Джорджетт Хейер - Arabella

“I suppose you imagine you are being a companion to me,” said Mr. Beaumaris.

Ulysses flattened his ears, and gently stirred his tail.

“You know,” said Mr. Beaumaris, “a prudent man would draw back at this stage.”

Ulysses raised his head to yawn, and then snuggled it back on Mr. Beaumaris’s ankles, and closed his eyes.

“You may be right,” admitted Mr. Beaumaris. “But I wonder what next she will saddle me with?”

When Arabella had parted from Mr. Beaumaris at the door of Lady Bridlington’s house, the butler who had admitted her informed her that two gentleman had called to see her, and were even now awaiting her in the smaller saloon. This seemed to her a trifle unusual, and she looked surprised. The butler explained the matter by saying that one of the young gentlemen was particularly anxious to see her, since he came from Yorkshire, and would not be unknown to her. A horrid fear gripped Arabella that she was now to be exposed to the whole of London, and it was with an almost shaking hand that she picked up the visiting-card from the salver the butler was holding out to her. But the name elegantly inscribed upon it was unknown to her: she could not recall ever having heard of, much less met, a Mr. Felix Scunthorpe.

“Two gentlemen?” she said.

“The other young gentleman, miss, did not disclose his name,” replied the butler.

“Well, I suppose I must see them,” Arabella decided. “Pray tell them that I shall be downstairs directly! Or is her ladyship in?”

“Her ladyship has not yet returned, miss.”

Arabella hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry. She went up to her room to change her soiled gown, and came down again some few minutes later hoping that she had schooled her face not to betray her inward trepidation. She entered the saloon in a very stately way, and looked rather challengingly across it. There were, as the butler had warned her, two young gentleman standing by the window. One was a slightly vacuous looking youth, dressed with extreme nicety, and holding, besides his tall hat, an ebony cane, and an elegant pair of gloves; the other was a tall, loose-limbed boy, with curly dark hair, and an aquiline cast of countenance. At sight of him, Arabella uttered a shriek, and ran across the room to cast herself upon his chest. “Bertram!”

“Here, I say, Bella!” expostulated Bertram, recoiling. “Mind what you are about, for the lord’s sake! My neck-cloth!”

“Oh, I beg your pardon, but I am so glad to see you! But how is this? Bertram, Papa is not in town?”

“Good God, no!”

“Thank heaven!” Arabella breathed, pressing her hands to her cheeks.

Her brother found nothing to wonder at in this exclamation. He looked her over critically, and said: “Just as well he ain’t, for he’d be bound to give you one of his scolds for dressing-up as fine as fivepence! I must say, Bella, you’re turned out in prime style! Slap up to the mark, ain’t she, Felix?”

Mr. Scunthorpe, much discomposed at being called upon to give an opinion, opened and shut his mouth once or twice, bowed, and looked despairing.

“He thinks you’re complete to a shade,” explained Bertram, interpreting these signs. “He ain’t much of a dab with the petticoats, but he’s a great gun, I can tell you! Up to every rig and row in town!”

Arabella looked at Mr. Scunthorpe with interest. He presented the appearance of a very mild young man; and although his fancy waistcoat bespoke the man of fashion, he seemed to her to lack address. She bowed politely, which made him blush very much, and fall into a fit of stuttering. Bertram, feeling that some further introduction might be considered desirable by his sister, said: “You don’t know him: he was at Harrow with me. He’s older than I am, but he’s got no brains, y’know: never could learn anything! I ran into him in the High.”

“The High?” repeated Arabella.

“Oxford, you know!” said Bertram loftily. “Dash it, Bella, you can’t have forgot I’ve been up to take my Smalls!”

“No, indeed!” she said. “Sophy wrote that you were gone there, and that poor James was unable to accompany you, because of the jaundice. I was so sorry! But how did you go on, Bertram? Do you think you have passed?”

