Cotillion (12 page)
Mr. Standen was just about to decline the office when a deep and cunning thought entered his head. Having a very nice idea of the cost of feminine apparel, it did not seem to him that two hundred and fifty pounds would suffice to clothe a lady about to make her debut in the first circle of fashion. He was a good-natured as well as an affluent young gentleman, and he now conceived a scheme whereby Miss Charing might be imposed upon entirely for her own benefit.
Detaching a fifty pound bill from the roll, he handed it to Kitty, saying: “That’s the dandy! You keep this one, and I’ll give the rest to m’mother. Have all the bills sent to her, and she’ll stand huff.”
Except for a slight feeling of alarm at carrying as much as fifty pounds in her reticule, Miss Charing had no fault to find with this arrangement, so Mr. Standen stowed the roll away in his pocket, and ventured to speak of a matter which had been considerably exercising his mind. “No wish to pry into what don’t concern me,” he said apologetically, “but can’t help wondering—Thing is, Kit, I’m dashed if I see what your lay is!”
“My lay?” repeated Kitty, glancing sideways at him.
He blushed, and begged pardon. “Talking flash!” he explained. “Forgot myself! What I mean is, good notion to come to town for a spell! I’m not saying it ain’t. Only thing is, what’s to come of it?”
Miss Charing, having foreseen this question, replied: “One should always seize opportunity, you know. I am persuaded that once I am in London I may easily discover an eligible situation. Or I might, if I had pretty gowns, and Lady Legerwood is so obliging as to introduce me to her acquaintance, even receive an offer of marriage.”
“No, dash it!” protested Mr. Standen. “Not if you’re engaged to me, Kit!”
She became intent on smoothing the wrinkles from her gloves. Her colour considerably heightened, she said: “No. Only—If there did happen to be some gentleman who— who wished to marry me, do you think he would be deterred by that, Freddy?”
“Be a curst rum touch if he wasn’t,” replied Freddy unequivocally.
“Yes, but—If he had a partiality for me, and found I had become engaged to Another,” said Kitty, drawing on a knowledge of life culled from the pages of such novels as graced Miss Fishguard’s bookshelf, “he might be wrought upon by jealousy.”
“Who?” demanded Freddy, out of his depth.
“Anyone!” said Kitty.
“But there ain’t anyone!” argued Freddy.
“No,” agreed Kitty, damped. “It was just a passing thought, and not of the least consequence! I shall seek a situation.”
“No, you won’t,” said Freddy, with unexpected firmness. “That’s what you said last night. Talked a lot of stuff about becoming a chambermaid. Well, you can’t, that’s all.”
“Oh, no!” she assured him. “Upon reflection, of course I perceived that that wouldn’t answer. And also I shouldn’t wonder at it if Hugh was quite at fault, and I might do very well as a governess. To quite young children, you know, who don’t need instruction in Italian or Water-colour painting.”
“Can’t do that either,” said Freddy.
“Well, really, Freddy!” cried Miss Charing indignantly. “Pray, what concern is it of yours?”
“Good God, Kit, of course it’s my concern!” retorted Freddy, moved to express himself strongly. “You don’t suppose I’m going to have everyone saying you’d rather go for a governess than marry me, do you? Nice gudgeon I should look!”
This aspect of the case had not previously occurred to Miss Charing, but she was a reasonable girl, and she at once perceived its force. “I suppose it would be disagreeable for you,” she admitted. “Oh, well! I won’t do it, then! If all else fails, I must just return to Arnside. Whatever happens, I shall at least have had one month in London!”
“Yes, but that’s just it,” said Freddy, knitting his brows. “Seems to me you’ve got a devilish queer notion of London! What do you suppose will happen?”
“Good gracious, Freddy, anything might happen! Well, at all events, much more than could ever happen to me at Arnside! You can’t deny that that’s so!”
“No, I can’t,” said Freddy bluntly. “That’s what’s worrying me. The more I talk to you, Kit, the more I wish I
hadn’t been such a sapskull as to let you persuade me into this business! You’ll do something gooseish, and I shall get the blame for it.”
“No, no, indeed I will not!” Kitty said coaxingly. “I promise I won’t do anything you think wrong!”
