London Encounters

21

London Encounters

    It was the first of May. Cherry’s troubles came back to her in a rush.

    Over the breakfast table kind Mrs Stewart looked at her in concern, but said only: “Why do we not take Pug Chalfont for a little run in the Park this morning, Cherry?”

    “I should like to... Sir Noël may call, however,” she said, blushing.

    “No, he won’t,” noted Dom, yawning. “Not an early riser, has it written all over heem. Tell you what, Miss Chalfont: I’ll come weeth you.”

    “Oh—that is very good of you, Mr Baldaya. I—well, yes, Pug needs the exercise...”

    “I could do with a turn in the Park,” noted Mr Charleson.  “Should you care to, Miss Benedict?”

    “Indeed,” said Susan, nodding and smiling eagerly.

    “Good, we shall all go!” decided Tarry, beaming. “And I dare say we may meet up with May Beresford and the Princess Adélaïde, also: May said they often walk the little dog in the mornings.”

    Dom yawned again. “That Adélaïde ain’t got ‘early riser’ written on her, neither. Well, come along, then! –We shan’t wait for Daphne,” he noted by the by.

    “No: she has not ‘early riser’ written on her, I fear!” said Tarry with a loud giggle.

    Bonnets and shawls were duly found, and the little party set off, escorted by the faithful Albert: he had looked so wistful that Catriona Stewart had not had the heart to refuse the services he so kindly volunteered. Though with Dom, Mr Charleson and herself to look to the girls, there was no need for him.

    “Lor’, would not have said he were an early riser, neither,” noted Dom in awe as, after the party had been strolling blamelessly for some fifteen minutes, the smart blue coat and yellow pantaloons of Mr Bobby Amory were espied.

    Bobby came up to them smiling, doffing his hat.

    “Mornin’, Amory; I deed not know you was an early riser,” said Dom cheerfully.

    Regrettably, at this Tarry collapsed in giggles.

    Bobby smiled kindly. “I am not such a slugabed as my relatives would claim, Baldaya, if that be where you had that particular aspersion! –Good morning, Mrs Stewart; young ladies; Charleson,” he added, bowing.

    The rest of the party greeted Mr Amory very properly, and Bobby courteously offered his arm to Mrs Stewart. “The thing is, my clock was wrong,” he admitted solemnly.

    “I see,” she said, trying not to laugh.

    “Stopped, y’know. We re-set it by my watch. Only, discovered this morning that it must have been wrong, too.”

    This duly reduced the young people to giggles.

    “Aye,” said Bobby, looking at them drily. “However, we have traced the fault, you will be glad to know, to that plaguey clock of m’cousin Timmy’s. Called t’other day: re-set my watch in the hall as I was saying goodbye to Cousin Betsy.”

    Mrs Stewart gulped, and was bereft of speech.

    “I think that was the morning that we were out with the children, walking Pug, sir?” ventured Cherry.

    “Aye.—My word, he is growing, too, is he not?” He encouraged Cherry to show off Pug Chalfont, and admired Pug’s new harness, not betraying by so much as a flicker his amusement at the news that old Hugh Throgmorton had provided it.

    The party strolled on comfortably, Bobby with Mrs Stewart on his arm and Cherry, walking Pug, beside them. Behind them, Susan and Tarry were arm-an-arm, followed by Mr Baldaya and Mr Charleson, also arm-in-arm, now talking horseflesh, with the faithful Albert bringing up the rear, listening to the gentlemen with interest.

    After a little Pug began to pull somewhat, invigorated by the fresh air and exercise, and Cherry let him lead her on faster, getting a little in advance of the group.

    “There is something wrong in that direction,” said Bobby abruptly to Mrs Stewart.

    She bit her lip “I—I think she and your nephew may have had a disagreement, sir.”

    “Has he called?” demanded Bobby grimly.

    “Well, yes, but I think she has not seen him alone.”

    “He’s a fool. The girl is the sweetest thing that ever walked!” he said crossly.

    She looked at him in some surprise, but murmured: “We think so, too, Mr Amory.”

    Bobby sighed. “I have a feeling there is something Noël ain’t telling me. I think Richard may know, but he won’t say, either. Well,” he said heavily: “they are the bright lads of the family, no reason they should ask for my advice.”

    Catriona Stewart flushed up and said in a trembling voice: “Do not say that, sir. I—I think anyone would be most grateful for your advice.”

    Bobby was not looking at her: he was staring ahead to where Pug was making Cherry scramble along the path, but not as if he was really focussing on them. “She most certainly was not,” he said bitterly.

    “She? Miss Chalfont?” faltered Mrs Stewart.

    “No: Lady Benedict,” he said grimly.

    “Oh.”

    Bobby came to himself with a jump. “Er—I beg your pardon, ma’am. Maundering on. Forget I said it.”

    Mrs Stewart took a deep breath. “Mrs Urqhart has mentioned the incident to me, sir. It would seem to me that your advice was thoroughly well founded. Lady Benedict would have done well to follow it,” she ended timidly.

    He smiled ruefully. “Glad you think so, Mrs Stewart.”

    “I do,” she said, nodding. “She very much needs the advice of a—a gentleman who knows the ways of the world.”

    Bobby looked gratified, but somewhat amused. “I cannot but agree with you, ma’am. But—er—old Francis Kernohan seems to have the situation well in hand.”

    “Ye-es... He is a thoroughly admirable man, of course. But—forgive me, I do not know if he is a close friend of yours, sir—but he strikes me as—as a little naïve, if that does not sound too silly.”

    “It doesn’t sound silly at all. I don’t know him all that well, but he has always struck me as one of those fellows who is just too good for—well, too good for their own good!” he said, laughing a little. “‘A little naïve’ fits him to a T, ma’am.”

    “I am glad you understand,” she said, smiling shyly up at him.

    Bobby smiled into her big grey eyes, and nodded. “I do. But I hope,” he said, making a rueful face, “that you are not asking me to stand by as a relief in the case any sortie General Kernohan should make to aid Lady Benedict should fail. –Not that I would refuse, you understand!” he added hastily. “But frankly, I think the task would be beyond me. She is a very determined young woman. –And my name ain’t Blücher, ma’am!” he added with a tiny laugh.

    “Oh!” said Mrs Stewart, taken unawares. Suddenly she went into a gale of giggles.

