Sweet and Twenty (11 page)

“We are not so deceived in him, Mr. Alistair,”
Lillian assured the Tory. “We have enough chance to observe him that we know pretty well what he is up to.”

“One would take me for a candidate to hear me so traduced,”
Hudson marveled. “But on the Sabbath, at least I can think of other things.”

“Miss Watters suggests I take the reading next Sunday, Mr. Hudson,”
Alistair said. “Have you already booked Fellows for the job, or will it be worth my while to speak to Dr. Everett?”

“Miss Watters suggested it, did she?”
Hudson asked, casting an accusing glance at Lillian. “Are you changing horses in mid-stream, ma’am? A dangerous stunt. I see I must get busy and whip you into line.”
Then he turned to Alistair and added, “Fellows is booked for the duration.”

“It is clear neither of you has a thought for politics on this day of rest,”
Lillian said ironically.

“Have you caught any more potatoes?”
Sara asked Alistair, and he began a private flirtation with her, leaving Lillian free to monopolize Mr. Hudson.

“What a low trick to play,”
Hudson said to her.

“You will empty every pew in the church if you have Fellows reading to us all month.”

“I don’t refer to that particular low trick, but to your other one of setting up a flirtation with Sara’s beau. I do occasionally give a thought to something beyond politics you know.”

“Was it not politics you were discussing with Miss Ratchett just now?”
she asked.

“Offense is the best defense. Is that it? Very well, I have set up a flirtation with Miss Ratchett, and if you forgive me, I shall forgive you. But I doubt Sara will be so lenient with you.”

“I don’t consider it a matter for forgiveness on either side.”

“Not unforgivable, surely? You can’t be so hardhearted as that.”

“It has nothing to do with forgiveness. We are both free individuals and may flirt with whomever we like.”

“Whomever! What a school-teacherish touch you give your broadmindedness,”
he said with a laugh. “Well, I am not so broadminded and take it very much amiss in you to be flirting with Alistair while my back is turned.”

He was clearly not through using her yet, trying to jolly her along in this cunning manner. She sniffed and said, “You are wasting precious time, Mr. Hudson, and don’t bother to pretend you aren’t politicking, Sunday or no. There are the corn merchants without a soul whispering in their ears. Seven votes for you to toady up to.”

He wrinkled a brow and frowned at her bad humor. “I’ll get around to them. First things first. I have already twisted the arms and, I hope, votes of three merchants . . .”

“First things first!”

“Oh yes, I walked right into that one, didn’t I? But in any case I feel all my recent efforts have earned me a reward. As I find you unoccupied, I would like to claim it now. I like to mix a little pleasure with my business when I can.”

“I have noticed it.”

“I hoped it might not escape your notice that I come to you as often as I can.”

“Or to any halfway presentable female who is unattached. But I have no influence and no vote, so you can mix little business with the pleasure of speaking to me.”

“It is the unalloyed pleasure of your conversation that attracts me. I come to bask myself in the glow of your insults and innuendo.”

“With all the other women—you will notice I don’t limit your coterie to ladies—puffing you up in your own conceit, you can well do with a little deflating.”

“You have noticed how badly Mr. Saunders’s hat fits my swollen head. But really, you know, the Baxter I brought with me still fits to a T.”

“The swelling had set in before you got to Crockett then.”

“Never at a loss for a quick set-down. Poor Fellows could do with some of your wit.”

“He seems to be doing pretty well with yours. Alistair says he is doing better than they expected in any case.”

“He’ll make a fair puppet once we get him to London. His memory is not too bad.”

Peeved that the conversation was turning again to politics, Lillian turned on him in some anger. “How can you in conscience put such a man up for office?”

“I wouldn’t have; he was chosen as the candidate before I arrived. Allingham and Basingstoke are the culprits. But the party can use a few compliant hacks; we don’t want every man a philosopher. He’ll do just as he’s told.”

“You try to give the impression he is intelligent—someone who will personally look after his constituents.”

“Do you think I really fool anyone? I hope so. No one would vote for him if it ever got out he’s an idiot. It was Henry Wotton who defined an ambassador as ‘an honest man sent to lie abroad for the good of his country.’
I think of myself as an ambassador from London, sent to Crockett to lie for the good of my party. And the party would be good for the country. Having some experience in rationalization yourself, I think you follow my sophistry?”