“Dash it, Kit,
I
can’t tell you how you should go on!” protested Freddy, horrified. “I ain’t in the petticoat-line! Told you so at the start!”
“Of course not! You forget that your Mama will take care of me. Indeed, you have no cause to be uneasy!”
This reminder went some way towards allaying his fears, but a rare instinct for danger prompted him to demand: “Tell me this! Have you some scheme in your head I don’t know about?”
“Yes,” said Kitty, incurably truthful, “I have!” She observed the look of a hunted wild creature in his eyes, and clasped his hand in a sustaining way. “But it is nothing you would dislike!” she added. “I give you my word it is not, Freddy!” She saw that this very handsome assurance had not had the desired effect, and said reproachfully: “Freddy! Don’t you believe me? When I have pledged you my word!”
“It ain’t that I don’t believe you, Kit,” he explained gloomily. “Thing is, I’m dashed sure you don’t know what I should dislike! Lord, I wish I were well out of it!”
It was now Miss Charing’s turn to change colour. “You don’t mean—oh, you cannot mean to cry off?” she faltered.
“No, I don’t!” responded Freddy, stung. “Never hedged off in my life! Play or pay, m’dear girl, play or pay! All I say is, wish I hadn’t said I’d play! The next time I see that fat rascal of a landlord—!”
“Pluckley?” said Kitty, bewildered.
“That’s the fellow,” nodded Freddy, darkling. “That bowl of punch! Never ordered it! Oughtn’t to have had it. No, and, what’s more, oughtn’t to have let you have it either! No sense in wrapping it up in clean linen, Kit: must have been bosky, both of us!”
Nothing would move him from this standpoint, so Kitty, wisely abandoning the attempt, applied her energies to the task of reassuring him.
It was dusk by the time the post-chaise reached the outskirts of London, but there was still light enough for Kitty’s eagerly straining eyes to discern such unaccustomed sights as a sedan-chair borne along by two stalwart carriers; a lamplighter mounted upon his ladder; a man with a tray of hot pies upon his head; an urchin sweeping a crossing for a portly old gentleman in a frock-coat and a Joliffe-shallow; carts, carriages, and coaches by the score; lights illumining fascinating wares in shop-windows; smart footmen sauntering on errands for their employers; beggars holding out cupped hands and dogging the footsteps of any benevolent-looking citizen; and, when the chaise drew towards the more modish quarter of the town, imposing mansions lining the streets, some with the flambeaux already kindled outside their doors.
Everything was strange to Kitty, everything wonderful She called upon Freddy again and again to identify some building, dimly seen in the gathering darkness; or to explain the significance of a man in a scarlet coat and blue breeches; and she was so much excited and astonished by the many new sights and sounds that he tried his best to satisfy her curiosity But although he could point out to her postmen, constables, and link-boys, and supply her with such interesting items of information as that nearly all chairmen were Irish, and that the unintelligible shout which had made her jump in her seat emanated from a stage-coachman, warning his roof-passengers to keep their heads down, as his coach swept under the arch of an inn, he was not very knowledgeable about the various large buildings which caught her attention. He explained that he was not familiar with the City, but engaged himself to show her all the landmarks farther west. However, by the time the chaise drew towards the more genteel part of the town it had become almost dark, and Kitty was feeling too much stunned by the noise and the bustle all about her to do more than blink at what seemed to her bemused gaze a myriad of dancing lights.
It was not until the chaise turned into the comparative quiet of Mount Street that it occurred to Freddy that for anything he knew he might find his parents preparing to entertain guests to dinner. He refrained from making known this fear to his companion, and was relieved, when the chaise drew up outside one of the tall houses, to see none of the signs of projected hospitality. Nor, as he presently learned from the butler, were my lord and my lady dining out that evening. Ten minutes later, having left the shrinking Miss Charing to warm her chilled feet by the fire in one of the saloons on the entrance-floor, he discovered the reason for this departure from the normal.
He found his mama reclining upon a sofa in her dressing-room, a shawl spread over her feet, and a handkerchief redolent of aromatic vinegar clutched in one hand. She had removed her cap, and her carefully curled locks were in considerable disorder.
