Mrs Urqhart Disposes

39

Mrs Urqhart Disposes

    “You are vairy kind, but there ees nothing you can do,” said Nan on a grim note.

    “Rats,” replied Betsy Urqhart genially. “My motto is, you ain’t beat till you’re dead. And I’ve knowed some as have managed to have the last word from the grave, too! But since we ain’t dead yet, I’ll have some of those narial barfees of your Sita’s, if so be as there might be some goin’.”

    “Or course,” said Nan limply. “Er—well, eef there are none of those, at least I can offer you sometheeng!” She rang the bell and within a very short space of time trays of delicious sweetmeats and savouries together with a pot of steaming tea duly appeared. Together with Sita, but Mrs Urqhart addressed her pithily in Hindoostanee, and she bowed herself out.

    “Did it never occur to you,” said Betsy Urqhart thoughtfully, accepting a cup of tea and a pale green barfee, “that in the first place, nobody knows as yet but his aunty, and in the second place, he panicked?”

    Nan swallowed. “N—Ye— But he swears hees aunt weell spread eet all over! And she was furious, Mrs Urqhart: both shocked and furious!”

    “Dare say she was: mm. That don’t mean she’ll want to blacken the family name all over the southern counties once she’s cooled down.”

    “Sir Noël knows,” said Nan in a trembling voice.

    “I’ll handle Noël. And Bobby, in the case he’s let anything out to him.”

    Nan looked at her dolefully. “You are vairy kind, but—but eet weell not work.”

    “Rats.” Mrs Urqhart swallowed the last of her barfee and took a small semolina cake. “She’s cooked these a mite too long.”

    “Mrs Urqhart, please!”

    “Just you drink up your tea and have a bite to eat, me love. Acos I’m a-thinking it all out.”

    Nan sighed, but obediently took a barfee, and sipped tea.

    “First off,” said Mrs Urqhart judiciously, when these had vanished and Nan, not appearing to realise she was doing so, was hungrily eating a semolina cake, “Lord Stamforth—and I must say I keep thinkin’ of ’im as ‘the Colonel’, so you’ll have to excuse me if I says it by mistake—he’ll have to get round and eat humble pie with the Throgmorton female. Seems to me she’ll have to know the lot. And meantime I’ll drop a line to Lord and Lady Rockingham: they can give old Hugh Throgmorton a hint not to believe a word the female may write to him. –He’s a bit of an old woman, but his heart’s in the right place,” she noted by the by.

    Since Mr Throgmorton was known as one of the highest sticklers in London, Nan could only look at her limply.

    “General Kernohan’ll be in Bath for Tarry’s engagement party. I won’t tell him the whole,” she said, narrowing her eyes, “but something, maybe. We’ll see.”

    “Dear Mrs Urqhart, let us admeet that Lord Stamforth agrees to try to sweep thees under the carpet—which he weell not,” she noted: “what eef all your kind efforts are een vain and the story gets out anyway? Whether or not Mrs Throgmorton intentionally repeats eet, she may mention eet to a—a friend.”

    “A ‘crony’ is the English word,” said Betsy Urqhart with complete insouciance.

    “I dare say,” said Nan grimly, her nostrils flaring.

    “Aye, well, I’m not saying you shouldn’t marry the man, but not straight off: not a rushed job. That’ll give rise to more talk than it settles.”

    “Yuh-yes, but—” she faltered.

    “Now, listen. Eric’s ma was intending to invite Susan over to spend next Season with them in Paris, and Daphne too, if she fancies it. They can get off straight away, instead. They tells me autumn in Paris is most agreeable. Her and Ned—Eric’s step-pa—is fixed there for the rest of the year: the girls can stay on for Christmas if it suits. Susan’ll be turned eighteen by that time, it won’t be too soon for her to get married, not when her and Eric have been engaged for a decent while. –Just don’t say anything, me love, she’ll welcome ’em, and I won’t even have to mention the Duke of York, neither!"

    “Mrs Urqhart, I...” Nan looked at her limply. “You make eet seem as eef I was panicking unnecessarily; yet I know I was not!”

    Mrs Urqhart sniffed slightly. “I wouldn’t say that, entire. I’ll talk to Lord Stamforth. He’ll see sense, Nan, don’t you worry. What’d be best, would be for his family to take you up. Tell you what, he can tell that old fatty, Tobias Vane, the lot, it’ll give him something else to think about besides ’is blessed teas and receets! This autumn and winter you can do a round of country visits: there’s Lady Mary Vane and Mr George, and I think there’s a cousin or some such in Warwickshire, and a few oddments in Kent— Now, don’t give me that look. It’ll be boring, but we got to put the best face possible on this.”

    “Yes, but dear Mrs Urqhart, Lord Stamforth may not weesh— And hees relatives may not countenance eet!” she gasped.

    “Pooh. ’E’s the Viscount, ain’t ’e? I’d say come over to The Towers for Christmas, but it’ll be better for you if the Vanes’ll take you up.” She heaved herself to her feet. “Now listen,” she said, pointing a stern finger at her. “You stay right here, and don’t you do nothing until you hears from me. Get it?”

    Nan nodded limply. “Yes. I—I can never thank you enough—”

    “Rats. Oh, and you mind you show that Iris some appreciation, she’s the decentest girl what I ever met, and don’t deserve to get landed with a mad thing like you for a cousin. And don’t worry about Daphne and Susan: they’re a-going right home to The Towers today, Bapsee’lI take ’em. Just in the case there should be a scandal, they is bein’ kept out of it, see?”

    “Y— But—”

    But Mrs Urqhart had gone.

    “But there ees more to deescuss!” said Nan feebly to the empty sitting-room.

