Toilers For Pleasure

25

Toilers For Pleasure

    There was a sound of revelry by night, flambeaux burned in the square, carriage after carriage dropped off its precious cargo…

    Nan was in a striking new gown. It was a deep forest-green shade: the dark colour made her creamy shoulders glow. The stuff was merely a fine muslin, but it had been used to remarkable effect: the low neckline softly draped with the muslin, so that her head and shoulders seemed to glimmer above a green mist, and the draped effect repeated in the skirt, with a filmy swag of muslin puffed and draped above a deep flounce which, owing to clever cutting, gathering and layering, formed a positive froth around her feet. The rounded neck was softly enclosed by a glowing circlet of silver-grey nacre; more silver-grey gleamed in her ears.

    “Congratulations, Cousin,” drawled Iris Jeffreys with a glint in her eye: “you have succeeded in making every other woman in the room appear tastelessly overdressed.”

    “Iris, that is an exaggeration,” said her brother on a grim note. “You do, indeed, look delightfully, Cousin,” he said, bowing, “but so do these other young ladies.” He smiled kindly at Daphne, Susan and Tarry—boringly Missish, all three.

    Iris and Lilias were similar. “Perhaps you should have said tastelessly overdressed or boringly Missish, Iris,” drawled Lilias, à propos.

    Lord Keywes’s lips tightened.

    “Those black pearls worth a king’s ransom contribute their mite, of course,” Iris allowed.

    Her brother took a deep breath, noted the pearls were indeed very fine, and begged the next dance of their cousin.

    Nan consulted her card, pretending not to see Lilias and Iris rolling their eyes madly. “I theenk I have promised eet to Admiral Dauntry. But I weell save you one, no? After Admiral Dauntry and General Hartlepool and— Stay, who ees ‘Q.V.’?”

    “That’ll be the poet, won’t it?” said Mrs Urqhart drily.

    “Er—oh, yes!” she cried. “Captain Quarmby-Vine, of course!”

    “Poet?” croaked Iris. Captain Quarmby-Vine was a bluff widower. Certainly appearances could be deceptive, but one had not hitherto thought, that deceptive!

    Mrs Urqhart sniffed slightly. “Aye. Brings the lyric vein out in ’em, she do.”

    Laughing, the Jeffreys ladies possessed themselves of her arms and led her off to a sofa, begging: “Do tell!” Mrs Urqhart suffered herself to be led, not, however, neglecting to order her young charges loudly: “Follow me, you lot: this here ain’t a little romp in me drawing-room at home!”

    Nan looked after her, smiling very much, and said to her cousin: “Well, after Captain Quarmby-Vine, then, Lord Keywes?”

    “Thank you.” He bowed stiffly.

    She looked up at him uncertainly but as Admiral Dauntry then came up eagerly, somewhat early for their dance, did not say anything.

    “Good God,” said Noël, not quite under his breath, as Lady Benedict whirled past them in General Hartlepool’s arms and a mist of green.

    Cherry had dined with Sir Noël and his mamma before coming on to this very grand ball: she flushed up and tried unobtrusively to pull her arm out of his.

    Noël held it firmly. “I am admiring her as a perfect artefact: no more.”

    “Then pray have the tact not to do so in front of Cherry,” said Viola Amory with a sigh.

    “It—it’s all right, Lady Amory,” said Cherry timidly. “She—she is so beautiful... Somehow she makes every other lady look... ordinary.’

    Lady Amory frowned. Cherry herself was in a new gown: Viola had brought the stuff up to town and had it made up instantly for her—Sir Noël duly defraying the extortionate costs which the dressmaker his mamma favoured of course levied for making up a ball dress at an instant’s notice in the middle of the Season. It was white organdie, with the rather fuller skirt that was coming into vogue, and three delicate flounces, edged with narrow white satin ribbon to match the sash at the high waist. The stuff was scattered with delicate embroidered motifs in pale yellow and white silk: flowers and butterflies. It was Lady Amory’s considered opinion that in it Cherry appeared positively sylph-like. She expressed it now.

    “Indeed, I think your dress is considerably prettier than Lady Benedict’s,” Noël agreed.

    Cherry blushed. “Thank you. I do love it; I did not mean to imply any criticism of it, dear Lady Amory. No, it’s just that—well, my dress has me in it and Nan’s has her.”

    “Rubbish!” said Viola Amory with more energy than her son had seen in her for years. “She is a mature type, that is all. You have more distinction about you, my dear. And most certainly a more ladylike tone.”

