False Colours

‘No, I won’t, I promise you,’ Cressy said. ‘I am going to drive out with Grandmama for an hour. Papa’s letter has wonderfully restored her! She is aux anges, and is even prepared to forgive Albinia for having married him. I am strongly of the opinion that now is the moment to tell her that Kit is Kit, and not Evelyn, and if she continues in this benign humour I mean to do it!’

Nineteen

Sir Bonamy, waking from his afternoon nap, yawned, sighed, and refreshed himself with a pinch of snuff. He then picked up the Morning Post, which Norton, tiptoeing into the room, had laid on a table at his elbow, and cast a lacklustre eye over its columns. The only items of interest to him were contained on the page devoted to the activities of the ton; and, since London, in July, was almost deserted, these consisted mostly of such arid pieces of information as that Lady X, with her three daughters, was visiting Scarborough; or that the Duchess of B— was taking the waters at Tunbridge Wells. Brighton news occupied most of the space; and Sir Bonamy read, nostalgically, that His Royal Highness the Prince Regent had entertained a party of distinguished guests at the Pavilion, dinner, to which a select company had been invited, having been followed by a brilliant soirée, with music. Sir Bonamy could not have been said to have shared his royal crony’s taste for music, but he would have enjoyed the dinner, to which he would most certainly have been bidden. Then he read that His Royal Highness the Duke of York was expected to arrive at the Pavilion at the end of the week; and this so painfully sharpened his nostalgia that he decided that the end of the week should also see the return of Sir Bonamy Ripple to the Pavilion.

He had responded without hesitation to Lady Denville’s summons, flattered by it, and willing, in his goodnatured way, to do her least bidding. He had looked forward to some agreeable tête-à-têtes with his hostess; he knew that her cook was second only to his own; and he vaguely supposed that the rest of the company would consist of congenial persons with whom he would be able to play whist for high stakes every evening. His devotion to her ladyship had become so much a habit that he would not have refused her invitation even if he had known that his fellow-guests would be unfashionable people with whom he had nothing in common; but he had been as much daunted as surprised when he discovered that one of the ton’s most successful hostesses had invited to Ravenhurst such a small and dull collection of guests.

Sir Bonamy was no lover of the pastoral scene, in general confining his visits to the country to several weeks spent during the winter at various great houses, where he could be sure of meeting persons who were congenial to him, and of being amused by such diversions as exactly suited a grossly fat and elderly dandy of his sedentary disposition; and a very few days spent at Ravenhurst had been enough to set him hankering after the delights of Brighton. There had been few opportunities for elegant dalliance with Lady Denville; playing indifferent whist for chicken-stakes bored him; and the discovery that he had unwittingly stepped into a masquerade made him feel profoundly uneasy. There was no saying what devilry the Fancot twins might be engaged in, and to become involved in what bore all the appearance of a major scandal was a fate which he shuddered to contemplate.

He had laid aside the Morning Post, and was wondering what excuse he could offer Lady Denville for bringing his visit to an end, when the door was softly opened, and she peeped into the room.

As soon as she saw that he was awake, she smiled, and said: ‘Ah, here you are! Dear Bonamy, do let us go for a stroll together! I don’t believe I’ve had as much as five minutes alone with you since the day you arrived.’

As he hoisted himself out of his chair, she came across the room with her light, graceful step, looking so youthful that he exclaimed: ‘Upon my word, Amabel, you don’t look a day older than you did when I first saw you!’

She laughed, but said wistfully: ‘You always say such charming things, Bonamy! But, alas, you’re offering me Spanish coin!’

‘Oh, no, I’m not!’ he assured her, kissing her hand. ‘Never any need for that, my pretty! Not an hour older!’

‘So many years older!’ she sighed. ‘I daren’t reckon them. Do you care to come into the garden with me? Cressy has driven out with her Grandmama, so at last I am free to do what I choose! My dear, how prosy and dreadful Cosmo has become! Thank you for bearing with him so nobly! I don’t know what I should have done without you!’

‘Oh, pooh, nonsense!’ he said, beaming fondly down at her. ‘Always a joy to me to be able to serve you! As for Cosmo – well, thank you for ridding me of him!’ He rumbled a laugh. ‘Scarlet fever indeed, you naughty puss! I

thought you were pitching it a trifle too rum, but, lord, he’s the biggest flat I ever knew, for all he thinks himself up to everything!’ He drew her hand through his arm and patted it. ‘If he knew you as well as I do, my pretty, you’d have been gapped!’

‘But he doesn’t,’ she pointed out. ‘I don’t think anyone does.’

He was so much gratified by this that he could only heave an eloquent sigh, squeezing her arm, and growing pink in the face. Lady Denville guided him out of the house, and disengaged her hand to open her frivolous parasol. She then slipped it back within his crooked arm, and walked slowly along the terrace with him to the shallow steps, saying: ‘How delightful this is! I have been so much harassed that it is a struggle to support my spirits, but it always does me good to talk to you, my best of friends.’