    Mrs Urqhart was, to put it no more strongly, not without cunning: on Bobby’s discovering for her where Viscount Stamforth was staying, she sallied forth in her best. It was a very warm day: the best was thus composed of heavy silk in broad vertical bronze and tan stripes, with three horizontally striped flounces as to the skirt and a diagonally striped frill as to the bodice. Over this draped a lace shawl of the finest Chantilly, with an extra wrap, half-falling from her elbows, of brilliant emerald green silk lined with a finely striped buttercup and brown satin, and very much tasselled as to its ends. The bonnet, of the emerald green, featured an up-standing poke lined with the buttercup and brown, a thicket of striped bows, and a positive forest of green ostrich feathers. One large diamond star brooch featured on the bonnet, and a second gleamed in the fall of Valenciennes at her throat. Her gloves were lilac kid, and over them she wore her fine matched ruby bracelets. One of her many pearl necklaces perched on her bosom, the pearls large and very fine, the whole looped up on one shoulder with her big topaz ring brooch. Possibly few observers of this astonishing sight would have got around to noticing the earrings but those who did would not have been unimpressed: they were giant ruby drops, each the size of a plover’s egg. In the case that this outfit should not of itself do the trick she had ordered Bobby to accompany her.

    Whether it was her outfit or Mr Amory’s elegance, the servants at the hôtel certainly raised no objections to announcing their arrival to Lord Stamforth.

    “Thought ’e didn’t ’ave no money?” she said, looking round the lobby with unfeigned interest.

    “Noël lent him a few guineas.”

    “Not on ’im, y’fool! More general.”

    “In your or Lady Benedict’s terms, no, he hasn’t,” said Bobby drily.

    Mrs Urqhart sniffed slightly but allowed: “Well, it’s a decent place: at least ’e seems to know what’s due to ’is position.”

    “Quite,” he said as a manservant came hurrying up to ask them to follow him.

    “Private suite o’ rooms,” noted Mrs Urqhart as they were shown in. “He is doin’ the thing properly.” She waited until the servant had assured them that his Lordship would be with them immediately and bowed himself out, then said baldly: “You can sling yer ’ook.”

    “Oh, I’ve served my purpose, have I?”

    “You or them pantaloons and that dashed neckcloth, aye.”

    “Want me to come back for you?” replied Mr Amory, unmoved.

    “No, I dunno how long I’ll be. –Thanks, Bobby,” she said with a sigh as Bobby picked up his hat and turned to depart.

    He looked at her with a smile. “Cold feet, Betsy?”

    “NO!” she shouted.

    Smiling, Bobby trod over to her and gently kissed her cheek. “He’s a decent fellow,” he said mildly.

    “Get along with you!”

    “I’m going.” Smiling, Bobby departed.

    Mrs Urqhart looked around her with a sigh, and sat down heavily on a small gilded sofa.

    When Lord Stamforth came quietly in from the adjoining room she was fanning herself with an ivory fan, looking glum.

    “Good afternoon, Mrs Urqhart,” he said quietly.

    Mrs Urqhart gasped, and hurled the fan in the air.

    Lewis picked it up, handed it to her, smiling a little, and bowed very low over her plump hand. “How may I serve you?’

    Mrs Urqhart took a deep breath. “Just don’t you try to pre-empt me! Acos I know, if she doesn’t, as you have more wits in that little finger of your’n than all the idle fellers in London put together and rolled into one!”

    “Thank you,” said Lewis evenly. “Allow me to offer you a little refreshment, ma’am.” He rang the bell. “What would you care for?”

    For once Betsy Urqhart hesitated. Then she admitted: “Actual, a glass o’ rum would not go amiss, Colonel—drat! Lord Stamforth. If you don’t mind.”

    “Of course,” he said courteously as a bowing servant came in. He gave the order, pulled a chair a little closer to her sofa and sat down.

    Mrs Urqhart looked him up and down, and winced a little.

    “These clothes are Noël Amory’s. I have sent for my own,” he said calmly.

    “Glad to hear it. –Don’t you say a word!” she said, pointing a finger at him as he opened his mouth.

    “Mrs Urqhart, I fear I must. Please do not attempt to dissuade me from marrying Lady Benedict. You must perceive that there is no other recourse.”

    “I perceive that if you marries her in the mood what she’s in, believing you’ve offered because you was forced into it, it won’t be a marriage, it’ll be a ruddy disaster!” she replied energetically.

    Lewis shrugged, just a little. “Possibly. But then, possibly she is right in believing that circumstances forced me to offer.”

    “Circumstances my left elbow, you was a-goin’ to anyroad! Only she can’t see that, her feelings is too hurt. Added to which. she knows she didn’t oughta done it in the first place.”

    “Er—I don’t wish to disillusion you, dear ma’am, but in spite of your left elbow, I was merely thinking about proposing marriage to Lady Benedict.”

    “Tell me you doesn’t fancy her and I’ll eat this perishing bonnet!” replied Betsy Urqhart heatedly.

    “I do fancy her, but could I live with her? Or, rather, with her plus the train of admirers?”

    “Uh—well, Iris did mention something of the sort,” she admitted, as the servant returned with two glasses of rum on a salver. She seized hers gratefully.

    Lewis sipped his own tranquilly. “So you have spoken with Miss Jeffreys, is that it?”

    Mrs Urqhart set her glass down with a sigh. “Yes. She asked me to see what I could do. Acos they can all see, even those two dim little girls, that Nan is so miserable she dunno where to put herself!” she said forthrightly.

    Lewis went very red. “And you, of course, have no faith that I may be able to persuade her to be less miserable?”

    “Lordy, Colonel, I dunno!” she cried, throwing up her hands. “All I does know is that this is the worst possible start you could have given yourselves if you’d thought it out with both hands for full six year!”

