Frederica

‘Oh!’ she said, digesting this, ‘Papa said you were a – an out-and-out cock of the game. Does that mean that you are an improper person?’

‘Sunk below reproach!’ he responded promptly.

She broke into a chuckle. ‘Oh, humbug! I don’t believe it! Even poor Papa wasn’t as bad as that!’

‘Even poor Papa … !’ he said. He found his quizzing-glass, and raised it to one eye, studying her through it with the air of a man who had encountered a rare specimen.

Quite impervious to this scrutiny, she said: ‘No, though I believe he was shockingly wild before he met Mama – and I must own that to have run off with her, as he did, was not at all the thing! It has always seemed very odd to me that Mama should have consented, for she was of the first respectability, you know, and so very – so very good! However, I believe that people who are passionately in love frequently do the oddest things – and I have sometimes thought that she was very persuadable. Not that I knew her very well, because she died soon after Felix was born, but Charis is her image, and she is persuadable! And, of course, they were both so young! Only fancy! – Papa came of age just a week before I was born! I can’t imagine how he contrived to support a family, for his father cut him off without a groat, and I shouldn’t think he pursued any gainful occupation. But he abandoned all his rackety ways after he married Mama; and considering that they had caused my grandparents to feel the greatest anxiety and embarrassment I must say that I think it was wickedly unjust of them not to have welcomed Mama into the family!’

The Marquis preserved a tactful silence. His recollections of the late Mr Merriville, whom he had met not so very many years previously, hardly tallied with the picture conjured up of a reformed character.

‘And, for my part,’ continued Miss Merriville, ‘I think they were very well served for their unkindness when both my grandfather, and my Uncle James, who was the heir, were carried off by typhus within a day of each other! That was how Papa came into the property – and just in time for Harry to be born at Graynard! And after him, of course, Charis, and Jessamy, and Felix.’ She broke off, seeing the Marquis blink, and smiled. ‘I know what you are thinking, and you are perfectly right! All of us but Harry have the most ridiculous names! I assure you, they are a great trial to us. Nothing would do for Mama, when I was born, but to saddle me with Frederica – after Papa, you know. Then there was Harry, because Mama was Harriet. And Papa chose my sister’s name, because he said she was the most graceful baby he had ever seen. Jessamy was named after his godfather; and Felix was a fancy of Mama’s – because we were such a happy family! Which, indeed, we were – until Mama died.’ She paused again, but almost immediately resumed, giving her head a tiny shake, as though to cast off a bad memory, and saying, in a lighter tone: ‘So we had to make the best of our absurd names! And Jessamy and I exchanged vows never to call each other Jessie, and Freddy, and never to permit the others to do so either.’

‘And don’t they?’

‘No – well, almost never! I must own that Felix does sometimes say Jessie, but only when Jessamy is on his high ropes; and in private Harry occasionally calls me Freddy – but not to torment me! And he never calls Jessamy Jessie, no matter how much Jessamy may have provoked him, because he is four years older, besides being the head of the family, and he would think it very shabby conduct to nettle Jessamy into a fight, when he knows he could drop him in a trice. Not but what Jessamy is full of pluck, Harry says, but – Oh, dear, how I am running on, and without saying anything to the purpose! Where was I?’

‘I rather think you had reached the point of your mother’s death.’

‘Oh, yes! Well – the effect of that was very dreadful. I believe – indeed, I know – that Papa was so shattered that they feared for his reason. I was too young to understand, but I remember that he was ill for a long time – or so it seemed to me – and when he recovered he wasn’t the same. In fact, he became quite a stranger, because he was hardly ever at home. He couldn’t bear it, without Mama. I daresay we shouldn’t have liked it at the time, but I have frequently thought that it would have been a very good thing if he had married again. I know it is improper in me to say so, but he was sadly unsteady, you know.’

‘Well, yes,’ admitted Alverstoke. ‘I do know. But did he leave you to fend for yourselves? I find that hard to believe!’