    Bobby smiled very much, pressed her arm more tightly into his side—not unconscious of the ripe softness of her bosom against his upper-arm as he did so—and strolled on, looking very pleased with himself.

    The sun shone mildly and  a little breeze blew. Cherry and Pug rounded a bend in the path and were lost to view. Bobby began to describe a performance of The Magic Flute he had recently attended, explaining self-deprecatingly that he was not a terribly musical fellow, but there had been a most miraculous toy balloon, and three little lads in it, no higher than your knee, what had been awful sweet—

    Suddenly the most frightful racket of barking, shrieking and yelping broke out from round the bend in the path.

    Unaffectedly Tarry raced ahead. After a startled moment Dom, with a shout of laughter, followed her. Mr Charleson, considerately telling his almost-betrothed to hang back, it might be nasty, scrambled along behind him, and Albert after him.

    “Oh, no!” gasped Mrs Stewart. “Quickly, sir!”

    Bobby duly hurried forward with her, hoping to God the creature had not hurled itself at something three times its size.

    “Help!” gasped Tarry, skidding to a halt as she rounded the bend.

    “Mais aidez-moi, tas d’imbéciles!” screamed the Princess Adélaïde.

    Dom reached Tarry’s side and collapsed in a helpless paroxysm.

    “Grab his lead!” gasped Mr Charleson.

    “Grab—eet—yourself!” he choked helplessly.

    Miss Chalfont had evidently dropped Pug’s lead: though whether before or during the assault was not clear. Nor was it clear who had been the aggressor. Both the fluffy Pfötchen and the sturdy Pug were, however, now hard at it: locked in mortal combat, rolling over and over, snarling terribly. Pug’s mouth was clearly full of pink bow, though it was not clear whether he had a bit of Pfötchen in there as well; the Pomeranian more simply had sunk his teeth into Pug’s ear.

    “It was Pfötchen who started it!” gasped Miss Beresford.

    “Stop it, Pug!” shouted Cherry, very red. “HERE, sir!”

    “He won’t come, he ees bitin’ the stuffing out of that bow!” choked Dom deliriously.

    “Be quiet, you silly creature, that horrid dog is BITING him!” she shouted.

    The Princess Adélaïde was screaming loudly, though those that understood the mixture of languages in which she was screaming recognized that it was only phrases such as: “Why don’t you call your horrid dog off?” and “Don’t let him eat Pfötchen!” and “Stop them, stop them!” and so forth: none of it particularly commanding or convincing.

    “PUG!” cried Cherry, tears in her eyes. “Stop it at ONCE! Come HERE!”

    Two other gentlemen were approaching the scene: anyone who might have believed that they were coming to the ladies’ aid, however, was quickly disabused, as one of them shouted loudly: “A pony on the pug!”

    Cherry was unaware of the approach of these gentlemen: she rushed in and made a grab for the trailing blue lead. Unsuccessfully: she gasped, and staggered.

    “Pray, Mr Amory—” begged Mrs Stewart.

    Bobby wrinkled his nose. “Let him sort it out,” he murmured.

    Mrs Stewart looked at him indignantly: but then, as he glanced significantly in the direction of the newcomers, realized that one of them was Mr Amory’s nephew. She nodded, and stood back, gripping Bobby’s arm tightly.

    Sir Noël was accompanied by Mr Wilfred Rowbotham, it being the latter who had bet on Pug Chalfont. The baronet strode up looking grim. “Give me your coat,” he ordered Mr Charleson.

    “Eh?”

    “Give me your coat!” said Sir Noël through his teeth, taking him by the collar.

    Limply Mr Charleson let his coat be peeled off him.

    “He weell not use—hees own—acos eet be—from the hand of Weston!” choked Dom ecstatically.

    “It isn’t funny, Mr Baldaya, I can see blood!” cried Tarry in distress.

    Sir Noël strode in with Mr Charleson’s coat firmly grasped in his hand.

    “Ten guineas throwin’ the coat over ’em don’t make the pug let go!” said Mr Rowbotham cheerfully.

    “No takers!” retorted Dom.

    “I will lay you odds the fluffy thing leaves go his ear,” offered Mr Charleson.

    “No bet. Fluffy dogs ain’t got no bottom,” said Mr Rowbotham, his eyes on Sir Noël.

    “Ooh!” gasped Tarry.

    “Help!” squeaked Susan.

    “Lor’,” said Dom numbly, as the baronet proceeded to whack both participants soundly with Mr Charleson’s coat.

    “Mais cessez! Que’est-ce que vous faîtes là, monsieur?” screamed Adélaïde, rushing forward, as the sound of coat meeting dogflesh rose on the mild morning air, almost drowning the snarling.

    Abruptly Dom recovered himself. “What he ees doin’, you seelly theeng,” he said, grasping her plump arm in a grip of steel and pulling her back roughly, “ees breakin’ up that fight what your uncontrolled pooch would appear to have started. And stand back, unless you want to be bitten.”

    Adélaïde burst into overwrought tears. Dom was unmoved, continuing to grip her arm fiercely.

    In a few moments the snarling gave way to anguished yelping. Suddenly Pfötchen released Pug, and streaked for the hinterland, Sir Noël giving him one last whack for good luck as he went. The Pomeranian disappeared into some bushes with a shriek.

    “Mais attrapez-le!” screamed Adélaïde. “Mais que faîtes-vous, tas d’imbéciles? Mais attrapez-le-moi!”

    “She ees tellin’ you,” said Dom to the bystanders with a grin: “to get heem for her, the pack of imbeciles what you are. –Personally I don’t find eet an inducement.”

    “Laissez-MOI!” screamed Adélaïde, lashing out at him.

    Dom caught her fist before it could reach his face, but then released her, grimacing. “I ain’t stoppin’ you, you horrid leetle theeng. Go and hunt for heem een them bushes yourself, he ees your dog. –Hoy, you: get een there, you useless fellow!” he added loudly to the girls’ footman. Reddening, the man hurried into the shrubbery. “No, don’t, Susan,” he warned as Susan started forward anxiously. “That theeng weell bite. –No, nor you, Albert,” he added to Mrs Urqhart’s footman. “Keep out of eet, that ees an order.”

    “But Mr Baldaya—” faltered May.

    “Miss Beresford, eef your cousin cannot control her dog, she deed not ought to bring eet to the Park,” said Dom grimly. “How ees he, Miss Chalfont?” he asked, turning away from the disconcerted cousins.