    “True,” he said grimly.

    Mrs Urqhart sighed. “Now, listen. You won’t like it, but I think this might work. It was Noël’s and Cherry’s pretend engagement what give me the idea…”

    At the end of it Lewis just looked at her limply.

    “Out of course,” added Mrs Urqhart airily, “it won’t do no positive harm if you let her see that you wouldn’t mind if, after pretending to be engaged for six months or so, she turns round and agrees she wants it to be real.”

    Lewis passed his hand over his hair. “I dare say. But would I mind, in fact?’

    “Dunno. You wants her, you admitted it yourself.”

    “Mm. And we must marry,” he said, frowning. “If we did not in the end, Aunt Agatha for one would see to it that Lady Benedict had not a shred of reputation left.”

    “Right. Dare say that might not occur to Nan,” she said airily.

    Lewis gave her a bitter look, but said nothing.

    “Now, first off, can you talk your aunty round?” she demanded.

    He winced. “There is just a possibility that the value she places on the family name may outweigh the scorn she feels at this moment for myself, and that she may be prepared to listen.” He eyed her drily. “If I can get past her butler.’

    “Write her a note, apologizing abjectly and saying there’s extenuating circumstances what you can’t explain in a note, only your life was in danger. She may not total believe it, but her curiosity’ll be piqued, she won’t be able to let it go.”

    Lewis’s mouth twitched. “Very well.”

    “Then you got to pretend to be straight with Nan. She knows all there is to know about Cherry’s involvement with Noël, so it ain’t no use claiming you thought of the plan for yourself, or she’ll smell a rat. What you got to say is, I suggested it because  of Cherry and Noël: then she won’t get suspicious.”

    “Dear Mrs Urqhart, it is Lombard Street to a China orange that she will got suspicious: she has an extremely keen, not to say devious mind,” he sighed.

    “You out-think her, then,” she ordered.

    Lewis passed his hand over his thinning hair. “I shall try.”

    “And I’ve already broached the idea of a round of country visits to all your boring relatives,” she said breezily.

    “I have no doubt of it,” he replied faintly.

    “She won’t like it, but she’ll go. Acos she seems to have got it into her noddle,” she said, fixing him with a shrewd eye, “that if she don’t get engaged to you she will be in a fair way to ruining you.”

    “Mm. I did manage to convince her of that.”

    Mrs Urqhart heaved herself to her feet. “You is brighter than Noël, then. But I knew that. –Thanks for the glass of rum, Colonel. I know it ain’t a ladylike drink, but it took me right back to the time my Pumps and me first sailed home from India together. –No,” she said as he tried to persuade her to stay and take tea: “I won’t, thanks. Johanna and Dorian ain’t got a notion what I’m up to, so I better get on back and tell ’em a real convincing lie.”

    Lewis strolled over to the door with her. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Thank you. I’m damned if I know why you’re doing this, Mrs Urqhart: it seems to me that Lady Benedict has been nothing but a trouble to you from the time you first met her; and you most certainly owe neither of us anything. But believe me, you have my most sincere gratitude.”

    Betsy Urqhart put her head on one side. “Think I’m doing partly because I’m a born meddler, and partly because neither of you bores me out of me noddle. It counts, when you gets to my age.” She nodded brightly, and departed.

    Lewis tottered back into his private parlour. He was conscious of a certain wish along the lines of that once experienced by Dom Baldaya: that he could bottle Mrs Urqhart’s essence. Just when you were thinking that she was merely a well-meaning, if cunning, old woman after all, you were reminded that she wasn’t. Phew! He looked at the empty glass that had held the tot of rum, and laughed weakly.

    “It’s very good of you to see me, Aunt Agatha,” he said humbly.

    Mrs Throgmorton replied grimly: “It is not my custom to condemn a man unheard. But allow me to say that, on the face of it, there appears to be very little that you can say to justify your course of conduct, Stamforth. Pray be seated.”

    Lewis sat down limply. “Er—it was not you who sent me Pol Parrot, was it?” he said feebly.

    Mrs Throgmorton raised her lorgnette. “Certainly not. I have not set eyes on the creature since Aunt Sophia died. And if you are here to talk about parrots, you may take your leave again.”

    “I beg your pardon. I— Pray believe me when I say that what I am going to say, incredible though it may seem, is the truth, and that what I wrote you of my life’s having been in danger was a very real possibility. I— I don’t really know where to start,” he said lamely.

    Mrs Throgmorton sniffed. “No, well, you had best start somewhere. And kindly remember that I knew both your father and his cousin William rather well.”

    For a moment Lewis was blank. Then it sank home. “You mean, that deviousness is a Vane trait?” he said, biting his lip. “Er—yes.”

    “Prevarication rather than deviousness,” said Mrs Throgmorton with immense distaste. “Certainly in your late father’s case.”

    “Er—mm. Well, he was apt to let his sense of humour run away with him,” Lewis admitted, grimacing. “Unfortunately I seem to have inherited the tendency. Um—dammit,” he muttered. “It started— No, it didn’t. Um—do you know the Norringtons?” he said without hope.

    “I once knew a Catherine Norrington, certainly. She married a Stanley. What of them?”

    “Er—have you ever met the head of the family?”

    There was a little pause.

    “The present Lord Curwellion? Certainly. He is the late Catherine Stanley’s brother. A most unpleasant man.”

    “Yes. Lady Benedict’s family have been sheltering his only daughter, whom he has been trying to force into marriage with a corrupt old roué old enough to be her grandfather—having, one gathers,” said Lewis with a curl of the lip of which he was not consciously aware, “previously agreed with the creature to split the girl’s dowry once the knot is tied.”