“I don’t know how you sleep nights!”
she said, shaking her head and half-smiling to denote forgiveness.

“I didn’t know you cared, or I should have told you sooner. On my stomach, and you?”

She looked startled, and rushed in, “I didn’t mean that!”

“Did you not? Well, I don’t snore, if that’s what you’re thinking,”
he added, pretending to be perplexed.

She felt obliged to be incensed at this, and assumed a pretty good imitation of it. “There is your puppet with the corn merchants. You’d better run over and slip him a few clever lines or he’ll be telling them he means to cut the price of corn to six or seven shillings a bushel.”

He looked at Fellows in alarm. “Oh Lord, I must go. Such a brief ray of sunlight as I am allowed at these wretched meetings of ours! See you at your aunt’s tea party tomorrow. Don’t let Alistair turn you into a Tory.”

Alistair turned aside, for this last was said in a loud voice as Hudson walked away, and Lillian was again back in the Tory group, neither pleased nor entirely displeased with the short talk. She became quite definitely displeased, however, when Martha told them on the way home that Mr. Fellows had particularly asked them to send a card for the tea party to the Ratchetts. She went on to say that it was Hudson who wanted them invited. As Hudson was now distinguished and rich and all the rest of it, Martha hadn’t a word to say against it, but wrote up the card and had it posted off before ever they sat down to lunch.

* * * *

The tea party was set for Monday afternoon, and that morning they were quite busy preparing for it. On a busy Monday it would be mostly ladies who were free to attend, with a few elderly retired males.

Miss Ratchett, the last invited, was amongst the first arrivals, for she had been trying to scrape an acquaintance with the ladies at New Moon for some time. Lillian didn’t have to be urged to make herself known to the girl, for she was highly eager to get a closer look at her. She was as elegant and pretty close-up as she appeared from afar. Her skin was clear, her eyes were bright, and other than a set of teeth small and sharp like a cat’s, there was nothing amiss in her looks.

Miss Ratchett proved to be an enthusiastic talker—and her talk was all of Mr. Hudson. He was “smart”
and “elegant”
and “a real gentleman.”
Her own elegance proved to be merely physical. Her opinions and speech were common in the extreme. This was a great relief to Miss Watters.

“I never saw such a smart gentleman since I left London,”
the girl told Lillian. “So clever and witty. He told me I was wasted in Crockett and should be in the City. I’m sure I’ve told Papa a hundred times we never should have moved out to the sticks, for how is a lady to find a decent
partie
in Crockett. Till Mr. Hudson came there wasn’t a smart gentleman in the whole town, and he isn’t planning to stay on after the election is over. There’s Mr. Alistair, but he’s so top-lofty there’s no bearing it, and now he’s dangling after Miss Monteith he’s as good as caught. She’s an elegant girl, don’t you think, Miss Watters?”

“Yes, I like my cousin very much.”

“Oh, she’s your cousin. I wondered what you were doing here. Mr. Hudson never told me that. He mentioned New Moon a dozen times, but he never said you and Miss Monteith was cousins. He’s coming to dinner, Mr. Hudson.”

“Is he indeed?”

“We’ve sent all the way to Bristol for Westphalian ham, and hired two extra boys to serve table. I wanted Papa to serve champagne through the whole meal, but Mama says it’s nouveau riche. Well, better nouveau than never, says I! Did you ever see such a quiz as that Mr. Fellows? A regular Bartholomew Baby, but he can certainly talk a blue streak. If he’s the best man the Whigs can put forward they shouldn’t bother running anyone, my papa says. And I told Mr. Hudson too, for he’s the kind of a gentleman can take a joke. Mr. Hudson says Mr. Fellows is smarter than he looks, but then, he couldn’t be dumber, could he? And they’re saying around town it’s even money he’ll get in. I told Mr. Hudson if he gets in it’s uneven money that will do it, for he’s spending a shocking amount.”

“Both parties are spending a good deal of money, I believe,”
Lillian said. Her relief at their guest’s vulgarity was not total relief. She was vulgar, but also lively and amusing, and really Mr. Hudson did not appear in the least particular regarding vulgarity.