    Sir Noël had administered a sound slap with the flat of his hand to Pug’s sturdy rear before picking him up and handing him to  Cherry.

    “His ear is bleeding. Oh, Pug Chalfont, you were very naughty! But very brave!”

    “Did the creature attack him?” asked Sir Noël grimly, tossing Mr Charleson’s coat at him.

    “Yes,” she said, nodding. “Oh—thank you so much, Sir Noël!”

    “Never mind that. What happened?”

    “Pug Chalfont and I were walking along quietly—well, he was pulling, I am afraid I have not been exercising him as much as you told me,” said Cherry, very red, “and suddenly, as we rounded the bend, that horrid little creature rushed up and bit him!”

    “He is not a horrid little creature!” shouted the Princess. “You are a horrid creature, and so is your dog!”

    Ignoring this interruption, Sir Noël pursued: “And you did not pull him back?”

    “He had the lead out of my hand before I knew it,” she said shamefacedly.

    “Sir, he has grown awful strong thees last month or so,” said Dom uneasily.

    “So it would appear. We had best get him home and bathe that ear. –Bobby, if you and Wilf wish to sort out the Pomeranian, I wish you joy of it. Personally I’m of Baldaya’s mind: leave the damned creature to its own devices. I imagine the house of von Maltzahn-Dressen can dispatch a fleet of footmen to search the Park if necessary.”

    Adélaïde burst into a torrent of sobs. “You are a horrible man!” she screamed through them. “And as for you, I hope that your horrid little dog’s ear vill turn septic and fall off! And if you believe that man loves you, you are wrong, for ve have seen him at the play making love to Lady Benedict! And my Mamma says she is the type he prefers!”

    For a moment the mild morning air rang with silence.

    Sir Noël took Cherry’s elbow very firmly. “That’s right, come along—loop the lead over your wrist: good. –Don’t look at me like that, sir, you have behaved like a monster!” he added, as Pug Chalfont looked up at him trustingly, lolling his tongue and panting. “Let him walk,” he added.

    “I—I think perhaps I should carry him,” said Cherry tearfully.

    “Noël, old fellow, she’s upset,” murmured Bobby, coming up to his elbow.

    “The dog is not seriously hurt. –And why were you standing by like a stick, Nunky, dear?”

    “Had something to do with the fact that you was not escortin’ Miss Chalfont on her mornin’ walk,” he drawled.

    Noël reddened angrily. “Come along,” he said shortly to Cherry. “Carry the brute if you must.” He walked off, propelling her with a hand tightly holding her elbow.

    Bobby looked after them thoughtfully, as Mr Rowbotham lounged up, grinning.

    “Think we should look for the creature, Bobby?”

    “What? No, dammit, Wilf! Young Baldaya’s in the right of it! –Mrs Stewart, we are leaving,” he said firmly, returning to her side and taking her arm.

    “But should we desert the Princess and Miss Beresford?”

    “We are not deserting them: the Fürstin von Maltzahn-Dressen’s house is only a step from the Park, and they may have an army of footmen here in less than five minutes. And I cannot imagine what Cousin Betsy would say,” he added mendaciously, “if we were to let either of the girls get bitten.”

    “Well, no.” Mrs Stewart looked dubiously at the red-faced, sobbing Adélaïde and the distressed-looking May.

    “Come along,” said Bobby firmly. “Charleson, take Miss Benedict’s arm, man, and stop fussin’ over that coat. It was dead-lookin’ before Noël even started on it. You, too, Baldaya: take Miss Tarry’s arm, and let’s get out of here! Coming, Wilf?”

    “Er—I’ll stay here, old man, keep an on eye these two little sillies.”

    “Ve are NOT sillies!” shouted Adélaïde.

    “Yes, you are,” replied Mr Rowbotham, unmoved.

    “Thanks, Wilf,” said Bobby, leading his party off without more ado.

    In their wake silence fell—apart from the sound of the footman occasionally calling unconvincingly for Pfötchen in the shrubbery, and Adélaïde’s resentful sniffing. The elegant Mr Rowbotham leant on his cane and gazed dreamily into space.

    At long last May said in a tiny voice: “Adélaïde, I think we had best go home and—and ask them to send someone to hunt for him.”

    “I would,” noted Mr Rowbotham, staring dreamily into space.

    “You are USELESS!” shouted the Princess furiously.

    “You ought to know,” he acknowledged, unmoved.

    “You are the rudest man I have ever met in my life!” she cried, turning purple.

    “Aye, and you’re the rudest girl. What the Devil did you mean, comin’ out with all that rubbish about Noël in front of that dear little girl he’s engaged to?”

    “She is not a dear little girl, she is a horrid creature and you are horrid, and I HATE YOU!” screamed Adélaïde, bursting into renewed sobs.

    “Good; I don’t like you, either,” said Mr Rowbotham calmly, but with a certain satisfaction.

    “Sir, perhaps I could go back to the house?” ventured May.

    “Not by yourself. We could leave her here, though: she’s got the footman,” he noted.

    “I do not think we ought to do that. But truly, sir, it is only a step!”

    “Your brother’s Jack Beresford, ain’t he?”

    May nodded numbly.

    “Thought so. Saw him up against Rockingham at Jackson’s t’other day. Stayed two whole rounds. Think you had best stick with me.”

    After a puzzled moment May had to bite her lip very hard.

    Silence again. Mr Rowbotham stared dreamily into space.

    May was feeling quite desperate by the time a gentleman’s figure appeared on the path some distance from them. “Sir, I—I think I know that gentleman,” she said shyly.

    “Mm?” Mr Rowbotham raised his quizzing glass. “Oh, Lor’, do you? Friend of m’brother Ceddie’s,” he explained glumly. “Er—well, perhaps he might keep Her Highness company while I take you back to the house?”

    “Yes,” said May, smiling bravely: she had had the opposite scenario in mind. “Perhaps he might.”

    Mr Rowbotham waved frantically.

    The gentleman raised a hand in reply. As he got nearer they could see an expression of astonishment gradually overtake him. He hurried up to them.

    “Miss Beresford! Princess! Is something wrong?”

    Adélaïde burst into a torrent of speech, largely in German.

    “Could say that, aye,” noted Mr Rowbotham drily over it. “How are you, Keywes?”

    “Very well, I thank you, Rowbotham. –Fürstin!” he said loudly to Adélaïde.