    Sir Noël began gently to urge them towards a group of chairs. “Mm. That lush Southern European type often becomes sadly blowsy by the thirtieth birthday.”

    “Oh,” said Cherry, trying to look convinced.

    “Well,” he said in a bracing tone: “I can’t manage the dashin’ military style of old Hartlepool: but shall we dance?”

    “I think it is almost over.”

    Noël patted her hand where it was tucked into his arm. “Then the next one. –I say: there’s Pom-Pom!” he gasped.

    “Help!” gulped Cherry.

    Their eyes met: Noël grinned, and Cherry suddenly dissolved into smothered giggles.

    Inwardly Viola Amory sagged. It seemed to be all right. But really! Noël could be so— It was most certainly as well that dear Fanny von Maltzahn-Dressen had written to alert her!

    Youth and Pleasure had met to chase the glowing Hours with flying feet, and joy was, as far as was possible within the limits of decent behaviour and a Mayfair ballroom, unconfined.

    Mrs Urqhart’s eyes bulged and her elbow connected violently with Tarry’s slim side, as Prince Frédéric von Maltzahn-Dressen was observed to be bowing low before a certain Miss Boynton. Miss Boynton was not the possessor of any remarkable looks; nor, as her wearing tonight of a sapphire set with a lilac gown indicated, was she the possessor of any remarkable taste: but she was certainly rumoured to be the possessor of thirty thousand pounds.

    “’Ere! Look at that! Hasn’t been slow to transfer ’is allegiance, has ’e?”

    “No,” agreed Tarry innocently. “I suppose it is scarce two weeks since Nan sent back that ridiculous brooch.’

    Mrs Urqhart at this point recollected that Miss Tarry did not know the whole, and gulped. Mrs Stewart smiled palely.

    Suddenly a man’s voice said from behind then: “Lookin’ at Pom-Pom? Case of not looking’ before he leaps, ain’t it?”

    Mrs Urqhart jumped. “Don’t creep up on a body like that!”

    Grinning, Bobby said: “You as unenlightened in the matter as Pom-Pom, are you?”

    “What matter?” she said limply.

    “Miss Boynton’s parentage. –No? The mamma was a Miss Vane.”

    Mrs Urqhart collapsed in splutters, and Mrs Stewart bit down hard on her lip.

    “I don’t understand,” said Tarry. “What is the joke?”

    Bobby’s grin faded. “Oh—just that there’s bad blood between one of the Vanes and old Pom-Pom. –Mrs Stewart, care to dance?”

    Mrs Stewart swallowed hard, looking at him helplessly.

    “Come for a stroll, then,” said Bobby hurriedly, offering his arm. She rose as hurriedly and took it: Bobby walked quickly away with her. “Laugh,” he said, pulling her behind a pillar.

    Catriona broke down in helpless giggles. “Oh!” she gasped after quite some time. “I’m so sorry! Thank you, Mr Amory,” she ended limply.

    “Not at all,” said Bobby, smiling very much. “All entirely my fault. Didn’t realize the little girl didn’t know.”

    “Mm; we have tried to keep it from the younger ones.”

    “Very understandable. –Care for a glass of something, Mrs Stewart?”

    “Thank you, Mr Amory. Just orgeat, please.”

    “Nonsense! Orgeat is for silly little bits of girls: dreadful muck, ruins the palate. Let me procure you a glass of champagne.” He beckoned: a footman was instantly at his side with a tray.

    “Really, I don’t drink strong liquor, sir,” said Mrs Stewart faintly.

    “Champagne is not strong liquor. And it is time you started drinking it. Think of it as one of the great rewards of emancipation from the schoolroom.”

    “The schoolroom!” said Catriona with a startled little laugh. “That was a very long time ago!”

    “Good,” replied Bobby simply. He offered her a glass. “Now, it ain’t sweet, and it’s fizzy, and it’ll be nicely chilled.” He took a glass for himself. “To yourself and champagne, ma’am.”

    Mrs Stewart raised hers uncertainly...

    “Well?” said Mr Amory, not altogether hopefully.

    She smiled slowly. “It’s wonderful... It’s not in the least like whisky.”

    “Eh?” he gasped.

    “My late husband’s Mamma was partial to a little whisky in the evenings, especially on cold nights. She was a Scotswoman, sir. It—I suppose it is not unpleasant. But very strong.”

    “‘You don’t mean she gave it you?”

    She blushed. “No. Curiosity overcame me, and I tried it behind her back.”

    Bobby smiled very much. “I see! Then your looks belie you, Mrs Stewart!”

    “What—what can you mean?” she faltered.