Lady Legerwood, the only surviving offspring of Mr. Penicuik’s third sister, Charlotte, was a fair woman, with more style than beauty, her large blue eyes being a little too prominent, and her chin showing a tendency to recede. The punctual presentation to her lord of six hopeful children had slightly impaired her figure, but she was generally considered to be a pretty woman; and, since she was as good-natured as she was foolish, she was almost universally liked. She was uncritically fond of her husband, doted upon her children, and was much addicted to what her uncle would unquestionably have termed extravagant frivolity. The unexpected sight of her eldest son appeared to exercise a strange influence over her. She reared herself up on the sofa, her eyes dilating, and, throwing out a repelling hand, ejaculated: “Freddy! Have you
had
them?”
“Eh?” said Freddy, startled. “Had what, ma’am?”
“I
cannot
recall!” declared his parent, pressing the hand to her heated brow. “Meg has
not
! I remember that, because when poor Charlie had them we sent her to stay with Grand— mama, for it was at the very moment when I was about to present her, you know, and only think how dreadful it would have been! I have been racking my brains to try to recollect whether you have had them, not that it signifies, I daresay, for you don’t live here now, which is a thing I cannot like, for I am sure they cannot make you comfortable in those rooms of yours, only your papa would not let me say a word against it, and no doubt he knows what is best, only if they air the sheets properly it is more than I would bargain for! But heaven forbid, Freddy, that I should keep you tied to my apron-strings!”
“Yes, but what’s amiss?” demanded Freddy, dutifully bending over the sofa to kiss one scented cheek.
Pausing only to clasp him to her bosom, and to return his salute with fervour, Lady Legerwood uttered fatally: “The measles!”
“Oh! Had ‘em at Eton,” said Freddy.
Lady Legerwood shed tears of thankfulness.
“Who’s got ‘em now?” enquired Freddy, mildly interested.
“All of them!” replied her ladyship dramatically. “Fanny and Caroline, and poor, poor little Edmund! I am quite distracted, for although I don’t doubt Fanny and Caroline will speedily recover, Edmund is so full of them that I am in constant dread! I was up with him all the night, and am but now seizing a few moments upon my couch, as you see! You know how delicate Edmund has always been, my love!”
There were many elder brothers who might have cavilled at this statement; and certainly the Honourable Charles Standen, at present at Oxford, would have had no hesitation in giving it as his opinion that Edmund had been pampered from his cradle; but Freddy was as kind-hearted and as uncritical as his mother, and he only said: “Poor little fellow!”
Lady Legerwood squeezed his hand gratefully. “He will not suffer anyone but me to wait on him! I have been obliged to put-off every engagement. We ought to be at Uxbridge House at this very moment—but I don’t regret it, for I should think myself the most unnatural mother alive if I could go to parties when my beloved children were sick! But nothing could be more unfortunate, Freddy! You must know that Lord Amherst has taken Buckhaven off with him on this stupid Chinese mission, and now here is old Lady Buckhaven—and one can scarcely blame her, for I am sure Meg is so shatter-brained she should not be left alone!—
declaring your sister must stay with her in the country until Buckhaven returns! It may be a year, or even more, and no one need think I do not feel for Meg in this predicament. But how could I reconcile it with my conscience, Freddy, I ask you, to bring her into this house of infection, when I
know
she never had the measles? I do not scruple to tell you, dearest, that she is expecting an interesting event in the autumn. So sad to reflect that Buckhaven must needs be from home upon the occasion, but your dear papa says it is a great honour that Amherst should have chosen to take him! So you must not wonder at it that you find me almost prostrate. My Benjamin so ill, not to mention his dear little sisters, and my eldest daughter—indeed, my eldest-born, for never shall I forget my disappointment when I learned I had given birth to a female, not that your papa ever spoke a word of blame to me, and only eighteen months later you were born, my dearest, so all was right!—Well, as I say, my eldest daughter requiring me to save her from her mama-in-law—
an excellent female, of course, but so straitlaced, Freddy, that one’s heart quite bleeds for poor Meg! And I cannot reconcile it with my conscience to uphold Meg in her determination to remain in Berkeley Square while Buckhaven is from home! If only she would consent to Cousin Amelia’s going to live with her! But she will not, and I must own, my dear son, that I should not care for it myself, for you know what Cousin Amelia is! Yet what else can I suggest?”