhaps through its effect that I found my tongue and began to talk, hoping that I was not making too manifest my gratification at finding myself, quite for the first occasion in my life, in the company of witty and educated people.

Afterwards we strolled to the firework-ground where I saw the finest display I had ever witnessed: Bengal lights that blazed above our heads and seemed to drop glittering fires upon us, serpents that appeared to spit flames as they revolved, and magnificent rockets that burst in the air sending out whirling galaxies of many-coloured stars.

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THE MOMPESSONS

The time passed so very pleasantly that when Mr Mompesson suddenly said — “Be a good fellow, Harry, and go and see if Phumphred has brought the carriage back.” — I was quite alarmed to discover that it was almost midnight.

Harry flushed at Mr Mompesson’s tone but he did as he was bid. When he returned to say that the vehicle was waiting at the gate, I thought the evening was at an end, but Mr Mompesson said: “Come, the fresh air has made me hungry and I am sure the rest of you must be, too. I propose we take supper before we return.”

The other two exclaimed in delight at this proposal and I therefore felt some dismay at the speech I believed I had to make: “Indeed not, Mr Mompesson. I could not think of such a thing. Sir Perceval and Lady Mompesson gave permission for no such extension of the evening.”

Mr Mompesson tried to persuade me that it was implicit in their reply, but I was obdurate. When the others expressed their disappointment at the curtailment of the evening’s pleasure, I said: “If you would be so good, Mr Mompesson, as to direct the coachman to take me home, there is no reason why you and this lady and gentleman should not go elsewhere without me.”

“By no means,” Mrs Purviance exclaimed. “To break up a party of pleasure in such a way would be monstrous and unthinkable.”

I blushed for I felt that I was at a grave disadvantage in not knowing how to conduct myself in fashionable society, and feared I had suggested something that was not
comme
il faut.

As we began to walk towards the gate Mr Mompesson said: “I understand and respect your scruples, but you need have no fear. Mrs Purviance will be present, and I am certain you cannot think that she would lend herself to any action that savoured in the least of impropriety?”

This made it difficult for me to continue to resist, and I found myself in a state of confusion from which Mrs Purviance herself rescued me by saying: “It is unkind of us to seek to persuade Miss Quilliam to act in disregard of her scruples.”

The kindness with which she spoke had the effect of allaying my suspicions, and without reflecting any further I exclaimed: “I will not abridge the evening’s pleasure for merely selfish reasons. Mr Mompesson, I accept your invitation with gratitude.”

I was wrong and readily acknowledge it now. But consider my situation: I had never had an evening of such excitement in all my life; I had drunk a glass or two of wine to which I was wholly unaccustomed; and, foolishly, I was afraid to seem provincial and ignorant of good society. How often do we make decisions — or let them be made by default — because we weigh insignificant factors like these in the scale against much weightier ones!

The carriage took us to a street near Leicester-square where, at past midnight, I was amazed to find the pavements thronged with people of both sexes who appeared to be among the most fashionable members of Society. Everything dizzied and overwhelmed me: the flaring gas-jets, the plate-glass windows, the magnificent carriages and liveries, and the profusion of lights, rich perfumes, and the odours of exotic foods. Yet even as I admired, I was not so dazzled that I failed to see the expressions of cunning, selfishness, despair, and other emotions on the countenances of the glittering denizens of those streets.

On alighting from the carriage we entered a fashionable supper-house in Panton-street where Mr Mompesson was obviously known for he was greeted SECRET BENEFACTORS

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respectfully by name. We were led upstairs and shewn to a private dining-room in a manner which seemed to imply — though how could I be judge of such things? — that it had been reserved for us. There a repast of richness and delicacy beyond my experience was quickly laid before us. I was very careful to drink nothing but soda-water, for I was on my guard; not a word, however, was uttered during the meal that gave me the slightest cause for suspicion.

Suddenly, as we were sitting over our ices and hot-house fruits, the door opened and to my dismay Tom Mompesson entered. He was in regimentals for he had very recently been gazetted to a cornetcy. It was equally apparent that he had passed the evening in soldierly conviviality.

As we stared at him he cried: “I am’t too late for grubbing, am I?”

“There are ladies present, Tom,” his brother said warningly.

“Why, what a surprise!” Harry said, looking at the newcomer with ill-concealed distaste.

“Ladies?” the younger Mr Mompesson said, blinking and squinting at myself and Mrs Purviance. “Why, dammit, so they are! I declare, well done, old fellow.” Then he turned to Harry: “What the deuce do you mean by saying it’s a surprise?”

“Tom,” his brother commanded. “Don’t stand there by yourself like a noun substantive for want of a chair.” He smiled at me as if to reassure me in the face of this new situation: “Have I remembered my grammar, Miss Quilliam?”

As Tom Mompesson advanced, blundering into the table as he seated himself, Harry said: “More grace, Tom. Try to follow the advice of Chesterfield and do everything in minuet time.”