    “I mean,” said Bobby, taking her arm and leading her gently off to a sofa: “that you cannot be an angel after all!’

    Lord Keywes had made the mistake of attempting to intimate during a country dance that he wished to speak seriously to his cousin. Nan did eventually realize his intent, but it could not have been said that he managed to do more than irritate her during the dance itself. He did not think it quite the thing to go aside into a little curtained alcove with his cousin, but as she had seized his arm and was now leading him to it, felt he could scarcely pull away.

    Nan sat down on a pretty little brocaded sofa with a sigh. “Go on, Lord Keywes, you had best say eet and get eet over with.”

    “Er—it has come to my notice,” he said, biting his lip, rather, “that in—er—a certain late encounter you were involved... personally,” he finished on a weak note.

    Nan replied grimly: “I had to try. I had begged Colonel Vane not to do eet, and he took no notice of me whatsoever. I collect that ees the custom, een England. A woman’s voice must count for naught een such matters. Even eef eet were ostensibly on her account that they arose een the first place!”

    “Ah—yes. Cousin, I do understand your wishing to prevent the encounter, but if, as I was given to understand, you ventured onto the ground itself, permit me to tell you that that was most unwise. Even, dare I say it, unseemly. –I am telling you this for your own good!” he ended on a desperate note, very flushed.

    Nan took a deep breath. “Yes, I can see that you truly believe you are. However, eef my reputation should be hurt, I shall merely go home to Bath. But at the moment eet does not seem to be. And I am vairy sorry eef eet ees reflecting unfortunately on the Jeffreys family. But I am not a Jeffreys, and there ees no need for you to pay particular attention to me.”

    He was very flushed. “Of course you are a Jeffreys! And I did not mean to imply the family was being affected. I—I merely wished to warn you for your own sake. Your mother’s reputation is known, and while the Portuguese Embassy seems to be lending you its support now— Well, perhaps you are not aware that the Portuguese have no reason to love Colonel Vane.”

    “I am aware of that, yes. But,” said Nan, getting to her feet, now herself very red, “eef eet ees anyone’s place to reproach me on that account, eet ees my brother’s!”

    “Pray forgive me, Lady Benedict,” he said in a low voice. “I had no intention of wounding your sensibilities.”

    “My sensibeelities are not wounded!” cried Nan loudly.

    “I—I think they are, a little. Please rest assured that you have the continuing support of my family—indeed, your family!”

    “Thank you,” she said grimly. “You are vairy generous.”

    “Pray do not be angry. I suppose I have no right to ask you this, but if you could tell me how Vane become involved... I had no idea you knew him so well.”

    “I do not know heem ‘so well’, but I do not care eef you believe that or not! He took eet upon heemself. And eef you have any criticisms of hees conduct, I suggest you address them to heem, and perhaps he weell blow your hat off, too!” She gathered up her skirts and departed, brushing past him without looking at him.

    Robert sat down limply on the little sofa. Damn. He had not, surely, given the circumstances, said anything out of line? In fact he had been most generous and forbearing! She was the most irritating, stubborn woman he had met for a long time. And added to that she was as headstrong, if not as shockingly behaved, as Cousin Nancy had ever been!

    He shuddered a little. He was not unaware that he found his cousin as attractive as ever—more so, if anything, in that green creation. But impossible to deal with! Imagine living with that in your home... No. He admitted to himself that he had contemplated this notion at one stage, but it now appeared to him utterly... abhorrent, if that were not too strong a word.

    After some time he went back to the ballroom. Miss Beresford was not dancing. He did not consciously compare her ladylike demeanour as she sat correctly by her mamma’s side with that of his stubborn cousin. But he did go up to her, bow very low, and beg a dance of her. And he did unreservedly enjoy the dance.

    Iris and Lilias had been interested spectators of—not entirely the whole: unfortunately they had been unable to see past the heavy brocade drapings of the alcove. But of enough.

    “Restfully undemanding,” summed up Iris, eyeing the innocent Miss Beresford sourly.

    Nan had picknicked at Richmond with a party consisting of Captain Quarmby-Vine, Miss Urqhart-Smyth, Miss Urqhart-Smyth’s dear friend, a Miss Cannell, the Captain’s friend Commander Pickering, and the Commander’s widowed sister, a Mrs Fellowes. A delightful al fresco entertainment. She and Daphne had taken a river cruise, with music, with Lieutenant-Commander Peter Haydock, his widowed sister, her daughter, Mrs Stewart and Mr Bobby Amory, and Lieutenant-Commander Haydock’s cousin, a Mr Palmer. Charming. Very unusual. As well as delightfully al fresco. She, Dom, Daphne, Tarry, Susan and Eric, with Cherry and Sir Noël, had gone all the way to Windsor to view the Great Castle, along with Miss Gump (by special request), Lady Amory’s companion, Miss Hurtle (at Lady Amory’s insistence: Viola had not accompanied them), General Sir Francis Kernohan, the General’s friend, Colonel Sir Gerald Knighton, and Colonel Sir Gerald’s widowed sister. Delightful. Impressive, really. Al fresco, too: a most refreshing drive. There and back.