‘No, no, of course he didn’t! My Au

nt Seraphina came to live with us – she is Mama’s unmarried sister – and she has been with us ever since Mama died!’

‘And is she still with you?’

‘Indeed she is! Good gracious, how could we have come to London without her to lend us countenance?’

‘You must forgive me: not having seen – or, until this moment, heard – anything of your aunt, I had formed the impression that you had decided to dispense with a chaperon.’

‘I’m not so ramshackle! Why should you suppose – Oh! Your propriety is offended by my receiving you without a chaperon! My Aunt Scrabster warned me how it would be, but I’m not a girl just escaped from the schoolroom, you know. What’s more, although we are quite accustomed to her ways, I cannot believe that you would like my aunt! For one thing she’s extremely deaf; and for another, she – she is a trifle eccentric! If she comes in, pray don’t get into a quarrel with her!’

‘I can safely promise you I won’t!’ he said. ‘Is she so quarrelsome?’

‘No, but she hates men,’ explained Frederica. ‘We fancy she must have suffered a disappointment in youth, or some such thing. I daresay she will go away immediately, if she finds you here.’

‘Scarcely an ideal chaperon!’ he observed.

‘No, and, what is worse, she is beginning not to like Harry as much as she was used to. She positively hated Papa – but that was understandable, because, besides being uncivil to her, he behaved very badly, and wasted the estate quite shockingly. Fortunately, before he had contrived to bring us all to pieces, he had a stroke.’

‘That was fortunate,’ he agreed, preserving his gravity.

‘Yes, wasn’t it? For, although he recovered, in a great measure, the use of his limbs, his brain was a little impaired. I don’t mean to say that he lost his reason, but he became forgetful, and – and different! He wasn’t wild, or resty any more, and not in the least unhappy. Indeed, I never liked him half as well before! He let me manage the estate, and all his affairs, so I was able, with a great deal of help from Mr Salcombe, who is our lawyer, to stop everything going to rack and ruin. That was five years ago, and I do think that if Harry will only hold household for a few years he will find himself quite comfortably circumstanced, and even able to provide for Jessamy and Felix, which he is determined to do, thinking it so unjust that everything should come to him, through Papa’s not having made a Will.’

‘Good God! Then what becomes of you and your sister?’

‘Oh, we are perfectly well to pass!’ she assured him. ‘Mama’s fortune was settled on her daughters, you see, so we have £5,000 each. I expect that doesn’t seem to you very much, but it does make us independent, and it means that Charis won’t be a penniless bride.’

‘Ah! She is engaged, then?’

‘No, not yet. That is why I was determined, when Papa died, just over a year ago, to bring her to London. You see, at Graynard she had as well be buried alive! There isn’t even a watering-place within our reach, so how can she form an eligible connection? She – she is quite wasted, Lord Alverstoke! You will understand, when you see her, why I felt it to be my duty to bring her out in London! She is the loveliest girl! She has the sweetest disposition imaginable, too, never cross or crotchety, and she deserves to make a splendid marriage!’

‘I have it on the authority of my secretary that she is a diamond of the first water,’ said his lordship dryly. ‘But splendid marriages, Miss Merriville, in general depend on splendid dowries.’

‘Not always!’ she countered swiftly. ‘Only think of the Gunning sisters! Why, one of them married two Dukes, and I know she wasn’t a great heiress, because Papa told me about them, saying that Charis beat them both to flinders! Not that I expect Charis to marry a Duke – or any nobleman, unless, of course, one offered for her! But I do expect her to make a very good marriage, if only I can contrive to have her brought out creditably! My mind has been set on it this age, but how to contrive it was the question. And then, when I almost felt myself to be at a stand, Mr Salcombe came to ask me whether I would consider hiring the house furnished, for a year! The thing was that he had heard of someone who had lately retired, and wished to buy a property in Herefordshire, and not finding just what he wanted had hit upon the notion of hiring a house for a limited time in the county, so that he could look about him at his leisure, and not be obliged to post all the way from London every time he received an offer of some property which always turned out to be quite unsuitable. You may imagine how ready I was to accommodate him!’