Cotillion

‘Yes, but—I mean—No, dash it, Kitty—!’

‘And it will be you, whom I have always believed to be the kindest of my cousins—at least, you are not indeed my cousin, for I am quite alone in the world, but I have ever regarded you as my cousin—it will be you who have inexorably slammed the gates upon my aspirations!’

‘Done what?’ demanded Freddy.

‘Condemned me to a life of misery and—and of indigent old age!’

‘No, that’s coming it too strong!’ protested Freddy. ‘I never—’

‘I should not have asked you to help me,’ said Kitty, stricken by remorse. ‘Only it seemed to me that here, perhaps, was a chance offered me of escaping from my wretched existence! I see that it will not do! I beg your pardon, Freddy: pray do not think of it again!’

With these noble words, Miss Charing rose from the table, and retired to stand before the fire with her back to the room. A stifled sob, a sniff, the flutter of Mr Standen’s maltreated handkerchief, bore witness to the courageous attempt she was making to suppress her tears. Mr Standen regarded her bowed shoulders with dismay. ‘Kit! No, Kit, for God’s sake—!’ he said.

‘Do not give it another thought!’ begged Miss Charing, brave but despairing. ‘I know I am alone in the world—I have always known it! It was stupid of me to suppose that there was one person to whom I might turn! There is no one!’

Horrified, Mr Standen uttered: ‘No, no, I assure you—! Anything in my power—! But you must see, my dear girl—dash it, it’s impossible!’

Ten minutes later Miss Charing, restored to smiles, was thanking him warmly for his exceeding kindness. ‘And perhaps we ought to return to Arnside,’ she suggested. ‘I must say, Freddy, I shall like very much to see Hugh’s face when he learns that we are betrothed!’

Mr Standen agreed that the prospect of making a pigeon of his cousin went some way towards reconciling him to the pitfalls ahead of him; but Kitty’s words recalled to his mind the question which had been for some time troubling him. ‘How am I to take you back to Arnside without creating the devil of a dust?’ he demanded. ‘If no one’s to know it’s all a fudge, it won’t do to let it be known you’ve been here with me this evening. George and Hugh would be bound to guess it was a take-in.’

‘Oh, there will not be the least difficulty!’ she declared optimistically. ‘I will draw my hood well over my face, and if you will stop the chaise at the gates, and set me down, I can slip through the shrubbery to the side-door, and up the backstairs to my own bedchamber. I told Fish I should lock my door, because I would not see anyone, I was so cross; and you may depend upon it that no one has the smallest notion I am not at this moment laid down upon my bed. And if you pay off the postboy, he will not be able to gossip in the stables. There is no cause for any apprehension!’

‘Yes, but I don’t want to pay off the postboy!’ objected Freddy. ‘Hired the chaise for the whole journey, you see.’

‘Oh, well, the postboy must take it to the Green Dragon for the night!’ said Kitty, dealing summarily with this problem. ‘You may easily contrive that! And when you enter the house, you must say you have come to see me, because I do think, Freddy, we shall go on more prosperously if you do not meet Uncle Matthew until we can confront him together.’

With this, Mr Standen found himself to be in entire agreement; and as everything seemed now to be provided for, and the hands of the clock on the mantelshelf stood at twenty minutes past nine o’clock, he thought they would be well-advised to set forward upon the short journey to Arnside immediately. The last of the punch was disposed of, the chaise bespoken, and Miss Charing once more wrapped in her thick cloak. The travellers climbed into the chaise, the steps were let up, and the door shut; and during the minutes which it took two sturdy horses to cover little more than a mile, Miss Charing coached her reluctant swain in the part he had to play. She was set down at the gates of Arnside, and disappeared, a good deal to the postilion’s surprise, into the night. Miss Charing had her own ways of entering the jealously-guarded grounds of Mr Penicuik’s house; Mr Standen was obliged to wait until the lodge-keeper came out to open gates which were invariably locked against the outer world at dusk. Since visitors to Arnside were rare, and evening-visitors unheard of, it was some time before this individual could be roused. By the time Mr Standen alighted at the front-door of the house he judged that Miss Charing should have reached the side-door, and might even be already in her

bedchamber.