    Mrs Urqhart’s entire house party, save Mr Urqhart, who had pleaded pressure of business, had attended Lady Blefford’s al fresco breakfast. So, of course, had forty or fifty other persons. Charming. Most unusual. These al fresco entertainments were so entirely delightful.

    Mr Bobby Amory, having learned that Mrs Stewart was fond of picknicks, invited Cousin Betsy’s party to partake of a dainty meal in the environs of Kew with a few close friends of his own. Not above two dozen. Delightful: such a fresh atmosphere.  Charmingly al fresco—indeed, positively rural.

    Major-General Sir Percy Wayneflete had conceived of the delightful notion of inviting a few friends to spend the day at his brother’s property near Marlow. The gardens were looking lovely, Neville’s strawberries were always both early and delicious, so— Naturally Lady Benedict had found herself unable to refuse an invitation to such a charmingly al fresco function. Naturally Miss Baldaya, Miss Benedict and Miss Kernohan had been thrilled to have been included. And of course they were charmed to have the opportunity of meeting not only Major-General Sir Percy’s brother and sister-in-law, but also his widowed sister, a Mrs Humbleby.

    “What I want to know is, why are they all al fresco?” wondered Tarry.

    “Yes! And why do they all have widowed sisters that they particularly weesh Nan to meet?” gurgled Daphne, breaking down in helpless giggles.

    The younger ladies, of course, had other treats. Befitting their ages. Senhora Carvalho dos Santos got up a party to see the Tower of London. Had it not been for the too-attentive presences of Panardouche and Papelardouche, Tarry and Susan might have been quite glad to go. Well, parts of it were interesting. Though they had seen it before. Daphne frankly sulked.

    General Sir Francis Kernohan took the three young ladies and Cherry, together with Mr Charleson, Mr Baldaya and Mr Sotheby, to Greenwich Observatory. Cherry was apparently along for his own amusement. Words to that effect: for the others found themselves relentlessly paired off. Susan of course was completely happy to be on Eric’s arm and he to have her there—though it was to be feared neither of them understood a single word of the scientific explanations with which the party was favoured. Tarry and Dom quite enjoyed each other’s company, but General Sir Francis frowned awfully every time either of them attempted to make a joke about the more scientific aspects of the visit. Daphne and Ferdy both frankly sulked.

    The Fürstin von Maltzahn-Dressen in person, entirely intimidating, what with the utter elegance of her garments and the almost complete incomprehensibility of her conversation, took the three younger ladies, together with the Princess Adélaïde and Miss Beresford, to view the pictures at the Royal Academy. Even Daphne did not dare to sulk openly.

    Lady Creigh had a much more appealing notion: she took Anne, May Beresford, perforce the Princess Adélaïde, Daphne, Susan and Tarry to the Spanish Bazaar, with Mr Baldaya, Mr Sotheby and Mr Charleson for escort. A good time was had by all, up until the point when, having learned from his butler where they had gone (though Iris and Lilias had remained obdurately silent upon the subject), a furious Lord Keywes descended upon them and removed them forthwith from such a daring and unsuitable haunt of vice. Lady Creigh, Anne, May and Daphne cried all the way home in the carriage.

    Some then considered the day to have been much improved, when, upon his Lordship’s delivering the Benedict party safely into Nan’s hands with a cold explanation as to why he was doing so, she cried: “What? I never heard of such a theeng! You are the spoilsport to end all spoilsports, Cousin Keywes!”

    Subsequently, and not by coincidence, Nan herself took the young ladies and gentlemen of her party, plus Miss Beresford and the Princess Adélaïde, plus little Anne Creigh, plus, at their own request, Lilias and Iris as well, to view the wild beasts at the Royal Enclosure. Naturally Mina, Amrita, Miss Gump and Johnny came along, too. The day was unanimously voted the best of the Season so far.