“I see you have a piano here. We have one too. I’m taking lessons from Miss Thistle. What a dowd she is! She wears the same dress every week. Look—there’s Fellows and Hudson just come in now. My, he certainly is a smart-looking gentleman. Look at that, he’s even speaking to the Floods. Whatever made your aunt ask them? They haven’t even got a gig or a pony to their name.”

Lillian was happy enough to escape the chatterbox, and went to greet the guest of honor. “By Jove, this is a bang-up do, Miss Watters. I could do with a cup of tea and a cake. We ate at the Cat’s Paw again—a wonderful meal.”

“The meat tough?”
Lillian inquired politely.

“We had a brace of pigeons. Tainted, I fear. I felt sick as a dog, but Matthew says it was the third slice of plum cake that caused it. Daresay he’s right. A clever fellow. I’ll just bob along and make a few bows as Hudson told me to.”

Hudson had already made his bows to Lady Monteith and Martha and was circulating amongst the crowd, smiling, complimenting, looking like a diplomat with his ceremonial bearing, and leaving behind him a row of smiles and blushes that told a truer story of the sort of conversation he was making than his appearance suggested. Miss Watters was keeping a sharp eye on him, as was Miss Ratchett.

Lillian noticed with joy that he had not distinguished the girl with any gallantry. She heard him discuss with apparent interest Mr. Pughe’s gout and Miss Fellows’s trouble with preserves going bad on her. Mr. Porter’s cat was good for five minutes, its problem being that its hair was gone loose in its old age, and the poor thing was swallowing such a lot of it when grooming herself that she was getting colic. He recommended a dab of grease or oil for the condition, and moved on to the next vote.

Lillian was pouring tea to relieve Lady Monteith, who disliked pouring as it slowed down her own intake of cook’s lovely macaroons and petits-fours. Three-quarters of an hour passed before Matthew strolled up to her with his cup empty.

“Good afternoon,”
he said. “What are you doing with yourself these days?”

“I’m surprised you find it necessary to ask. We have all been working hard for you getting this stupid tea party ready—and not one single man at it.”

“On behalf of Mr. Fellows and myself, I must take exception to that statement. We are both single men.”

“Not a single vote is what I meant. And pray don’t bother to point out that Mr. Fellows has a vote. I trust that even he will know enough to vote for himself when it comes time to cast his ballot.”

“I don’t think I need tell him that, but I will, now that you mention it, just to be sure. But you underestimate the value of your party. We have had six invitations to call and three to dinner. There’s a possible nine votes.”

“A possible nine new flirts for you as well.”

“Ten. The Whitlocks have no girls, but the Humbers and Dalmys have two each.”

“It is not just the votes you are tallying up, I see.”

“I have many interests, not least among them being attractive young ladies.”
He accepted his filled cup with a smile, but his eyes were soon roving around the room, and before long they had settled on Miss Ratchett, “I see you succeeded in getting Miss Ratchett here.”

“Yes, as you most particularly requested it.”

“She’s an attractive girl, and her papa’s pretty well inlaid, you know.”

“A very wealthy merchant, I am given to understand. And she an only child too. Is marrying a fortune another of your varied interests?”

Hudson narrowed his eyes and looked prepared to be angry, but then smiled instead. “Not nice, Miss Watters. Upbraid me for my political machinations as much as you please and I shall endeavor to accept it with good grace, but don’t, please, cast aspersions on my personal conduct or I shall take it amiss. I keep the two quite distinct.”

“It seems to me you have mentioned mixing business and pleasure.”

“Oh yes, but not business and romance, and certainly not business and marriage.”

She looked at him closely, trying to figure out what he was saying, for he was regarding her as if he meant her to read some significance into the remark. “You recall we used the word ‘flirtation’
in connection with the young lady. With Miss Ratchett and her father it is business
and
pleasure, but not romance."

This was agreeable news, but Lillian had already gone on ahead of him, trying to figure out the nature of his connection with herself. The word flirtation had not been used, but certainly he had been flirting with her.

“Now don’t frown at me, please. You know we can only ever meet for minutes at a time. Let us not waste our precious minutes in quarreling,”
he said.

“We’re not quarreling,”
she answered, shocked at the tender tone of his voice and the look he was giving her. If this was flirting, it went a good deal beyond anything Lillian had been involved in before, and she had had more than one flirt in her twenty-one years.