False Colours

‘Oh, pray don’t, Augusta!’ begged Miss Clara Stavely, tears starting to her eyes. ‘So very improper – so disagreeable for dear Cressy!’

‘Don’t cry, Aunt!’ said Cressy cheerfully. ‘If Grandmama leaves her fortune to me, I’ll engage to give it back to the family immediately.’

The Dowager uttered a cackle of mirth. ‘Do you want to start a civil war, girl?’

‘Not in the least, ma’am – and if Aunt Augusta doesn’t know that there won’t be any occasion for me to do so, I do!’ retorted Cressy, twinkling at her.

At this point, the deaf cousin, who had formed a very imperfect impression of what had been said, nodded at Cressy, and stated in the voice of one prepared to go to the stake in defence of her beliefs: ‘Well, dear, I said it before, and I’ll say it again: he’s very handsome!’

As this declaration coincided with the arrival of the gentlemen, Kit, ushered first into the room by his host, was once more privileged to hear this tribute. He managed to preserve his countenance, but his eyes met Cressy’s across the room, and he was obliged to grip his lips tightly together. Cressy retreated to the end of the room, her shoulders shaking; and the Dowager, having informed the deaf cousin that she was a fool, commanded Kit to come and sit beside her.

He obeyed her, drawing up a chair. The Dowager tartly adjured Clara not to hang about her, and told the rest of the company that they were at liberty to indulge in their usual bibble-babble. Correctly interpreting this as a prohibition on any attempt to intrude into her conversation with the principal guest, her relations meekly drifted away, to form small groups in various parts of the room.

‘Gabblemongers, all of ’em!’ said the Dowager, sardonically observing their efforts to maintain a flow of small-talk. She brought her piercing gaze to bear on Kit’s face, and said ‘Well, young man? What have you to say for yourself?’

‘I don’t think I have anything to say for myself, ma’am, and I stand in too much dread of being thought a gabblemonger to say it if I had,’ he replied.

‘Balderdash!’ she said. ‘You’ve a mighty ready tongue in your head, sir!’

He smiled at her. ‘Well, what do you wish me to say, ma’am? You can’t expect me to recite a catalogue of my vices, and as for my virtues, would you really think better of me if I puffed them off to you?’

‘Have you any?’ she demanded.

‘Yes, a few, and quite a number of good intentions,’ he replied.

‘So your Uncle Brumby seems to have told my son. But I have a very good memory, and I recall that he once told me that your brother was worth a dozen of you!’

This speech, had it been shot at him before dinner, would have shaken him badly, but he was now sufficiently fortified to be able to answer it with smiling ease. ‘Yes, my uncle has a great kindness for my brother. Kit is his protégé, you know, ma’am.’

She seemed to be satisfied with this response, for she abandoned the subject, and said, after considering him for a few moments: ‘Well, it’s my way to open my budget, so I’ll tell you to your head that I’m not mad after this marriage. Mind, I don’t dislike you! In fact, you’re better than I looked for. But whether you’re the man for my granddaughter is another pair of shoes.’

Knowing Evelyn as he did, he found himself in agreement with her, and might have added that Miss Stavely was not at all the sort of girl to attract Evelyn’s roving fancy. He said: ‘I can only hope, ma’am, that I may be able to prove you wrong. It will be my endeavour, I promise you.’

‘I’ll say this for you,’ she remarked dryly, ‘you have excellent address! That’s in your favour – or it is to persons of my generation. I detest the scrambling manners some of you younger men affect! Brumby tells my son you have no faults that won’t be cured by a suitable marriage, but from all I hear, Denville, you’re a here and there-ian! I put it no more strongly than that, though, to use words with no bark on ’em, there are those who don’t scruple to say you’ve libertine propensities.’

‘Are there?’ Kit said, his brows drawing together. ‘I didn’t know it, ma’am, – and it is untrue!’

‘No need to fire up!’ she replied. ‘I set no store by reports of that nature. How old are you? Four-and-twenty? Lord, what’s the world coming to if sprigs of your age ain’t to be allowed a few petticoat affairs without a parcel of windsuckers setting it about that they’re loose-screws? I’ve no patience with such prudery!’

He laughed. ‘Why, thank you, ma’am!’

She directed another of her piercing glances at him. ‘All very well, young man, but if you marry my granddaughter you’ll put a period to your philandering! She’s a rational girl, and a well-bred girl, and I don’t doubt she’d take it with composure, but she wouldn’t like it, and I don’t mean to have her made uncomfortable, that you may depend on!’

‘Nor do I, ma’am – and that you may depend on!’ he retorted, a little stir of anger in his heart. His twin might have been going the pace rather too rapidly; he might be careless, even lightminded; he was certainly forgetful; but he was not insensitive; and Kit was ready to swear that if he married Miss Stavely he would never use her unkindly, or wound her pride by blatantly pursuing some other female. Whether he would remain faithful to her was another and more doubtful matter; but he would conduct his affaires with discretion. Presumably Miss Stavely, no schoolroom miss, but a rational woman, entering openly into a marriage of convenience, was prepared for some divagations, and would demand no more of Evelyn than the appearance of fidelity.

The Dowager saw the flash in Kit’s eyes, and was pleased. All she said, however, was: ‘Easy to say, Denville!’ She relapsed into silence, staring grimly ahead. After a long pause, she said abruptly: ‘When I was young, our marriages were arranged for us by our parents. I could name you a dozen females who were barely acquainted with their bridegrooms. I don’t know that it was a good thing.’ She brought her gaze back to Kit’s face. ‘If you’re expecting me to give you my blessing because you’ve a glib tongue and engaging manners, you’re out in your reckoning! I want to know you better before I do that, and I want Cressy to know you better too. I’m tired now: tell my daughter Clara I’m ready to go to bed! And you may tell your mother to come and visit me one morning! Good night!’

Five

Mr Fancot returned to Hill Street, on foot, shortly before midnight, and just in time to witness the arrival of his parent, borne down the street in her own sedan chair, and attended by three middle-aged gallants, and one very much younger gentleman, who walked as close to the chair as possible, and bore all the appearance of one who was equally a prey to adoration and jealousy.

Mr Fancot, awaiting the cortège in the open doorway, was deeply appreciative of the scene, which was certainly impressive. My lady was carried by two stalwarts dressed in neat livery; and her chair, when it came into the lamplight, was seen to be of particularly elegant design, and to be lined throughout with pale green velvet. The gallants were plainly men of mode, and when the chair was set down one opened the door, the second tenderly helped her to alight, and the third stood waiting to offer his arm for her support up the few shallow steps to her front-door. Her young worshipper, quietly elbowed out of the way when he had tried to be the first to reach the door, was left disconsolate, gazing hungrily after the goddess. But she paused before she reached the steps and looked back, exclaiming in her soft voice: ‘Oh, my fan! I must have dropped it in the chair. Mr Horning, will you be so very obliging to see if it is there?’

Mr Horning’s drooping spirits revived magically. He dived into the chair, found the fan, and presented it to her ladyship, with a low bow, and a smile which Kit thought perfectly fatuous. She thanked him prettily, gave him her hand to kiss, and said: ‘Now you must all go home, for here is Denville waiting for me, and we have a great deal to discuss. You know, he has been out of town lately.’

Kit had by this time recognized two of the elderly beaux, and exchanged greetings with them; and Lady Denville put him in possession of the third’s name by saying: ‘Here is Lord Chacely, wanting to know why you weren’t at Ascot. Wicked one, you were to have joined his party!’

Kit clapped a hand to his brow. ‘Good God, I forgot to