Джорджетт Хейер - Lady of Quality

“Which leaves me to suppose that some murky secret lies in your past,” he said provocatively. “I find that hard to believe. With another, and very different, female, I might assume that some scandal had driven you from your home—an unfortunate affaire with one of the local squires, for instance!”

She curled her lip at him, and said disdainfully: “Curb your imagination, Mr Carleton! No murky secret lies behind me, and I have had no affaires,fortunate or otherwise!”

“I didn’t think you had,” he murmured.

“This is a most improper conversation!” she said crossly.

“Yes, isn’t it?” he agreed. “Why did you come to live in Bath?”

“Oh, how persistent you are!” she exclaimed. “I came to Bath because I wished to five a life of my own—not to dwindle into a mere aunt!”

“That I can well understand. But what the devil made you choose Bath, of all places?”

“I chose it because I have many friends here, and because it is within easy reach of Twynham Park.”

“Do you never regret it? Don’t you find it cursed flat?”

She shrugged. “Why, yes, sometimes I do, but so I should, I daresay, in any place where I resided all the year round.”

“Good God, is that what you do?”

“Oh, no! That was an exaggeration! I frequently visit my brother and his wife, and sometimes I go to stay with an aunt, who lives at Lyme Regis.”

“Gay to dissipation, in fact!”

She laughed. “No, but I am past the age of wishing for dissipation.”

“Don’t talk that balderdash to me!” he said sharply. “You have left your girlhood behind—though there are moments when I doubt that!—and have not reached your prime, so let me have no more fiddle-faddle about your advanced years, my girl!”

She gave an outraged gasp, but was prevented from flinging a retort at him by Lucilla, who came back into the front half of the room, demanding support in her contention that somewhere on Lansdown there were the remains of a Saxon fort which King Arthur had besieged. “Ninian says there isn’t. He says there was no such person as King Arthur! He says he was just a legend! But he wasn’t, was he? It is all here, in the guide-book, and I should like to know what makes Ninian think he knows more than the guide-book!”

“Oh, my God!” ejaculated Mr Carleton, and abruptly took his leave.

On the following day Lord Beckenham called in Camden Place to offer Miss Wychwood an apology for having offended her. Since the servants were busily employed with all the preparations for the evening’s rout-party, his visit was ill-timed. Limbury, or James, the footman, would have informed his lordship that Miss Wychwood was not at home; but since Limbury was heavily engaged in the pantry, assembling all the silver and the glasses which would be needed for the entertainment of some thirty guests; and James, assisted by the page-boy and two of the maidservants, was moving various pieces of furniture out of the drawing-room, the door was opened to Lord Beckenham by a very junior housemaid whose flustered attempt to deny her mistress he had no difficulty in overbearing. He said, with a majestic condescension which awed her very much, that he fancied Miss Wychwood would grant him a few minutes of her time, and walked past her into the house. She gave back before this determined entry, excusing herself, later, to Limbury, who took her severely to task, by saying that his lordship had walked through her as though she wasn’t there. There seemed to be nothing for it but to usher him into the book-room at the back of the house, and to scurry away in search of her mistress. She found her, after an abortive tour of the upper floors, in the basement, conferring with her chef, so that Beckenham was left to kick his heels for a considerable time before Miss Wychwood appeared on the scene.

She was in no very good humour, and after the briefest of greetings, told him that she could spare him only a few minutes, having a great deal to do that morning, and begged that he would state his business with her without loss of time.

His answer disarmed her. He said, retaining her hand in a warm clasp: “I know it: you are holding a party tonight, are you not? I shall not detain you longer than to beg you to forgive me for my part in what passed between us in the Pump Room the other day, and to believe that I was betrayed by my ardent concern for your welfare into uttering words which you thought impertinent! I can only assure you, dear Miss Annis, that they were not meant to be impertinent, and beg you to forgive me!”

Her resentment died. She said: “Why, of course I forgive you, Beckenham! Don’t waste another thought on it! We all of us say what we ought not sometimes.”

He pressed his lips to her hand. “Too good, too gracious!” he said, in a deeply moved voice. “I feared, when I learned from Harry that you had invited him and young Hawkesbury to your party this evening, but not me, that I had offended beyond forgiveness.”

“Nonsense!” she said. “I didn’t invite you, because it is a party for Lucilla, and will be entirely—almost entirely composed of girls not yet out, and their attendant brothers and swains, with a sprinkling of careful mamas and papas as well. You would be bored to death!”

“I could never be bored in your company,” he said simply.

She was at once assailed by a heartrending vision of him, left to endure a lonely evening, feeling himself to be unwanted while his brother went off with his friend for an evening’s jollification, and yielded to a kindly impulse, saying: “Why, by all means come, if you can face children and dowagers!”

The words were no sooner uttered than regretted. Too late did she recall that Beckenham was well-accustomed to being alone. It was seldom that Harry, during his infrequent visits, spent an evening at home. He said, when reproved, that Will didn’t want him; and Theresa, Beckenham’s eldest sister, complained that it was his habit to retire to his library after dinner, poring over the catalogue of his possessions, or rearranging his bibelots.

She said, in an unhopeful attempt to make him refuse the invitation: “I should warn you, sir, Lucilla’s uncle will be present. You might prefer not to meet him, perhaps.”

“I trust,” he said, with a smile of superior tolerance, “that I am sufficiently in command of myself not to embarrass you by engaging in a brangle with Carleton under your roof, dear Miss Annis!”

He then, with renewed protestations of his gratitude and devotion, took his leave. She had only to rake herself down for having been betrayed into having encouraged his pretensions.