    “It will be all right now,” said May confidently to Mr Rowbotham as Lord Keywes spoke at length to Adélaïde in her native tongue.

    Mr Rowbotham looked uneasy. “Will it? What’s he sayin’?”

    “Well,” said May, blushing, and lowering her voice very much, for after all they were standing but two yards from him, “he is saying that her Uncle Friedrich would not care to see her standing about in a state in a public park.”

    Mr Rowbotham choked slightly. “Her Uncle Fr— Oh, aye,” he said feebly.

    “And that whatever the trouble may be, it—it— I am not sure of those words, but I think he means it would be better sorted out at home.”

    “Yes,” said Robert, turning and smiling at her.

    “Well, I said that. More or less,” noted Mr Rowbotham virtuously.

    “I am sure you did, old man,” said his Lordship kindly.

    Mr Rowbotham shook his head slowly. “Ain’t got the diplomatic touch, y’see, like you and Ceddie. She didn’t take notice o’ me. Well, can’t speak the lingo, neither,” he added, wincing, as she broke into a renewed babble of speech.

    “Ja, ich verstehe. Fürstin,” said Lord Keywes soothingly, bowing, as she ended the peroration, her breast heaving passionately.

    “Adélaïde,” said May loudly, going very red: “it is not true that Miss Chalfont’s dog attacked Pfötchen! –The other dog was on a lead, sir,” she said to Lord Keywes, “but Pfötchen was not. Though I did tell my cousin that he should be, in the Park. And he ran up to the other dog and bit him.”

    “Pug,” said Mr Rowbotham laconically.

    “Er—oh,” said Robert, jumping a little. “I see.”

    “Feisty, though they is small. Won’t stand for bein’ attacked,” explained Mr Rowbotham.

    “No,” agreed May, smiling anxiously. “And—and his mistress was startled, and he pulled free and—and so they fought.”

    “Looked to me as if the pug had him by the throat,” said Mr Rowbotham hopefully. “Though as she”—he looked at Adélaïde with disfavour—“had seen fit to adorn the creature with a dashed pink bow, dare say he may have only had hold of that.”

    “Er—leave it, dear fellow,” said Robert, shoulders shaking slightly. “Princess, pray take my arm. We shall return to your home, and see to it that sufficient men are dispatched to find him.”

    Snuffling, Adelaide took his arm.

    Mr Rowbotham approached the shrubbery. “Oy!”

    The footman appeared, very flushed and dishevelled. “Sir, there ain’t no sign of the little varmint.”

    “No.” Mr Rowbotham produced a shilling. “Stay here, keep a watch out for him. He’ll have gone to ground. They’ll send some men to relieve you.”

    “Thank you very much, sir. And sir, I did tell the young ladies as he did ought to be on a leash—”

    “Aye, aye, very well,” he sighed, waving him away. Solemnly he offered May his arm. She took it politely, not without a fleeting jealous glance at her pouting cousin being led off by Lord Keywes, and they proceeded on their way.

    The minute they had turned the bend in the path the footman sat down on the grass with a loud sigh, and mopped his streaming forehead.

    Approximately two minutes after that, Pfötchen frisked out of the bushes, danced up to him, and licked his hand.

    “GERROFF!” he shouted, jumping.

    Pfötchen shot into the bushes again.

    “Oh, lumme,” said the crestfallen footman, staring at the spot where he’d been.

   “Aye, well, you done quite right,” approved Mrs Urqhart, as Bobby, Dom, Tarry, Susan and Eric all attempted to pour out the story to her. “That red-headed chit may be a princess, but ask me, she has not been brung up proper.”

    “She has not, indeed!” said Bobby, shuddering.

    “She said the most awful thing about Sir Noël in front of Cherry!” burst out Tarry.

    “Eh? Lumme; what?”

    “Something about seeing him at the play with—with Nan,” she gulped.

    “Oh, is that all? Pooh, nothing in it, she were with Cousin Clorinda Urqhart-Smyth, and a cheeky fellow come up to her and Noël chased him off,” summed up Mrs Urqhart superbly. “—Well, so where is they?”

    There was a blank silence.

    “Cherry and Noël. Not to say Pug in all ’is glory: where is they?”

    “Dear ma’am, are they not home?” gasped Mrs Stewart.

    “No.”

    “They—they left before us,” faltered Susan.

    Bobby cleared his throat. “Noël’s house is a lot closer to the Park: may have gone there. Bathe his ear, y’know, Betsy!”

    “Bathe ’is—? Bathe the ruddy dog’s ear,” she said limply. “Got it. No, but look here, Bobby—”

    “It will be all right: Richard is staying with him.”

    “Hm. Well, in any case, they has to have a—” She paused, looking at the innocent young faces surrounding her. “—a talk,” she ended limply. “Why doesn’t you all get off and have a wash and brush-up, hey? Dare say we could find you a nuncheon, after all that excitement.”

    “I could do with a bowl of dal and some of Bapsee’s naan,” noted Dom.

    “Naan has to riz, you silly boy. Only I dare say as she will rustle you up a pooree or two, if you wants Indian. Get off and ask her, then. And run along, the rest of you. –Not you, Mrs Stewart, deary.”

    Mrs Stewart came slowly back into the room, closing the door after her.

    “Now,” said Mrs Urqhart grimly: “I want to know exactly what that red-headed little cow said, and what Cherry’s reaction were, and what Noël’s reaction were.”

    Bobby and Mrs Stewart exchanged uncertain glances but did their best to tell her.

    “What is it, dear Mrs Urqhart?” said Catriona timidly at last as Mrs Urqhart groaned and closed her eyes, muttering: “Well, it will be some sortin’ out!”

    “Don’t tell us if you would rather not,” said Bobby grimly.

    “Lordy, I has to tell someone, I is nigh to bustin’ my stays with it! Listen, it’s like this, you see: this here engagement—”

    When she was through it they just looked at her limply. After a moment, Bobby said grimly: “I collect Richard knows?”

    “Um—well, Noël told him, me love.”

    “Yes,” he said tightly. “I see.”

    Mrs Urqhart scratched her head dubiously, pushing her lace cap wildly awry. “Don’t think Cherry knows he knows. She’s told June and Merry, though. Um... Well, Nan knows, and I could have talked it over with her, only since we found out Noël don’t half fancy her, I haven’t liked to bring the topic up.”