    There was another little pause. Lewis looked at the grim old lady uneasily.

    “His father was just such a man. I have never ceased to thank my lucky stars that when he offered, Papa turned him down. –I was considerably younger than he, he was a widower, but apparently the age difference did not weigh with him, or such was his claim. My fortune did weigh with him. I shall ring for tea.”

    Lewis let her ring for tea without pointing out that he did not care for it: he felt quite faint.

    When it came it was green tea.

    “I think you prefer this?” said his Aunt Agatha.

    “Yes,” said Lewis limply. “Thank you, Aunt.”

    Mrs Throgmorton handed him a cup and filled her own. She sipped it slowly. “I believe Curwellion’s cousin is a friend of yours?”

    “Major Norrington: yes. That is how I became embroiled in the affair. Lady Benedict’s brother came to me, looking for Norrington—”

    Lewis more or less managed to get through it. He did not gloss over his own culpable stupidity in not attempting to escape from Lady Benedict’s house.

    Mrs Throgmorton thought it over, frowning. “And the boy is safe?” she said abruptly.

    Lewis jumped. “Young Dom? Why, yes. Lady Benedict has had a letter from Portugal. As everyone predicted, the family and their friends are entertaining him right royally, with the promise of boar-hunting expeditions and goodness-knows-what.”

    “Good.” Mrs Throgmorton then fixed him with a cold eye. “Is the woman a strumpet like her mother?”

    “Not at all. I had a very hard job to persuade her that she must marry me. She blamed herself for the whole thing.”

    She sniffed, but appeared slightly mollified.

    “Aunt Agatha.” said Lewis, taking a deep breath: “this is very hard for me to say. Lady Benedict is not a strumpet, in any sense of the term. She does, however, very much enjoy the admiration of men, and—er—knows herself to. be attractive to them.”

    “I see... That is not an uncommon type, Lewis.”

    “Uh—no. She is also highly intelligent,” he said cautiously, “and possessed of a sense of honour.”

    “Mm. And if the sense of honour were to be at war with the liking for men?”

    “At the present, the sense of honour would win, there is no doubt of that.”

    “Oh?”

    Lewis gnawed on his lip. “There is no sense in wrapping it up in clean linen. If she marries within the next ten years, let us say by the time she is thirty, I would not say her husband would have anything to fear except the occasional light flirtation. If she does not marry by then, I can see her casting herself into the arms of—not the first comer—but of an attractive ineligible, yes.”

    Mrs Throgmorton eyed him somewhat drily. “I suppose I should say, that this is not a particularly admirable portrait you are painting, here. However, one must allow for the Portuguese blood, the mother’s demonstrated inability to control her instincts, and the fact that she is not an innocent girl: she has been married.”

    “Exactly.”

    His aunt stared straight in front of her for some time. Eventually she said: “I think that is what is called in some circles a handful. Can you manage it, Lewis?”

    “I’m not sure,” he said, clenching his fists.

    “Hm.” Mrs Throgmorton stared in front of her again. “What happened to Mrs Starkey?”

    Lewis jumped a foot, and turned a dull crimson. “How did you—” He took a deep breath. “Mr Starkey died, ma’am, and Mrs Starkey discovered that there is a considerable difference between the state of neglected wife and that of comfortably-off widow. –In short, she went abroad at the cessation of hostilities, met a M. de Beaufort who at a conservative estimate was some fifteen years her junior, and bestowed her hand, her person, and Starkey’s fortune on him.”

    “Good riddance,” said Mrs Throgmorton coolly.

    “Mm, I came to that conclusion myself.”

    She nodded. “And Violetta Spottiswode?”

    Lewis was now prepared for this. He returned lightly: “Well, to say truth, I was good enough for her before it dawned that Spotton ain’t goin’, unless the world reverses in its course, to produce lawful offspring, and that Algie Spottiswode may thus confidently expect to inherit. At about that point she decided she wanted something more than an impoverished Member of Parliament in her train. I believe she is now trailing Billy Gratton-Gordon round on her apron string like a lap-dog.”

    “Er—Lord William? That cannot be correct, Stamforth: you mean Lord Frederick.”

    “No, I don’t,” said Lewis drily.

    Mrs Throgmorton’s substantial jaw sagged. “But—”

    “Lord Billy’s all of nineteen years of age, Aunt. It appears that Lady Algie has developed a taste for ’em.” He shrugged.

    “I see. l shall not enquire by what method she calculated that the younger son of an earl must be worthier of her favours than the heir to a viscounty.”

    “Oh, she dropped me before she’d worked it out, ma’am,” he drawled.

    Mrs Throgmorton sniffed.

    “There has been no-one since my—er—disillusionment with Mrs Starkey,” he said meekly.

    “But wait: surely the woman cannot have— This was after your Cousin Philip died?”

    “Mm. She hadn’t worked it out, either,” he said meekly. “Possibly because I had never mentioned the point to her.”

    Mrs Throgmorton drew a very deep breath and rang for the tea-tray to be removed. “I shall not say you are your father over again,” she said majestically when they were once more alone. “For if he had a sense of honour, he was never in a position to display it. And he certainly had no notion of what was due to the name.”

    Lewis replied evenly: “Much though I desire your support in the matter of Lady Benedict, I really must beg you not to blacken my poor father’s character to my face, Aunt.”

    She eyed him drily but conceded: “I beg your pardon. So, what is to be done? One cannot get over the fact that you spent weeks in the woman’s house.”

    “No. We must marry. But to rush into it would, I fear, only give rise to the sort of gossip I should wish to avoid.”

