Devil's Cub (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 2)

‘They did us a great disservice thereby,’ sighed Mary.

More she would not say, deeming it useless, but it was with deep misgiving that she regarded her sister when that damsel danced in, fresh from an expedition with her bosom friends, the Matchams.

Sophia was just eighteen, and it would have been hard to have found a fault in her appearance. She had the biggest of cornflower-blue eyes, the daintiest of little noses, the softest, most adorable mouth in the world. Her curls, which her mamma nightly brushed for her, were of a gold that had nothing to do with flaxen, and her complexion was of that rose-leaf order that seems too perfect to be natural. She had a frippery brain, but she could dance very prettily, and knew just how to drive a man to desperation, so that it really did not matter in the least that she was amazingly ignorant, and found the mere writing of a letter the most arduous task.

Just now she was bubbling over with plans for the immediate future, and she broke in impatiently on her mother’s lamentations over a torn muslin gown. ‘Oh, it doesn’t signify, mamma, you will be able to mend it in a trice. But only fancy what a delightful scheme there is afoot! My Lord Vidal is to give a supper-party at Vauxhall, and we are all to go. There is to be dancing and fireworks, and Vidal promises we shall go by water, which makes Eliza Matcham so cross because I am to be in Vidal’s boat, and he never asked her at all.’

‘Who is “all,” Sophia?’ inquired her sister.

‘Oh, the Matchams, and their cousin Peggy Delaine, and I dare say some others,’ Sophia replied airily. ‘Can you conceive of anything more charming, mamma? But one thing is sure! I must have a new gown for it. I would die rather than wear the blue lustring again, if you can’t contrive a new one, I vow I shan’t go to the party at all, which would be a shame.’

Mrs Challoner quite saw the force of all this, and was at once prolific of plans for the acquiring of a suitable gown, and exclamatory over the pleasure in store for her daughter. Into their ecstasies Mary’s matter-of-fact voice broke once again. ‘You’ll hardly be seen at Vauxhall in Vidal’s and Miss Delaine’s company, Sophia, I should hope.’

‘And why not?’ cried Sophia, beginning to pout. ‘Of course I knew you would try to spoil it for me, you cross th

ing! I daresay you would prefer I should stop at home.’

‘Infinitely,’ said Mary, unmoved by the hint of tears in her sister’s eyes. She looked straightly across at her mother. ‘Will you think for a moment, ma’am? Do you see nothing amiss in allowing your daughter to go out in public with a play-actress and the most notorious rake in town?’

Mrs Challoner said to be sure it was a pity Miss Delaine was to be of the party, but was immediately cheered by the reflection that Sophia would be accompanied by the two Misses Matcham.

Mary got up, and it was to be seen that she was of medium height and very neat figure. There was a sparkle in her eyes, and her voice took on a certain crispness. ‘Very well, ma’am, if that comforts you. But there’s not a man alive would take my sister for the innocent girl she is who sees her in such company.’

Sophia swept a curtsey. ‘La, and thank you, my dear! But perhaps I am not so innocent as you think. I know very well what I am about, let me tell you.’

Mary looked at her for a moment. ‘Don’t go, Sophy!’

Sophia tittered. ‘Lord, how serious you are! Have you any more advice, I wonder?’

Mary’s hand dropped to her side again. ‘Certainly, child,’ she said. ‘Marry that nice boy who worships you.’

Mrs Challoner gave a small shriek of dismay. ‘Good God, you must be mad! Marry Dick Burnley? And she with her chances! I’ve a mind to box your ears, you stupid, provoking girl!’

‘Well, ma’am, and what are those fine chances? If you push her much further down the road she is travelling now, you’ll have her Vidal’s light o’ love. A rare end, that, to your ambition.’

‘Oh, you wicked creature!’ gasped Sophia. ‘As if I would!’

‘Why, child, what hope would you have once Vidal got you in his clutches?’ Mary said gently. ‘Oh, I allow he’s hot for you! Who would not be? But it’s not marriage he means by you, and it will be something quite otherwise if he sees you in such loose company as you keep.’ She stayed for a moment, awaiting any answer they might choose to give, but Mrs Challoner for once had nothing to say, while Sophia sought refuge in a few sparkling easy tears. Having nothing further to say, Mary gathered up her embroidery and went out.

She might as well have held her peace. Uncle Henry having been coaxed into providing the necessary guineas to buy his pretty niece a new gown, Sophia went off to her party in high spirits, entirely, and quite rightly, satisfied with her appearance in pink tiffany, trimmed with rich blonde in scallops. Cousin Joshua, getting wind of it, came to condemn such behaviour, but got little satisfaction from Mary. She heard him out in a silence that seemed more abstracted than attentive and this so piqued him that he was unwise enough to ask her whether she were listening.

She brought her gaze back from the window, and surveyed him. ‘I beg your pardon, cousin?’

He was annoyed, and showed it. ‘I believe you’ve not heard one word!’ he said.

‘I was thinking,’ said Mary thoughtfully, ‘that puce does not become you, Joshua.’

‘Puce?’ stammered Mr Simpkins. ‘Become me? What – Why – ?’

‘It is maybe your complexion that’s too high for it,’ mused Miss Challoner.

Mr Simpkins said with dignity: ‘I was speaking of Sophia, Mary.’

‘I’m sure she would agree with me,’ replied the lady maddeningly.

‘She’s too easy, cousin. She don’t know the path she treads,’ Joshua said, trying to bring the conversation back to its original topic. ‘She’s very different from you, you know.’

A slow smile curled Miss Challoner’s lips. ‘I do, of course, but it’s hardly kind in you to tell me so,’ she said.