    “But you said—” gasped Mrs Stewart. She broke off abruptly.

    “Aye, I did, in front of them children. Well, properly speakin’ there weren’t nothing in it. Nan has an eye to a pretty lad like Noël, only she don’t want him serious, not the type. And vice versa, so you don’t need to worry about him, neither. Only thing is, how is he to convince Cherry of that?”

    Bobby scratched his chin. “Very persuasive fellow, Noël.”

    “Yes, but Mr Amory,” cried Mrs Stewart: “she is already determined not to continue with the engagement!”

    “Er—oh. Damn,” he muttered.

    “This can only give her more reason to break it off.”

    “I see that,” he said bleakly.

    Mrs Urqhart sighed. “Aye. Not that she wants to, that’s the silly thing: I’m certain-sure she’s been head over heels about him ever since she met him.”

    “Then—then perhaps she—if he can convince her?” faltered Mrs Stewart.

    “Let us hope so,” she said heavily. “But if he don’t, me lovey, I was wondering if you would take her up to Scotland with you for the summer? Get her right away from it all?”

    “Of course: I would be only too glad to have her.”

    Bobby looked dubious. “It’s miles... Look, Betsy, if you’re thinking absence makes the heart grow fonder, Noel ain’t the type. Could she not go to Richard and Delphie?”

    “No, y’fool! Not Bath! And Delphie’s baby’s due in July!”

    “Oh, yes,” he said sheepishly.

    “These bachelors,” said Mrs Urqhart to Cousin Catriona with a veiled twinkle in her shrewd eye: “be all the same. Things what is the most earth-shaking event there can be. to a new married couple, not to say, when all is said and done, the most important of human existence itself, just passes ’em by.”

    “That is not true,” he said stiffly, very red. “I have already planned what to give it, if it be a boy.”

    “Ho, yes? And what if it be a girl, pray?” she retorted instantly.

    “Didn’t have to plan. Same as what I gave little Lizzie. A silver cup, and a little gold locket for when she grows up a bit.”

    “That sounds delightful!” said Mrs Stewart, smiling very much.

    “And if it be a boy?” asked his cousin.

    Bobby rose, with a defiant expression on his pleasant face. “Mallory’s pistols.”

    “Lordy, Bobby! He left them to you to pass on to your own son!”

    “He was being over-optimistic. I was saving them for Noël’s first boy, but at the rate he is going— No, well, Richard’s and Delphie’s son shall have them. Pray excuse me: in the case Richard should have gone out, think I had best get along to Noël’s house.” He bowed, and was gone.

    “Now don’t, lovey,” said Mrs Urqhart softly as a tear stole down Mrs Stewart’s cheek.

    “Pray forgive me. But it is so very sad.”

    “Got no-one one but himself to blame. Could have got married and had a family any time these past twenty years.”

    Mrs Stewart endeavoured to smile but failed. “It—it is a matter of the right person at the right moment. Even a gentleman cannot always be master of his circumstances. –Pray excuse me.” She went out, her lips trembling.

    After a moment Betsy Urqhart said in dismay: “Oh, drat! I put me foot in it good and proper, there: reminded her she didn’t never have none of her own, when all I wanted was to was make her feel she should be givin’ Bobby some!”

    The Fürstin von Maltzahn-Dressen was not yet down when they arrived at her house. Mrs Beresford, however, received Lord Keywes and Mr Rowbotham very graciously, thanking them for their kind offices towards the girls. And at the same time majestically repressing Adélaïde, who showed signs of bursting out in renewed hysterics. Several menservants were dispatched to the Park immediately in search of the errant Pfötchen, and the Princess Adélaïde was dispatched to her room.

    Mr Rowbotham gave an unaffected sigh of relief as the door closed after her. “Needs a firm hand,” he noted. “Must say, you have it, ma’am,” he added admiringly.

    Mrs Beresford’s eyes twinkled, but she merely inclined her head graciously.

    “Er, well, think I’ll be off,” he said.

    “Thank you so much, Mr Rowbotham,” said May.

    “Oh, Lor’, do not thank me, Miss Beresford. Didn’t do a thing! Well, could not, y’know: the girl simply refused to budge.’

    “We quite understand.” said Mrs Beresford smoothly, giving him her hand: “but nonetheless, I must thank you for staying and protecting the girls.”

    With renewed protestations that he had not done a thing, and profound bows, Mr Rowbotham took himself off.

    Mrs Beresford sank limply onto her chair. “Oh, dear! He is the most well-meaning creature, but I own, if he had said once more that he had not done a thing—!”

    “It was literally true, Mamma. He—he just stood there, and—and let Adélaïde get crosser and crosser! And every time she was rude to him, he was rude back!”

    Lord Keywes gave a delighted laugh, and Mrs Beresford’s shoulders shook. “I cannot say I am sorry to hear it!” she owned.

    “Well, no,” said May, biting her lip a little. “I—I suppose I should have—have done something, myself. But I could not think what. I don’t know what I would have done if you had not come along, sir!” she said to his Lordship, beaming at him.

    “It is to be hoped you might have done something before nightfall,” noted her mother drily.

    “But Mamma, Mr Rowbotham would not hear of my returning to the house alone!”

    “May, my dear: it is but a step, and in broad daylight? I really think that the exercise of a little common sense would have shown you what you must do.”

    Lord Keywes looked at May’s flushed little heart-shaped face and said quickly: “I think London and London ways are still a little strange to Miss Beresford.”

    “Yes, indeed!” said May gratefully, nodding hard. “Truly I could see what the sensible course would be, Mamma. only Mr Rowbotham would not hear of it and—and I thought he must be correct, for he—he is a gentleman.”

    “Mm. Well, you will know better in future. But I am most grateful to you, Lord Keywes, for rescuing the pair of them.”

    “Think nothing of it!” he said with a smile. “I must take my leave.” He bowed politely over Mrs Beresford’s hand, and turned to May. “Dare I hope you will do me the honour of driving out with me?” he smiled.

    “Oh!” she said, going very pink. “That would be delightful!”

    “Then we shall make it very soon.” He bowed to both ladies, and was gone.

    “Did he mean it, Mamma?” said May in a tiny voice, not meeting her eye.

    To herself Mrs Beresford owned a certain hope. Aloud she merely said drily: “If he did not, it will be because he considers you to be nigh as silly as your cousin, so you can have only yourself to blame.”