    She nodded slowly and Lewis then repeated Mrs Urqhart’s vision of country visits, longish engagement, marriage when he was out of mourning. To his immense relief it went over rather well. The point about the mourning period for Uncle Peter apparently struck a particular chord. –She was herself in unrelieved black and he now belatedly realised that this must be why. Oh, dear, the poor old thing! Uncle Peter had cordially loathed her all his life, had refused to receive her at Stamforth, and had made no bones of his low opinion of her late husband.

    Mrs Throgmorton then proceeded to examine the steps they should take during the next twelve months. “A chaperone is imperative,” she decided on a grim note. “I am too old, or I would offer my services.’

    “I would hesitate to put that burden on anyone’s shoulders.”

    “It should be your mother’s task,” said Mrs Throgmorton without emphasis.

    Lewis shrugged.

    “Could she not come up to town with Harriet next year?”

    “That would mean they would both have to come out of their sulks, and attend social functions at which they would be expected to give the appearance of enjoying themselves,” replied Lewis calmly.

    Mrs Throgmorton shrugged in her turn. “Very well, then. Your Aunt Julia?”

    “You know her better than I, ma’am.”

    “True. In any case the DinsdaIes are nobodies. It will have to be your Aunt Barbara,” she decided. “I shall write her this very day.” She paused. “And in view of her own history,” she said, extra-dry. “I think there can be no doubt of her ability to foresee and forestall any undesirable behaviour on the young woman’s part.”

    “How true,” said Lewis faintly. “Er—do you know where she is, Aunt Agatha?”

    “Certainly. Staying with the Dowager Countess of Hubbel: Lady Georgina Claveringham, as she prefers to be known,” she noted on an acid note. “Not at Chypsley: on the sea coast—Kent, I think.

    Lewis shut his eyes for a moment. “Would this be for the sea-bathing?”

    “Very like. At all events it must be warmer than that artificial lake at Chypsley.”

    “True. –Aunt, I can see Aunt Babs doing it, and indeed, doing it well, but will she? Will it not be a frightful bore for her?”

    “She has quarrelled seriously with Purle, so clearly she will not wish to play hostess for him for some time.

    “I see. What did Cousin Guy do this time?” he asked idly.

    “Refused to marry some whey-faced little creature whose—not mother, I think it was grandmother—was a friend of your aunt’s in her youth. –Not one of Barbara’s Nymphs,” she added coolly.

    “I see,” said Lewis, wincing. “Why did she want Guy to marry the whey-faced creature? Has she a fortune?”

    His aunt replied on an irritated note: “No, it meant that Barbara could have gone on ruling the roost at Lanthewlich as she has done ever done she married Purle’s father; where are your wits, Lewis?”

    Lewis nodded feebly. Barbara, Duchess of Purle, would most certainly have wished to do that—yes.

    “Lady Benedict may take a house in town and Barbara may stay with her and chaperon her while they see what can be done with Stamforth House. The wedding had best be in June.”

    He nodded numbly.

    “You may bring Lady Benedict to call on me on Wednesday. Now, run along: I have a host of letters to write.”

    Lewis rose awkwardly. “Aunt Agatha, I cannot thank you enough.”

    “Do not thank me: for all either of us knows I may be helping you to ruin your life,” she said grimly, holding out a hand.

    He bent low over it and kissed it. “Nevertheless, I do thank you.”

    He was at the door when she said: “Julia probably sent the parrot.”

    “Er—oh,” he said limply. “I see. Er—thank you. Good-day, Aunt Agatha.’

    He tottered out. In the hall the butler solemnly proffered a salver on which stood a small glass of brandy. Lewis did not meet the man’s eye as he accepted it and gulped it down. “Thank you,—er—Pegge, is it not? Thank you, Pegge.”

    “Not at all, your Lordship. May I say, it is a great pleasure to see your Lordship in this house again?”

    Lewis smiled limply. Pegge was from Stamforth and had been in Aunt Agatha’s employ for many years. Courteously he answered his respectful enquiries as to the state of the castle. And eventually tottered outside.

    The sun was still shining. Lewis looked around him dazedly. He felt as if he’d been immured in there for days.

    “I cannot take the credit for it, Lady Benedict: it was almost entirely Mrs Urqhart’s idea,” he murmured.

    “I know: she has spoken to me,” said Nan, frowning.

    Lewis just waited.

    “Your aunt actually agreed that we should remain engaged weetheen the period of your mourning?”

    “Yes. She does not, of course, at all approve of my having lived in your house. Though her prior acquaintance with the less savoury members of Ursa’s family certainly helped her to understand the situation,” he said with a slight shrug.

    “You deed not ‘live’ een my house: I held you prisoner een eet!” she snapped.

    “Yes, Aunt Agatha understands that. She also understands that I could have climbed out of my window any time I had a mind to.” He shrugged again. “As she did not fail to point out, I am not without acquaintances in Bath.”

    “That ees not amusing. And I must beg you, eef you weesh me to retain my sanity during thees long engagement, to restrain that shrug of yours, Lord Stamforth,” said Nan grimly.

    “I do beg your pardon. Er—well,” he said, ticking points off on his fingers, “I have been over the long engagement, the tedious round of visits—Aunt Agatha is drawing up a list, by the way—and the possibility of Aunt Babs’s functioning as your chaperone, most certainly for next Season, and possibly earlier, depending on her engagements.”

    “Yes.” Nan swallowed hard. “I—I have not met her, I theenk?”

    “No: she and Purle, that is my young Cousin Guy, were abroad last Season.”

    “Ye-es...”

    Lewis sighed. “Lady Benedict, whatever stories you may have heard to Babs Purle’s discredit are undoubtedly true. These days, however, she is extremely grande dame: both you and your reputation will be perfectly safe in her care.”