Stobhill, the butler, was quite as much surprised as the lodge-keeper to see Mr Standen, but (also like the lodge-keeper) seemed to take an indulgent view of his eccentric conduct. Indeed, as he presently observed to his colleague, Mr Spiddle, there was never any saying what such a hare-brained young gentleman might take it into his head to do next. He was perfectly well-aware of the errand which had brought Mr Penicuik’s great-nephews to Arnside; but when Mr Standen asked in the most nonchalant way if Miss Charing would receive him, his sense of propriety was offended, and he said with some severity: ‘It’s the Master you should be seeing, sir.’

‘What, is he still up and about?’ asked Freddy anxiously.

‘As to that, sir, I’m sure I could not say. We helped him up to his room half-an-hour ago, but I daresay he’s not yet abed. If you care to step into the Saloon, where you will find my Lord Dolphinton, my Lord Biddenden, and the Reverend, I will step up to enquire if the Master will see you.’

‘No, you won’t,’ said Freddy. ‘Bacon-brained thing to do at this hour of the evening! Besides, I want to see Miss Charing.’

‘Miss went up to her room almost immediately after dinner, Mr Freddy!’ said Stobhill, still more disapproving.

‘Yes, I know she did, but—’ Freddy paused, encountering an astonished stare. He was momentarily shaken off his balance, but he made a quick recover. ‘What I mean is, if my cousins are here, of course she did! Anyone would! You go and tell her I’m here, and I beg the honour of a few words with her.’

He then moved towards the Saloon, and Stobhill, saying unencouragingly: ‘I will have your message conveyed to Miss, sir,’ opened the door for him.

On one side of the fire, the Rattray brothers were playing cribbage; on the other, Lord Dolphinton was doing nothing. Hugh, who had found the cribbage-board, and had inaugurated the game with the self-sacrificing intention of alleviating his brother’s boredom, wore an expression of determined cheerfulness; Lord Biddenden, to whom cribbage was only less insupportable than an evening passed in talking to Hugh, was frankly impatient, made his discards almost at random, and yawned over the totting up of points. His chair faced the door, and it was thus he who first perceived Freddy. ‘Oh, the devil!’ he exclaimed.

Hugh turned to look over his shoulder, and for an instant it seemed as though he doubted the evidence of his eyes. A slight flush mounted to his cheeks; he compressed his austere lips, as though to check some hasty utterance, and with deliberation pushed back his chair, and rose. By this time, Lord Dolphinton had assimilated the fact that another of his cousins had come to Arnside. He looked rather pleased, and said helpfully: ‘Here’s Freddy! Hallo, Freddy! You here?’

‘Hallo, old fellow!’ responded Mr Standen good-naturedly. He drew near the fire, nodding affably to his other cousins, and levelling his quizzing-glass at the card-table. ‘You above par, George?’ he enquired, mildly surprised. ‘Never seen you play cribbage before in my life! Well, I mean to say—Cribbage!’

‘No, I am not!’ replied Biddenden crossly. ‘It’s Hugh!’

‘You don’t say so?’ said Freddy, bringing his glass to bear on Hugh’s handsome countenance. ‘Hugh full of frisk? Well, I wouldn’t have thought it of you, Hugh!’

‘Do not pretend to be more of a fool than God made you, Freddy!’ said Hugh coldly. ‘You know very well that George did not wish to signify that I was inebriated—if, as I apprehend, that is the meaning of the cant you choose to employ.’

‘Something thrown you into gloom?’ asked Freddy solicitously. ‘A trifle out of sorts? Daresay you ate something at dinner that’s making you feel queasy. Devilish bad cook, my uncle’s: never eat a meal here if I can avoid it.’