    May turned scarlet, gnawing on her lip.

    “Well,” said Mrs Beresford on a kinder note: “all’s well that ends well. But more common sense and less hesitation in future, please May. Now, run along and change.”

    “Yes, Mamma.” Thankfully May escaped.

    Alone in the downstairs salon, Mrs Beresford was at last able to have a good laugh over the absurd Mr Rowbotham. When she was over it, however, she lapsed into a very thoughtful, introspective mood indeed. It was a pity that they were not in their own house and thus free to invite whomsoever they wished. However, many things could be contrived. And certainly he had looked at May with a very pleased expression on his face! —Mrs Beresford was no longer, perhaps needless to state, thinking of the inept Wilfred Rowbotham.

    Cherry had scrambled along at Noël’s side in silence, hugging Pug Chalfont to her breast. After some time Noël realized she was having difficulty in keeping up, and slowed his pace.

    “This is not the way, I think, sir,” she said timidly.

    “What? Oh.” He had unthinkingly headed for his own house. “Never mind. I wish to talk with you, and we may do so in my house. Richard is staying with me, he may play duenna.”

    “I—I wish to talk to you too, Sir Noël. It—it is the first of May.”

    Noël frowned. His grip tightened on her elbow and he began to hurry again.

    At the house he showed her into the library. Colonel Amory was reading a paper before a small fire: he rose, looking astounded.

    “Richard, we need to have a private talk,” said his nephew before the Colonel could utter. “If you are concerned about the proprieties, by all means lurk in the hall.”

    Richard gave him a reproving frown, and smiled at Cherry. “If you need me, Cherry, my dear, I will be just in the breakfast room.”

    “She will not need you, dammit!” said his nephew angrily, holding the door for him.

    “Could we not look to poor Pug’s ear first?” said Cherry in a trembling voice,

    “What? Oh—damn. Give him here—and sit down.”

    Cherry let him take the dog, and sank obediently onto a chair by the fireplace.

    “Enough of that, sir!” said Noël sternly, as Pug Chalfont panted up at him, wagging his little curled tail. “Let me see that ear... Mm. I don’t think the creature’s about to draw his last breath,” he said to Cherry, “but if you won’t be satisfied until he is seen to—” He rang the bell.

    “Will they know what to do?” she faltered.

    “Yes. But if you are that concerned, I shall ask Kettle himself to supervise operations.”

    Cherry nodded, looking up at him hopeful l

    Sighing, Noël said to the footman: “Send Kettle in, please.”

    They waited silently until the valet came in, Noël absently tickling Pug behind his good ear.

    “Good morning, Miss Chalfont,” said the man primly. “Do you need me, Sir Noel?”

    “Mm. Miss Chalfont is apparently convinced that none of my household save yourself can be trusted to see this brute’s ear don’t turn septic and fall off,” he explained sardonically, handing Pug over to him.

    Kettle tutted over the ear. “We’ve been fighting, ’ave we?”

    “It was a horrid Pomeranian that was not on a leash, Kettle: it ran up and attacked him!” explained Cherry eagerly. And with considerably more animation, unless Noël was grossly mistaken, than she had used with himself.

    Kettle tutted again. “Nasty-tempered little beasts they be, Miss. Now, don‘t you fret, Miss, I shall see to h’it myself: I have just the salve to fix this. –Come along, Pug Chalfont, we’ll soon ’ave that ear a-looking respectable again!”

    Noël closed the door on the sound of his babbling and Pug’s panting. “Satisfied, Miss Chalfont?”

    “Yes: thank you very much!” she said earnestly.

    He sat down heavily in the big wingchair that Richard had vacated and passed a hand over his face.

    “Did you get my letter?” she ventured.

    “Yes,” he said grimly.

    Cherry waited, but he did not elaborate. “Um—well, shuh-should I write to your Mamma. or—or will you?” she faltered.

    “Neither of us will,” he said, frowning.

    She looked bewildered, but then said: “Oh: you mean to tell her in person? Yes, that would be kindest.”

    “I mean nothing of the sort. And may we kindly leave Viola out of this discussion?”

    “Buh-but she has sorted out the linen and—and everything,” said Cherry feebly.

    “Never mind the damned linen!” After moment he added limply: “Sorted it out for what, for the Lord’s sake?”

    “To decide what she may take with her, of course.”

    “Eh?”

    “To the dower house; she has it all planned: Susannah will have the blue room, and of course it needs to be re-hung, but your Mamma found some delightful blue dimity curtains put away in a trunk.”

    “Viola actually told you she plans removing to the dower house?” he croaked.

    “Yes. And I do think it is too cruel to let her go on planning, sir! We must tell her!”

    Noël passed a hand over his face again. “No, we mustn’t,” he muttered.

    “But we must! Because she—she has ordered the—the nursery to be repainted and—and everything!” cried Cherry in anguish.

    He goggled at her.

    “Do you not see? She is planning for her grandchildren, in the belief that we are to be married! It is too cruel!” she cried.

    He gave a mad laugh. “Then, by all means, let us not disappoint her hopes! We shall send a notice to the Gazette, and be married in June in Bath Abbey!”

    “Don’t joke!” cried Cherry.

    “I am not joking, Miss Chalfont. Please marry me.”

    Cherry went bright red. “This is absurd.”

    “Thank you: that is flattering.” She merely bit her lip and looked at him distressfully; after a moment he said: “I’m sorry, but I—I think I tried to represent to you once before that it would be entirely eligible, did I not?”

    “You cannot possibly want to marry me because your relatives and acquaintances recognize it as being suitable, sir,” said Cherry in a low voice.

    “Not entirely. But it seems to me that we should suit very well.”

    Cherry looked at the rug, biting her lip.

    “Well?”

    “You are just saying that. But there is no need. I dare say Bath will have forgotten about—about that silly story. And in any case we agreed that we should break it after six months had passed. And today is—”

    Noël stood up, his nostrils flaring angrily. “The first of May—yes! So you keep reminding me.”

    Cherry watched uncertainly as he strode over to the window and stared out with his back to her. When he did not turn round she stumbled: “I—I am very grateful. Sir Noël, buh-but there is no need. I—I am not in the least compromised, and I never was.”

    Noël waited for her to say again that it was absurd, but she did not. “No,” he said in a stifled voice. “And if I—I told you that I want very much to marry you?”