    “Of course. And I had not heard anytheeng,” said Nan, flushing up. “I was wondering— Ees she not a vairy elderly lady, then?”

    “Mm? Oh! I see what you mean. She is one of my younger aunts. My grandfather had a numerous family, largely daughters. Papa would have been seventy, had he lived; Uncle Peter was seventy-five when he died. Aunt Agatha was one of the older children, she is seventy-eight years of age. But Aunt Babs is... let me see. Just sixty. Guy is—twenty-two? No, twenty-three, now, I think. He is the son of her second marriage. She has two older sons and a daughter by her first husband. Purle, that is the late Duke, was very much older than she when they married: the on-dit was that he wanted an heir, and did not care about the rest, and that she wanted an established position in Society without the bother of having to propitiate a husband. They are said to have struck a bargain that after she produced the heir she could go her own way. And certainly, though Guy’s older sister and Guy himself have the Tremmin features, the younger sister does not. –I think you have met her, she is Lady Mabel Ives: young Percy Ives’s wife.

    “Oh, yes, of course. I met her at Lady Mary Vane’s rout party but I deed not realise there was a family connexion. She ees vairy pretty.”

    “Mm: a little like Aunt Babs, but even more like old Freddy Lacey,” he said drily. “—I am telling you all this gossip, Lady Benedict, so that it need not burst upon you like a thunderclap when you appear in town under Aunt Babs’s wing.”

    Nan nodded numbly. “Yes. Thank you.”

    “She has married ’em all off except Guy, and has nothing to do in town but amuse herself,” he murmured.

    “Er—yes, I see.”

    “Though since his papa was sixty-eight when he married, she may well find herself with an occupation for some years to come.”

    “Sixty-eight!”

    “Mm. Well. there was a thirty-year—one could not, perhaps call it a morganatic arrangement, but given the fact that Purle set himself even higher than Pom-Pom von Maltzahn-Dressen—” He shrugged. “I’m sorry: I shrugged again.”

    “Do not apologize,” said Nan limply: “I theenk eet was warranted. Dare one ask how many children the late Duke had een thees thirty-year arrangement?”

    “Thirteen, one is told.”

    Nan gulped.

    “Aunt Babs is not the type of woman to care a fig about that, nor indeed that Purle settled most of ’em on or about the estate.”

    “I see.” She swallowed. “Who was her first husband?” she asked hoarsely.

    Lewis looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. “How very common-sensical you are! Well. it is certainly best to know, but I do not think there is anything in it to trip you up. The late Lord Ivo was her first husband, Lady Benedict. She was but sixteen when they married, and the present Lord Ivo is said by polite persons to have been a seven-months’ child. –There is an estate in Scotland,” he murmured.

    “Ivo? But surely—” She broke off.

    “Yes, you are perfectly correct: the present Lady Ivo did, indeed, enjoy the friendship of Noël Amory not so long since.”

    “Yes,” she said, blinking. “Eendeed, that ees what I had— But wait! Surely that ees the MacInnes family?”

    “Mm.

    “But deed not the MacInnes girl marry young Mr Donald Lacey only thees year?”

    “Yes.”

    “But—”

    “Aunt Babs’s grandchild, I think her name is Rose—yes, Rose MacInnes—married Freddy Lacey’s son, Donald. There is no relationship between Donald Lacey and Rose MacInnes save the marital one, though there certainly is between him and Lady Mabel Ives. –Half-brother and -sister,” he said to her slightly open mouth.

    “Yes,” said Nan weakly. “Oh, dear, I shall never remember all thees, I shall be forever treepping up over eet and deesgracing you!”

    Lewis smiled very much. “I don’t think you will disgrace me,” he murmured.

    She reddened. “Well, ees that all, then?”

    “No. Mrs Urqhart has proposed a further step, which I most certainly did not disclose to Aunt Agatha. According to herself it was the arrangement between Noël Amory and Miss Chalfont which suggested it to her.” He shrugged. “Oh—damnation: I’m shrugging again. I do beg your pardon: it seems to have become a stupid habit.”

    “Never mind that. What exactly ees thees further step?”

    Lewis looked at her apologetically. “Pray believe that it is not my wish. Mrs Urqhart seems to think that once we have propitiated Aunt Agatha by agreeing to become engaged, and once any talk that might arise has died down, you might break off the engagement, if you wish. Um—I think by that time Mrs Urqhart envisages that Susan and Daphne will be safely married off, so it will not affect them.”

    “Y— But you have written to my Cousin Keywes!” she gasped.

    “Very true.”

    Nan looked at him uneasily. “How much deed you tell heem?”

    “I told him everything. I scarcely know him, but I would say he would disapprove entirely of any attempt on your part to break off the engagement. Even though he may well feel considerable sympathy for your motives in kidnapping me in the first place.”

    Nan was silent, chewing on her lip.

    Lewis looked at her doubtfully. She was seated on a sofa: he was on a chair opposite her. As it was a very warm day, she was clad in a simple little sprig muslin gown that made her look not a day over eighteen. He swallowed a sigh, got up, and sat down slowly beside her on the sofa.

    “Look, Nan, my dear,” he said nervously, “can we not get on better terms?”

    Her nostrils flickered. “I theenk we are not on bad terms, Lord Stamforth. I quite understand that you do not desire thees marriage any more than I.”

    “But if I said that I do, very much?” he said in a low voice.

    “Then I should understand,” said Nan grimly, “that you are merely being generous. Perhaps I should tell you now, so as there can be no misunderstanding een the future, that I accidentally overheard sometheeng of what you said to Sir Noël Amory the day that your aunt called at my house.”

    “But—”

    “You said that I was wayward and uncontrollable, and you could not face an alliance weeth me weeth equanimity,” she stated grimly.