“Lord, I don’t know! There was one devilish paper—but never mind that now! The thing is that I met old Felix here, the very man I wanted!”

“Oh, yes?” Arabella said, adding with a civil smile: “Were you up for Smalls too, sir?”

Mr. Scunthorpe appeared to shrink from such a suggestion, shaking his head, and making a sound in his throat which Arabella took to be a negative.

“Of course he wasn’t!” said Bertram. “Don’t I keep telling you he can’t learn anything? He was visiting some friends in Oxford! He found it pretty dull work, too, didn’t you, Felix? They would take him to blue-parties, all professors, and Bag-wigs, and the poor fellow couldn’t follow the stuff they talked. Shabby thing to do to him, for he was bound to make a cake of himself in that sort of company! However, that’s not what I want to talk about. The thing is, Bella, that Felix is going to show me all the sights, because he’s at home to a peg in London—been on the town ever since they threw him out of Harrow.”

“And Papa gave his consent?” exclaimed Arabella.

“As a matter of fact,” said Bertram airily, “hedon’t know I’m here.”

“Doesn’t know you’re here?” cried Arabella.

Mr. Scunthorpe cleared his throat. “Given him the bag,” he explained. He added: “Only thing to do.”

Arabella turned her eyes wonderingly towards her brother. He looked a little guilty, but said: “No, you can’t say I’ve given him the bag!”

Mr. Scunthorpe corrected himself. “Hoaxed him.”

Bertram seemed to be about to take exception to this, too, but after beginning to refute it he broke off, and said: “Well, in a way I suppose I did.”

“Bertram, you must be mad!” cried Arabella, pale with dismay. “When Papa knows you are in town, and without leave—”

“The thing is he won’t know it,” interrupted Bertram. “I wrote a letter to Mama, telling her I had met my friend Felix, and he had invited me to stay with him. So they won’t be in a fret when I don’t go back immediately, and they won’t know where I am, because I didn’t give my direction. And that brings me to what I particularly want to warn you about, Bella! I’m going by the name of Anstey while I’m in town, and while I don’t mind if you tell this godmother of yours that I’m a friend of yours, you are not to say I’m your brother! She’d be bound to write and tell my mother, and then the fat would be in the fire!”

“But, Bertram, how can you dare?” asked Arabella, in an awed voice. “Papa will be so angry!”

“Yes, I know. I shall get a rare trimming, but I shall have had a bang-up time first, and I can stand a lick or two after,” said Bertram cheerfully. “I made up my mind I’d do it, before you came to town. Do you remember my telling you that you might get a surprise? I’ll swear you never thought this would be it!”

“No, indeed I did not!” Arabella said, sinking into a chair. “Oh, Bertram, I am quite in a quake! I cannot understand any of it! How can you afford to be staying in London? Are you Mr. Scunthorpe’s guest?”

“No, no, poor old Felix ain’t standing the huff! I won a ticket in a lottery! Only think of it, Bella! A hundred pounds!”

“A lottery! Good God, what would Papa say if he knew that?”

“Oh, he would kick up no end of a bobbery, of course, but I shan’t tell him. And, you know, once I had won it the only thing to be done was to spend it, because you must see I had to get rid of it before Papa found I had it!” He saw that his sister was looking horrified, and said indignantly: “I must say, I don’t see why you should grudge it to me! I daresay you are having a capital time yourself!”

“No, no, how could you think I would grudge you anything, Bertram? But to have you in town, and to be obliged to pretend I am not your sister, and to deceive Papa and Mama—” She stopped, remembering her own situation. “Oh, Bertram, how wicked we are!”

Mr. Scunthorpe looked very much alarmed at this, but Bertram said: “Fudge! It’s not telling lies precisely just not to mention that you have seen me when you write to Mama!”

“You do not know! It is worse than that!” whispered Arabella. “Bertram, I am in such a scrape!”