    Tears sparkled in Cherry’s eves but she said steadily: “I should not believe it. I can see for myself that—that I am not the sort of lady whom you admire.”

    Noël swung round hastily. “Surely you do not believe a word that that stupid little red-headed creature said?”

    “I cannot see how she could possibly make up a thing like that out of thin air. And—and I have seen for myself that you admire Nan,” she ended, so low that he almost did not catch it.

    “Seen for yourself? When?” he said in astonishment.

    “Well, whenever you come to call. You—you seem to like to talk to her. And I am sure it is no wonder, all the gentlemen do: she is so pretty and lively.”

    “Miss Chalfont,” said Noël tightly: “believe me, she is too pretty and lively. That is not the sort of woman with whom I wish to spend my life.”

    Cherry looked at him dubiously.

    He was struck by the frightful thought that if the two had become bosom-bows, Lady Benedict might have poured out God-knew-what into her ear. True, there was very little to tell, but to an innocent like Cherry— “What has she said to you?” he said harshly.

    “Nan? Nothing,” said Cherry in some surprise.

    “Oh. Well, there is certainly nothing to tell. She was at the playhouse with my elderly Cousin Clorinda, being bothered by a—a damned old roué. I merely sat with her until her brother returned.”

    She nodded solemnly. “Yes. Miss Urqhart-Smyth told us that.”

    “Then you must see there was nothing in it!’

    “Ye-es...”

    “Dammit, there is nothing in it!” he said angrily.

    She looked at him dubiously, wondering why he was so angry.

    “Persons like Adélaïde von Maltzahn-Dressen are wont to make mountains out of molehills. For the Lord’s sake, your own situation in Bath must surely have demonstrated to you what rumour can do!”

    “Yes.”

    Silence.

    “Well?” said Noël at last.

    “Wuh-well, I am still not the right sort of lady for you.”

    He came over to the fireplace, trying to smile. “Could you not let me be the best judge of that?”

    The phrase she believed he had used of her that day at Delphie’s house suddenly came back as clearly to Cherry as if he had spoken it there and then: “a pie-faced, fubsy little dame with no pretensions to either beauty or brains.”

    “No!” she gulped. “You are just saying it to convince me. But you are not obligated to marry me, and—and I think you should tell your Mamma immediately.”

    “And I think,” he said grimly: “that I should send that notice to the Gazette immediately. Several persons have already remarked upon the fact that it has not been published.”

    “You think that will make me, but it won’t. I—I shall run away!”

    “I see. The thought of marrying me is repugnant. is it?”

    “No,” said Cherry with tears in her eyes. “Of course it isn’t, you’re just being silly.”

    “I’m not being SILLY!” he shouted. “I’m offering you my hand and my heart, dammit!”

    “But how can it buh-be your heart,” said Cherry through trembling lips: “when you are not in luh-love with me?”

    He hesitated. “Could you not give me a chance? Could we not learn to love each other?”

    “What if you were to fall in love with another lady, though?” she whispered.

    “I shall not,” he said, scowling.

    “I—I don’t think... Could we break it off until we see if—if it might work?” she said faintly.

    Noël sat down limply and buried his head in his hands. “This is mad,” he said in a stifled voice. “Break it off while we—we make up our minds?”

    “But publishing it would be madder. For then you would feel yourself obliged to go through with it, even if we decided we did not want to,” she said obstinately.

    He took a deep breath. “I think you are the most maddening female I have ever encountered.”

    “There you are, then,” said Cherry wanly.

    He looked at her uncertainly. Should he tell her he loved her? He did not think for one moment she would believe him—and why should she, when he was not sure himself—not nearly sure—that he did? Eventually he said: “You liked my home, did you not?”

    Cherry nodded convulsively.

    “And— Well, I shall not ask if you liked Viola, that would be damned unfair: but you—you managed to get on with her, did you not?”

    “Yes. She was very kind to me. Mother never talks to me about my dress or—or stitchery, or receets,” she said shyly.

    “What?” said Noël limply.

    “Lady Amory talked to me about all those things. And she said that I would have quite a talent for embroidery if I worked at it! Mother always made me do plain sewing, you see.”

    He passed his hand over his curls. “I see. In the intervals of telling over every item of linen in the house, Viola found time to charm you with talk of embroidery and—and receets?”

    Cherry nodded fervently.

    “And you were not bored to death?” he said faintly.

    “No,” she said, reddening. “I dare say that only proves I am not a fashionable London lady.”

    “Next you will tell me you liked the Miss Hookams!” he said loudly.

    “I did not dislike them,” replied Cherry firmly.

    “Good God,” he muttered. She merely looked at him expectantly. “Er—we seem to have wandered from the point,” he said, chewing on his lip. “Um—look, we cannot continue as we are. We must publish the engagement, or the whole of London will start to speculate.”

    “Publish it or break it off,” said Cherry grimly.

    “No.” He glared down at his hands.

    There was a short pause.

    Noël looked up with a twisted smile. “I need you. Miss Chalfont. To—to keep me on the straight and narrow: do you understand?”

    “No,” said Cherry, staring at him.

    “No. Er—well, to protect me from—er—pretty, frivolous creatures such as—well, Lady Benedict would do, for an example.”

    Cherry stared. “Nan is not frivolous.”

    “Ain’t she, though!”

    There was another short pause. During it Cherry started to look both puzzled and upset.

    “Look,” said Noël, taking another deep breath: “in the past I—I have enjoyed, er, liaisons that were not an the least serious, with—with certain ladles who—who were not an the least serious, either.” He looked at her nervously: how innocent was she? And would she be unutterably shocked?

    Cherry nodded. “I know. Lieutenant Romney Hallam—I don’t know  if you know him, but his family lives in Bath, and his sister is a friend of Tarry Kernohan’s—um, yes: Lieutenant Hallam told Merry that you were the—the intimate friend of a very pretty lady who is married to an elderly admiral.”

    Noël gaped at her. “And Merry was stupid enough to retail it to you?”

    Cherry was very flushed but she looked him in the eye and said: “No. He told June, and she told me.”

    Noël passed his hand over his face again. “Well, that is what I mean.”

    “Are you—are you in love with her?” she asked in a tiny voice.

    “NO!”

    The bookroom rang with silence.

    “I beg your pardon. No, I am not in love with that lady, or any of her ilk. And—and it is precisely that sort of—of complication in my life that I wish to be free of! Can you not see that?”