“Minuets be damned. The only time we military fellows know is double-time.”

“My congratulations on your commission, Mr Thomas,” Mrs Purviance said.

“My dear fellow,” said Harry with a glance around the table; “is there any hope of your being sent out to clear up this trouble with Constantinople?”

“Cons … Consent … Be deuced! Is that in Burma?” the new arrival asked, downing a glass of champagne.

The other gentlemen laughed and Mr Mompesson said to me: “I think you could teach my brother the use of the globe, Miss Quilliam, with profit to himself and, perhaps, to our nation’s foreign policy. Though rectifying the deficiences of his education would be a large task. His last tutor, though an excellent shot, was, I believe, wholly illiterate.”

“Pay no attention to them, Mr Thomas,” Mrs Purviance said. “They are envious of the magnificent costume.”

“It is certainly very fine,” Harry said, and added wickedly: “Could we not send that out to frighten the Ottoman?”

“A capital idea!” Mr Mompesson exclaimed. “A whole army of ’em. Stuffed with straw and with a headpiece of wood under the helmets. I’ll be sworn no Turk of them could tell the difference.”

“When I think of England defended by an army of Toms,” Harry began with mock-solemnity, “I say to myself: thank God for the Royal Navy.”

“What are you saying?” Mr Thomas Mompesson said angrily, pouring himself another beaker. “Deuce take your cleverness! I’m glad I am’t as clever as you.”

“I assure you, I whole-heartedly reciprocate that sentiment.”

“And yet,” said the hapless cornet’s brother, “deuce take me if I don’t feel myself growing dull from mere good-natured sympathy with you, Tom.”

“Why, if it’s jokes you want,” Mr Thomas Mompesson said, smiling in my 258 THE

MOMPESSONS

direction, “I’ll tell you a good story I heard in the mess last night from Masterson.” He began to laugh: “It’s about a private soldier of Ours. That’s the 25th. Hussars,” he explained to me.

“I hope this is fitted to the present company,” Harry said.

“Aye, for it’s a story about a lady, don’t you see? Well he was a good-looking fellow, it seems. In Saunderson’s battalion. (Did I say that already?) They saw service at Barakpoor in that mutiny, don’t you know? What was I saying? Oh yes, your friend Pamplin would care to meet him, I dare say, Harry. Anyway, it seems … Hah, hah, hah.”

He became speechless with laughter and his brother said: “Well, what of it, you poltroon?”

“It seems he caught the fancy of a lady, a rich widow in the town.”

“I warned you, Tom,” his brother said angrily. “Now hold your tongue.”

“And she invited him to an assignation,” the cornet continued.

I looked at Mrs Purviance and saw to my distress that she was smiling good-naturedly.

Mr Mompesson, however, attempted to shout his brother down but the cornet persevered:

“And Masterson asked him what he’d brought back and be damned if the fellow didn’t show him a bank-note of twenty pounds!”

At this he laughed immoderately until he suddenly broke off. I was looking down but I heard him say angrily: “Dammit if I ain’t forgot something. It was deuced funny when Masterson told it.”

“Bring your man next time, Tom, to stand behind your chair and laugh at your jokes,”

said Harry, standing up and opening the door. “It’s too hard for you to have to cut them and laugh at them in the bargain.”

“Out you go, Torn,” said his brother, lifting him to his feet. “You’re not fit for decent society.”

Protesting and cursing, he was bundled into the passage and the door shut behind him.

All I could think of now was getting away from there, and I hardly noticed when, just at this moment, a waiter brought in a note for Mr Mompesson. He read it and told us that a party of friends of his, who were also known to Harry and to Mrs Purviance, were dining elsewhere in the establishment and had recognised the Mompesson crest on the carriage at the door. Before I understood what was happening, the two gentlemen were leaving the room in order, they explained, to speak to their friends. A moment later, Mrs Purviance also made her excuses and left me.

I was relieved to find myself alone. An instant later, however, the door opened and Mr Thomas Mompesson came blundering back into the room saying: “Deuce take it if I ain’t remembered the point of Masterson’s story. You see, he told the fellow the honour of the regiment was at stake and he should bring back proof of … ”

At this point he broke off and stared round the room. “I say, missy, have they all gone and left you? Why, then we shall be cozy together, shan’t we? Come, give me a buss.”

As he advanced towards me I rose to my feet to try to escape, but since he stood between me and the door I was unable to flee.

“Come a step nearer, Mr Mompesson, and I will scream,” I declared.

He stood blinking at me and swaying slightly: “Why, you minx. This ain’t what Davy told me you’d say.”

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“How dare you!” I cried.

“Why, dammit,” he cried and stepped forward.

At that moment the door opened and you may imagine my relief when Mr Mompesson entered. He appeared to take in the situation at a glance for he seized his brother by the scruff of his collar and swiftly ejected him, turning the lock behind him.