He stared at her. “You are? How is this?” He saw her glance towards his friend, and said: “You needn’t mind Felix: he’s no gabster!”

Arabella was easily able to believe this, but she not unnaturally felt reluctant to disclose her story to one who was a stranger to her, even though she had already realized that if he was not to betray her unwittingly he must be taken some way at least into her confidence. Mr. Scunthorpe tweaked his friend’s sleeve. “Must help your sister out of the scrape, dear boy. Happy to be of service!”

“I am very much obliged to you, sir, but no one can help me out of it!” said Arabella tragically. “If only you will be so kind as not to betray me!”

“Of course he won’t betray you!” declared Bertram. “What in thunder have you been about, Bella?”

“Bertram, everyone believes me to be a great heiress!” disclosed Arabella, in a stricken tone.

He stared at her for a moment, and then burst out laughing. “You goosecap! I’ll wager they don’t! Why, Lady Bridlington knows you are not! You don’t meant that she put such a tale about?”

She shook her head. “I said it!” she confessed.

“You said it? What the devil made you do such a thing? However, I don’t suppose anyone believed you!”

“They do believe it. Lord Bridlington says that every gazetted fortune-hunter in town is dangling after me—and, oh, Bertram, it is true! I have refused five offers already!”

The idea that there could be found five gentlemen ready to marry his sister struck Bertram as being exquisitely humorous, and he went off into another burst of laughter. Arabella was obliged to confess the whole, since he seemed so incredulous. Her narrative was rather disjointed, since he interpolated so many questions; and at one point a considerable digression was caused by Mr. Scunthorpe, who, having regarded her fixedly for some moments, suddenly became loquacious, and said: “Beg pardon, ma’am, but did you say Mr. Beaumaris?”

“Yes. He and Lord Fleetwood.”

“The Nonpareil?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Scunthorpe drew a breath, and turned to address his friend. “You hear that, Bertram?”

“Well, of course I heard it!”

“Didn’t think you could have. You see this coat of mine?”

Both Tallants stared at his coat in some bewilderment.

“Got my man to copy the lapels of one Weston made for the Nonpareil,” said Mr. Scunthorpe, with simple pride.

“Good God, what has that to say to anything?” demanded Bertram.

“Thought you might be interested,” explained Mr. Scunthorpe apologetically.

“Never mind him!” Bertram told his sister. “If it wasn’t just like you, Bella, to fly into a miff, and go off into one of your crazy starts! Mind, I don’t say I blame you! Did he spread the story over London?”

“I think it was Lord Fleetwood who did that. Mr. Beaumaris told me once that he had not discussed the matter with anyone but Lord Fleetwood. Sometimes I have wondered whether—whether he had guessed the truth, but I cannot believe that he has, for he would despise me dreadfully, I am sure, if he knew how odiously I behaved, and certainly not stand up with me at all the balls—for he very seldom dances!—or take me out driving in his curricle.”

Mr. Scunthorpe looked very much impressed. “He does that?”

“Oh, yes!”

Mr. Scunthorpe nodded portentously at Bertram. “You know what, dear boy? All the crack, your sister! Not a doubt of it. Knows all the best people. Drives out with the Nonpareil. Good thing she said she was an heiress.”

“Oh, no, no, I wish I had never done so, for it has made everything so uncomfortable!”

“Now, Bella, that’s gammon! I know you! Don’t you try to tell me you don’t like being all the go, because I wouldn’t believe you if you did!” said Bertram, with brotherly candour.

Arabella thought it over. Then she gave a reluctant smile. “Well, yes, perhaps I do like it, but when I remember the cause of it I do indeed wish I had never said such a thing! Only consider what a fix I am in! If the truth were known now I should be utterly discredited. No one would even bow to me, I daresay, and I have the greatest dread that Lady Bridlington would send me home in disgrace! And then Papa would know, and—Bertram, I had almost rather throw myself into the river than have him know such a thing of me!”