    Lewis turned very red. “Yes, but you do not understand! I was very shaken by it all, and—and the fact that I was talking to Amory influenced the—the slant of my conversation!” he said desperately. “Do you not see?”

    “I see that you are trying to spare my feelings,” said Nan colourlessly, “but please do not bother. I theenk that Mrs Urqhart’s suggestion about breaking off the engagement ees a vairy sensible one. Eef no rumours seem to have been spread about us, and eef the girls weell not be affected, then you may rest assured, I shall break eet off. But eef we do have to marry, I shall be a conformable wife een public, you need have no fears on that score. And I do not weesh to be anything else. You are not truly the sort of man for me, any more than I am the sort of woman for you.”

    “I see,” he said, going very white.

    She rose, looking very calm and composed. “Eef that ees all, perhaps you weell excuse me. I have many theengs to do. Good morning.”

    “Good morning,” said Lewis tightly, rising and bowing. He walked out before she could ring for the footman,

    Lymmond Square was warm and peaceful, the only signs of life being a small boy tugging a large spotted dog along by its collar. Lewis walked off grimly, not noticing what direction he was taking. “Damnation,” he said through his teeth. What the Devil had he said to Noël? He could not for the life of him recall his exact words. No doubt it had been along the lines of what she had said, but what he had tried to explain to her was true: he was aware how Noël felt about her, and it was that side of his own  feelings that he had expressed to him. Well, Hell! It was worse than he had thought  it might be. If he wanted to win her, he would evidently have his work cut out.

    Lewis stared unseeingly as the small boy attempted to lug the large spotted dog up the steps of one of the houses in the square. Did he want to win Nan’s love?

    Slowly his eyes filled with tears, and he admitted bitterly to himself that he did want to, very much. He was sure that she was half—more—in love with him. Unfortunately she seemed to have made up her mind not to be. And how the Devil was he to break down that stubborn determination? If only she would drop the coldness! He thought he could cope with her in a hot rage. In fact, he was sure he could. Hell.

    He took a deep breath, and strode on, ignoring completely the fact that the boy and the spotted dog had been confronted at the front door of the house they were trying to enter by a pug dog and a small red-haired girl, and that a fusillade of angry shrieks and yelps had now broken out.

     Mrs Urqhart set down her teacup and selected a small cake. “Yes, well, I wouldn’t say as you put that over very well, Lord Stamforth,” she concluded placidly. “—Have one, Iris, they’re good.”

    Iris was now regretting she had called: she had wanted to hear if Mrs Urqhart had more news, but not, alas, in front of Lord Stamforth himself! Weakly she took a cake. “So, um, Her Grace of Purle is to come, then?”

    Lewis nodded over a cake, a twinkle in his eye. “Yes,” he said, swallowing: “she has quarrelled with Lady Georgina Claveringham. Oh: do you know her, Miss Jeffreys?”

    “Yes, I do know her: she is quite a figure in Society.”

    “Her and the monkey,” said Mrs Urqhart neutrally.

    “Mm. And the black footmen,” Iris admitted.

    They looked at each other, and laughed.

    “One gathers that the quarrel is not serious,” added Lewis, “but that Aunt Babs and Lady Georgina have had enough of each other’s company after spending the better part of six weeks at the seaside together.”

    “Doing what, for the Lord’s sake?” asked Mrs Urqhart blankly.

    Lewis’s twinkle became more pronounced. He produced a folded sheet from his pocket. “I received this by personal messenger this morning. It will explain all.”

    First providently taking another small cake, Mrs Urqhart grasped it eagerly.

    My Vy. Dear Stamforth.

    What is this Nonsense your Aunt Aggie writes about yr. being Obbligg’d to become engaged to Nancy Jeffreys’s daughter? There is no Obbligatn. on yr. side, silly boy, as any but a Noddy or a Fuddy-Duddy like yr. Aunt would grasp sans difficulté. She says you are Addamant, I dare say: you are yr. Uncle Peter over Aggain & so I have allways maintained. –Nota bene: the Dresden Figgurrine of the Nymph with Attendt. Cupidon was to come to Me on Papa’s death but Peter would never Admit it. Aggie tells me you have Pull’d the House down: well, Good Riddance, but if you could put yr. Hand on it I shld. be much Obbligg’d, for I have the Pair to it and have had from my Sainted Mamma this past Fourty Year Aggone.

    Of course I shall Fly to yr. Side an you need me, you have but to Ask. Purle continues in the Sulks & has not writt me this past two months and More. Ah! Could he but know the Suff’rings of a Mother’s Heart! But dear boy, is the girl a Lady? For, far be it from me to Vissit the Sins of the Parrent on the Child, but the Mother was Nottorious in her Day, you know. Naturellement we shall open up the town house: I know not what Aggie intentions by this Nonsense she has writt, but there can be No Question. You have the Name to support, dear boy. In any case we shall get her out of Bath aussi vite que possible. Sybil Hawkridge has invitted me for Septbr. Better to start there than Finnish, for the chimbleys at Hethersett smoke Too Dredfully in Novmbr.

    Lady Georgina signalls her Intention of joining us there, it is to be hopped that Sybil can provvide Accommodtn. for the Entourage. Dear boy, I do hope she is a woman of Taste. One’s tolerance for Animals and Black Men will last only So Far and No Further, I find. Not to say one’s Nerves: the Creatture steals food from one’s plate and is liable to whisk Lady G.’s very wig off her head an she do not have it Tyed in place. The Black Men are more Supportable but when one sees how much they Eat one understands that the Creatture is said to cost Hubbel a Fortune. Added to which I would not wager a Groat that they turn their backs as she will maintain, when one is Dipping.