The rest of the day passed without any other incident than the arrival of Eliza Brigham, hired to be Lucilla’s abigail. Annis had been prepared to encounter criticism of this pleasant-faced woman from the older members of her domestic staff, but although Jurby said cautiously that it was early days yet to judge, she added that Miss Brigham seemed to know her work; and Mrs Wardlow and Limbury expressed wholehearted approval of the new inmate. “A very genteel young woman, and such as Miss is bound to like,” said Mrs Wardlow. “Not one to put herself forward,” said Limbury, adding confidentially: “And no fear that she’ll rub against Miss Jurby, Miss Annis!”

Miss Brigham demonstrated her quality when she dressed Lucilla for the evening’s party, for she not only persuaded her to wear a muslin gown of the softest shade of rose-pink instead of the rather more sophisticated yellow one which Lucilla wished to wear, but also managed to convince her that the string of beads which Lucilla had purchased that very day was not as suitable for evening wear as her pearl necklace; brushed her dusky curls till they shone, and arranged them in a simple and charming style, which drew praise from Miss Wychwood, when she came into Lucilla’s room just before dinner.

She brought with her a pretty bangle, set with pearls, and clasped it round Lucilla’s wrist, saying: “That’s a small gift, with my love—for your first party!”

“Oh!”gasped Lucilla. “Oh, Miss Wychwood, thank you! Oh, how pretty it is! How very kind you are to me! Look, Brigham!”

“Very pretty indeed, miss. Just the thing, if I may say so,” responded Brigham, casting the eye of an expert over Miss Wychwood’s attire.

She found nothing to criticize. Miss Wychwood was wearing a robe of celestial blue crape with an open front over a white satin slip. A sapphire necklace was clasped about her neck, and a sapphire spray was set in her burnished hair. She looked, Lucilla told her in awed accents, magnificent. She laughed at this, and protested at Lucilla’s choice of adjective, saying that it sounded as though she were overdressed for the occasion.

“Well—well, beautiful!”amended Lucilla.

“Then there are a pair of us,” said Miss Wychwood. “Let us go downstairs to dazzle Ninian! I’m told he arrived a few minutes ago.”

They found him awaiting them in the drawing-room. He had been invited to dinner, and it was evident that he had taken immense pains over his apparel. Lucilla exclaimed admiringly: “Oh, first-rate, Ninian! You are as fine as fivepence, I do declare! Isn’t he, ma’am?”

“Yes, indeed! A veritable Pink of the Ton!” said Miss Wychwood. “I am wholly spell-bound—particularly by the elegance of his neckcloth! How long did it take you to achieve anything so beautiful, Ninian?”

“Hours!” he replied, blushing. “It’s the Oriental, you know, and I do think I’ve succeeded pretty well with it. Now do, pray, stop poking bogey at me, ma’am!” He turned to pick up from the table on which he had laid them two tight posies, and presented them with awkward grace, saying: “Pray, ma’am, do me the honour to accept of these few flowers! And this one, Lucy, is for you!”

The ladies received these tributes with becoming gratitude, Lucilla being particularly struck by her posy’s being composed of pink and white hyacinths, a circumstance which made her exclaim: “How clever of you, Ninian! Did you guess that I was going to wear my pink gown?”

“Well, no!” he confessed. “But the girl who made the posies up for me asked what you looked like, and when I told her you were dark, and not yet out, she said that pink and white flowers would best become you. And I must say,” he added handsomely, looking her over, “pink does become you, Lucy! I never saw you look so pretty before!”

Miss Wychwood, admiring her own posy, which was made up of spring blossoms ranging in colour from palest mauve to deep purple, realized with an inward chuckle that Ninian had probably described her to the helpful florist as a lady somewhat stricken in years. She refrained from quizzing him, and, with even greater nobility, refrained from telling him that posies, tied up with long ribbons, wound round stalks encased in silver paper, however proper for balls, were not commonly carried by ladies at rout-parties.

Some two hours later she had the satisfaction of knowing that not only was her party a success, but so too was her protégée. She received her guests with Lucilla beside her, and had nothing to blush for in Lucilla’s manners. Not for the first time she handed a silent tribute to Mrs Amber, who, whatever her errors, had demonstrably instructed the child in all the rules governing polite behaviour. The wild rose colour that flushed her cheeks when she was embarrassed, and her occasional gaucheries did her no disservice in the eyes of Bath’s most influential hostesses, even old Mrs Mandeville, that most rigid critic, who had already gratified Annis by appearing at the rout, saying to her: “A nice gal, my dear. I don’t know where you picked her up, or why you’re sponsoring her, but if she’s a Carleton I should say that she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, and you’ll have no difficulty in buckling her to an eligible gentleman!”

Mr Carleton was amongst the last to appear. Miss Wychwood had released Lucilla from her post at her side, but was herself still standing at the entrance to the drawing-room when he came leisurely up the stairs. Lord Beckenham, who, from the moment of his arrival, had been hovering solicitously about her, no sooner saw who was approaching than he withdrew immediately from her vicinity, muttering that it would be better if he and “that fellow” didn’t come face to face. His abrupt retreat did not escape Mr Carleton’s hawklike eyes; he said as he bowed slightly, and carried Miss Wychwood’s gloved hand to his lips: “If looks could kill I should be stretched lifeless on the threshold! How do you do, ma’am? Accept my felicitations on being able to hold such a brilliant Assembly thus early in the Season!” He put up his glass, and through it surveyed the crowded room. “All the rank and fashion of Bath, I collect,” he said. “Who, in God’s name, is the formidable dame in the wig and enough feathers to furnish an ostrich with plumage for two of her kind?”