‘It does me good only to look at you, my love!’ he responded gallantly, but with a slightly wary look in his eye.

‘Dear Bonamy!’ she murmured. ‘Such a detestably dull party to have invited you to! I knew you wouldn’t fail, too, which makes it quite shameless of me to have made such a demand on your good nature! I do beg your pardon!’

‘No, no! Happy to have been of assistance to you!’ he said, quite overcome.

‘I expect you are longing to get back to Brighton,’ she sighed. ‘I don’t wonder at it, and only wish I were going there too, for I do not like the country, except for a very little while!’

‘Come, come, Amabel, what’s this?’ he expostulated. ‘Of course you are going to Brighton! Why, you told me yourself that Evelyn had hired the same house on the Steyne which you had last year!’

‘Yes, and doesn’t it seem a waste? But Evelyn cannot go there until his shoulder has mended – he was in an accident, you know, which is why Kit was obliged to take his place – and he says he shall go to Leicestershire, to Crome Lodge, and only think how dismal for him, poor lamb, at this season! I must accompany him. Besides, he is in low spirits, because – but I don’t mean to burden you with my troubles!’

‘Never a burden to me! There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Amabel, but the thing is that Evelyn wouldn’t like it if I were to meddle in his affairs. Better not tell me what sort of a scrape he’s got himself into, for you know he don’t like me above half, and I’ll be bound he’d fly up into the boughs if he got to know you’d taken me into your confidence!’ said Sir Bonamy firmly.

‘I am afraid that even you couldn’t unravel this tangle,’ she agreed, with another sigh.

‘I’m dashed sure I couldn’t! You leave it to Kit, my pretty! He don’t want for sense! In fact,’ he said, with a sudden burst of candour, ‘it’s surprising how longheaded he’s grown to be! Never thought there was a penny to choose between ’em, your boys, but I shouldn’t wonder at it if Kit turns out to be a sure card.’

It was on the tip of her ladyship’s tongue to utter a hot defence of her beloved elder-born son, but she bit back the words, and replied meekly that Kit had always been the more reliable twin. They had crossed the lawn by this time, to where a rustic seat had been placed in the shade of a great cedar, and she now suggested that they should sit down there, out of the sunshine. Sir Bonamy hailed this with relief, for he was already uncomfortably hot, and had grave fears that his rigid shirt-points were beginning to wilt. He lowered himself on to the seat, beside her ladyship, and mopped his brow. Lady Denville, looking deliciously cool, shut up her parasol, and leaned back, observing that there was nothing so exhausting as walking in such sultry weather. She then fell silent, gazing ahead with so much melancholy in her expression that Sir Bonamy began to feel perturbed. After a long pause, he laid one of his pudgy hands on hers, and said: ‘Now, my pretty! You mustn’t let yourself get into the hips! Depend upon it, Kit will make all tidy!’

She gave a little start, and turned her head to smile at him. ‘I wasn’t thinking of that. I was – oh, remembering! Do you ever look back over the years, Bonamy? It does sink one’s spirits a little: so long ago! so many mistakes! so much unhappiness! But there are happy memories too, of course! Do you recall the first time we met?’

‘Ay, as if it were yesterday, and so I shall to the end of my life! All in white, you were, my lovely one, with your glorious gold hair glinting under just a light powder, and your eyes like sapphires! I fell in love with you the instant I saw you – swore I’d win your hand, or remain a bachelor! Which I have done! And, what’s more, I was never tempted to break that oath! For no man, my pretty, that loved you,’ said Sir Bonamy earnestly, conveniently forgetting the several articles of virtue whom he had subsequently maintained at enormous expense, ‘could ever feel the smallest tendre for any other female!’

Lady Denville, recalling one veritable Incognita, and at least three high-flyers, who had enjoyed Sir Bonamy’s protection, stifled a giggle, and said soulfully: ‘And Papa married me to Denville! We danced together, didn’t we? And the next day you sent me a bouquet of white and yellow roses – so many that there was no counting them! That should be a happy memory, but it makes me want to cry. Not that I mean to do so,’ she added, with one of her dancing gleams of mischief, ‘for there is nothing so tedious as a female who turns herself into a watering-pot! I’ve never done that, have I?’

‘Never!’ he declared, raising her hand to his lips.

‘Well, I hope it will be set down in my favour in the judgement-book, and I do feel it may be, for I haven’t had a happy life. One shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, and I perfectly realize that poor Denville had as much to bear as I had – well, almost as much! The truth is that we were each of us deceived in the other, and should never, never have been married!’ She wrinkled her brow. ‘I’ve often wondered why he believed himself to have fallen in love with me, for he disapproved of me amazingly, and he was so cold – so formal – that even now it makes me shiver to remember it!’