    “Dear boy, I shall see you very soon, but if she be truly Insupportable and not a lady, I warn you, I shall wash my hands. But I think you know better than that what is due to the Name.

Yrs. in Hayste,

Babs Purie.

    Lewis watched tolerantly as Mrs Urqhart choked over this missive.

    “‘Ere!” she gasped, handing it on to Iris. “I couldn’t trust meself to report it, lovey!”

    “Yes, do, pray, read it, Miss Jeffreys,” said Lewis, smiling. “You had best know the worst of the family with which your relative is about to ally herself.”

    Iris duly choked over it. “Which is the ‘Creatture’?” she said feebly, handing it back to Lewis. “The monkey or Lady Georgina?”

    “Both,” said Mrs Urqhart promptly.

    “Mm,” he agreed, folding it up and returning it to his pocket.

    Iris went into a sniggering fit, finally gasping: “I think Nan will enjoy her!”

    “Mm,” said Lewis, a trifle drily. “Either that or loathe her: those are the usual two reactions.”

    “Bit of a flibbertigibbet mind, hey?” said Mrs Urqhart.

    “Exactly, ma’am. Bright, but lacking in application. And in formal education: she has what I would call an eclectic smattering of knowledge.”

    “Well, if she’s bright with it, I dare say Nan may like her. Has she got dress sense?”

    Lewis replied solemnly: “One can scarcely characterize, without putting oneself at risk of the severest accusations of hyperbole, the extent to which Aunt Babs is possessed of dress sense, Mrs Urqhart.”

    Mrs Urqhart went into an alarming wheezing fit, gasping through it: “Stop it! –’Ere,” she added aggrievedly, holding her side: “you’ve given me a stitch, drat you! No, well. it were you and them cakes,” she admitted, glaring at the empty plate.

    “Are you quite all right, dear ma’am?” asked Iris anxiously.

    “Yes! Out o’ course! –Thanks, Colonel,” she said, as Lewis rose, re-seated himself at her side and, detaching the fan which depended from one plump wrist, began to fan her briskly.

    “Not at all,” he replied. “May I say what a truly delightful artefact, ma’am?”

    “Mm,” she said, nodding. “Fonds d’ivoire, plaqué de porcelaine Famille rose.”

    Talking of eclectic smatterings of knowledge! Lewis avoided Miss Jeffreys’s eye. “The tiny medallions are quite charming.”

    “Aye, but they make it a trifle heavy in the hand.—Don’t stop fanning me, lovey. Beg pardon: your Lordship.—My Pumps had it off a Dutch East-Indiaman,”

    “Er, off a man or a ship, Mrs Urqhart?” asked Iris.

    “Both. –That’s better,” she said with a sigh as Lewis continued to fan her. “He would have it as the feller throwed it in with a load of spices, only I never met a Hollander yet what was prone to throw in nothing for nothing.”

    “No, indeed,” agreed Lewis.

    Mrs Urqhart leant back against the sofa back, and sighed. “Thanks. It be not half warm, for England. –You may have it,” she said abruptly.

    Lewis nearly dropped it. “I could not possibly, Mrs Urqhart!”

    “Yes, take it, Colonel. –Drat, there I go again! Take it, Lord Stamforth. Give it her, if you like. If you wants an unusual engagement present, this be it.”

    Lewis attempted further protests but was overborne. He rose to take his leave after that.

    Mrs Urqhart’s parting shot, he felt, set the seal on what had been a fairly trying week: “Pink is her colour. But then, you might prefer to keep it for your eldest daughter.”

    Iris looked at her in despair as the door closed after him. “Dear ma’am, I have to say it: you are incorrigible!”

    “Why not? He’s head over heels about her: the sooner he admits it to himself the better!”

    Iris hesitated for a moment. “I cannot tell you why, but I think he has admitted it. I think that is why he seems so...”

    “Downright miserable? –Aye. Well, I done me best, lovey.”

    “You have been superb!” Iris rose and kissed her cheek. “I must go; I have my packing to do.”

    Mrs Urqhart bade her good-bye with a smile, but once she was gone she pushed back her lace cap and scratched her grey hair vigorously. “We-ell... it’s given ’em a breathing space.” She put her hand on her midriff, and scowled at the cake plate. “Why did I ever eat all them blamed—” She broke off, sighed, and shouted: “BHAI!”

    Mrs Dorian Kernohan’s butler hurried in, he had got used to it, and she sent for Bapsee. Once Bapsee had unlaced the stays and Mrs Urqhart had admitted she didn’t never ought to have had ’em laced that tight, she was able to concede: “Probably I done right.”

    Bapsee replied forcefully in Hindoostanee: “Betsy Begum, the Colonel Sahib would but have to get into Nanni Begum’s bed—”

    “BUS!” she shouted at the top of her voice. “I worked that out for meself, thanks. Only he’s the type that wouldn’t, see? Too much of a gent. –If you can understand that,” she muttered sourly in English.

    “Once he breaks down her resistance—”

    “He WON’T!” she shouted in Hindoostanee. “Are you BLIND?”

    “Not in bed,” said Bapsee calmly.

    “Oh. Yes, well, you’re right. Only how’s he to do that?”

    “There was once a woman who was married to a poor man—”

    This phrase quite undoubtedly signalled the beginning of a long and very probably pointless Indian story. But it was a warm afternoon, and Johanna and Cousin Catriona had gone out shopping. Mrs Urqhart settled back with her feet up on the sofa and let her tell it. Why not?

    Lewis reflected, walking slowly back to his hôtel, that if he had the guts of a louse he’d get round to Lymmond Square and present the fan to her, making the point that it was to be handed on to their first daughter. How lowering to find that one was a man without even the guts of so humble a zoological specimen as that.