    “No,” said Cherry simply.

    He winced. “I wish to lead a—a normal, decent life with a normal, decent young woman as my wife: is that so difficult to understand?”

    “Yes. –I’m sorry,” she said quickly, as he looked at her in amazed wrath, “but you don’t seem normal, to me! I mean,” she floundered. “you’re so very fashionable and—and you drive those wonderful horses, and—um... you had the Prince Regent visit you on your yacht!”—Noël groaned.—“And I have never even seen an admiral!” said Cherry on a defiant note, sticking out her pointed chin.

    Noël had been feeling very, very discouraged indeed. But at this point he suddenly perceived that Miss Chalfont was jealous! His heart leapt; the light-filled Amontillado eyes began to dance; he leant forward and said, swiftly taking her hands in his: “No, but you have seen a positive plethora of geriatric generals, Lymmond Square is infested with ’em! Look, how would this be: we do not publish the engagement, and should anyone be so impertinent as to ask either of us if it be true, we tell ’em they are labouring under a misapprehension. And in the meantime. you—you give yourself time to become acquainted with me. To find out if you think I could possibly be normal after all.”

    Cherry licked her lips nervously. “Well, I— But what about your relatives?”

    “I shall explain it all very fully to my relatives,” he said, squeezing her hands.

    Cherry thought about it. She was very flushed: Noel watched her hopefully. “No,” she said at last.

    He went white and gripped her hands painfully hard. “No?”

    She looked seriously into his eyes. “That would be most unfair. The whole tangle is entirely my fault. I think we should tell them together.”

    “Oh,” he said shakily.

    She looked at him cautiously. “Would that be all right? We could start with Colonel Amory. And then Mrs Urqhart, and Mr Amory.”

    “Yes,” said Noël in a muffled voice, looking down at their joined hands.

    “But you must absolutely promise me,” said Cherry shakily, “that if it does not work out or—or if you find another lady for whom you can care, you will not make me an offer at all.”

    “I absolutely promise.” He stood up, pulling her up gently with him. “I absolutely promise,” he repeated, looking into the innocent lapis lazuli eyes. He raised one hand to his lips and kissed it very gently.

    “Good,” said Cherry huskily.

    “You realize that keeping me on the straight and narrow will be a heavy responsibility, Miss Chalfont?” he murmured.

    “Um—yes,” she said uncertainly.

    “Onerous duties will be involved. For a start, you will certainly no longer have the time or the opportunity to go out walking with half of Aunt Betsy’s household and Pug Chalfont.”

    “Oh.”

    “No: definitely not. Instead, you will go out walking with me.”

    “Oh,” said Cherry, blushing.

    “And if Pug Chalfont can be trained to sit quietly beside you, the pair of you may come driving with me. Otherwise, I fear we shall have to dispense with his chaperonage.”

    Cherry bit her lip, trying not to giggle, and nodded.

    “Then in the evenings I shall require you to escort me to a great many parties. And in the event that any ladies should be accosted by nasty old roués at the playhouse, you and I shall rescue them together. –Not Pug, he does not strike me as a dog of Thespian inclinations.”

    “You are too silly!” gasped Cherry, breaking down in a gale of giggles.

    “No, I mean it: I shall foist my company upon you until you are very sure that I am normal. –Or at least bearable,” he noted wryly.

    She nodded, and ventured: “What about Mother?”

    Noël shuddered. “Can we not put off writing her until we come to a decision?”

    “That would be the coward’s way.”

    “Indeed it would!” he agreed fervently.

    Cherry chewed on her lip. “Um... She has very few acquaintances in London. Well, no-one who writes to her.”

    Noel’s eyes danced. “And none at all in Devon!”

    “Ye-es... But what if persons like Dean Witherspoon ask her when we are to be married?”

    He was tempted to say, Let her stew in her own juice. He coughed. “Er—shall we leave it at this; that if persons like Witherspoon bother her, she may get herself out of any embarrassment she may be supposed to feel by any means she can?”

    She hesitated.

    Noël nodded encouragingly.

    “Yes!” she gasped, breaking into giggles again. “How horrid we are!”

    Noël tucked her arm into his. “Indeed we are,” he said gravely. “Is that normal, do you think?”

    “Stop it!” she squeaked.

    Smiling, he rang the bell. “Send in Kettle, Pug Chalfont, and a tray of tea and sandwiches, please,” he said cheerfully to the footman.

    “Yes, Sir Noel. Er—Sir Noël—”

    Noël became aware of a considerable ruckus taking place somewhere outside. “What the—”

    “Sir Noël, Mr Amory has just arrived, and—”

    The footman’s place was abruptly taken by a grinning Bobby. “Viola,” he said succinctly.

    “What?”

    Richard appeared at Bobby’s shoulder. “There is certainly a coach; well, several coaches, and a contretemps taking place with a waggon,” he said temperately.

    “It’s Viola: passed her in the street!” said Bobby, sniggering.

    “Yes, Sir Noël: Lady Amory’s man has just apprised us of her arrival,” said the footman apologetically.

    “Oh, good! She will know whether Kettle has put the right salve on Pug’s ear!” cried Cherry. She released her lover’s arm, rushed past his uncles as if she was not even aware of their presence, and disappeared in the general direction of the front door.

    Bobby waggled his eyebrows at his nephew.

    “I suppose Viola could have timed it worse,” he admitted limply.

    “Sorted out, are you?” said Bobby cheerily.

    “You must see that we are. –No, do not congratulate me, for the Lord’s sake: she’s agreed to—well, I’m damned if I can explain it—to keep the damned engagement officially in abeyance.”

    “What?” said the Colonel, thunderclouds gathering on his brow.

    “No—look at him, Richard!” said Bobby, smiling.

    “Until,” explained Noël, the Amontillado eyes sparkling: “I can persuade her that I am normal enough to marry!”

    Bobby gave a shout of laughter.

    “Good gad,” said the Colonel limply.

    “Here!” gasped Bobby, wheezing slightly: “does this ‘normal’ stuff entail keepin’ away from pretty ladies like the old admiral’s wife and temptin’ young widows like the P.W.?”

    He grinned, looking conscious. “Well, yes, I rather think it does.”

    Bobby went into whoops, but Richard smiled very much and came to put a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “She will be the making of you yet, Noël.”

    “Well, yes,” Noël admitted with a sheepish smile. “I rather think she may be!”