    Musical entertainments were not lacking, amidst the whirl of enjoyment that was the Season. The Marquis and Marchioness of Rockingham favoured them with an. invitation to join their party at the opera. To certain persons’ dismay his Lordship proved to be extremely musical, would not brook so much as a person’s whispering during the singing, and spent both intervals explaining to his box, not the plot, which some felt would have been of benefit, but the composer’s musical style.

    Very pleased with Lady Benedict’s enjoyment of the evening, his Lordship immediately invited her and her party to, firstly, a concert with himself and his wife, secondly, a musical soirée which they intended for later in the Season, and thirdly and apparently ex officio, a musical soirée the very next week at his Aunt and Uncle Dewesburys’ house at which he himself was to play the piano—Beethoven.

    Susan had hitherto thought herself quite musical, for she performed dainty pieces upon the pianoforte quite respectably. By the time they got into their carriage that evening, however, she was almost in tears.

    “Please don’t make us go to these musical parties, dear Nan,” gulped Daphne, also tearful.

    “Oh,” said Nan, disconcerted. “But Daphne, I thought, as eet ees the Marquis—”

    “NO!” she cried loudly.

    Nan hesitated. “Er—I suppose you could always plead a prior engagement. Vairy well, then, my dears, eef you truly do not care for—”

    “Oh, thank you!” they cried ecstatically.

    Nan concluded that they truly did not care for musical evenings.

    The soirée offered by Lady Lavinia and Sir Lionel Dewesbury was the first of the three musical occasions, but luckily that was the evening the girls had all been invited to a little informal dance being got up by a connexion of Mrs Beresford’s, expressly for young people. Mrs Beresford had offered to chaperone them.

    Mrs Urqhart was half asleep when Nan and Dom returned from the musical evening but she sat up, very much on the alert, when Nan, declaring that the music had been wonderful but she felt quite drained, went straight upstairs.

    “All right, Dom: what went wrong?”

    “Notheeng, precisely. The music was wonderful, all right.” He met her eye. “Um, well, theenk Sir Lionel D. ees a Tory, but there was a group of Whigs, you see: the Rockinghams and their friends.”

    Mrs Urqhart stared. “And?”

    “Um, well, theeng ees, they all have eenterests een common, you see. Whigs. And the Marquis ees a notable Whig, out of course. What I mean ees, they say he don’t speak all that much in the Lords, only when he do, eet’s more than to the point. Um—well, Whigs, you see.”

    “Dom, lovely, if you says ‘Whigs’ once more I’ll hurl that clock at your head!”

    “At my fat head: aye,” he said, grinning sheepishly. “Look, I dare say they deed not have eet all plotted beforehand, only believe me, eet felt like eet!” He took a deep breath. “We’re een the middle of the supper when one of ’em says to the Marquis, Tell us of that point what you made t’other day een the House about rational charity preventing not only immeasurable human suffering but also a deal of expense een prosecuting the criminal classes, what ees driven to eet by their circumstances.”—Mrs Urqhart was nodding.—“Um, s’pose you read eet,” he ended glumly.

    “Aye; I ain’t as illiterate as what I looks. Go on: what did the Marquis say to that?”

    Dom bit his lip. “He says, he weell repeat eet eef they weesh, only the man they need ees Lewis Vane. Acos eet were heem as put the words eento hees mouth!”

    “Hmm,” she said. “So that’s it, is it: they introduced Colonel Sour-Puss’s name?”

    “Aye. –Wish you wouldn’t call heem that: he ees a decent fellow, you know.”

    “You know that and I know that, me lovey; only, I am waiting to hear her tell me so in no uncertain terms.”

    Dom stared; after a moment a slow smile spread over his face. “Pity one can’t bottle your essence, Mrs Urqhart. Should like me grandchildren to know of eet!”

    Mrs Urqhart choked slightly. “Aye, well, thank you for the compliment. So how did she react?”

    He scowled. “Eet stopped her een her flow, I’ll give you that. Only damned eef I could tell eef eet were good or bad!”

    “Well, she has read his speeches, me lovey: she knows of his interests.”

    “Yes, but that ain’t the point! Point ees, here are all these fancy lords and ladies, and suddenly they all turn out to know heem and approve of heem, and not only that: eet’s as plain as the nose on your face they’re encouraging her because they know of her connection weeth heem!”

    “Good. That’ll show her she ain’t as irresistible for her own sake as she’s beginnin’ to think she is. Not to say, show her as he is worth more than a passin’ glance!”

    “I hope so! –Well, I mean to say, Mrs Urqhart, he’s worth ten times any man she has met so far! At least, of the ones that ain’t taken. Tarlington’s sound, y’know? And I dare say you could not find a better fellow than Lord Rockingham. But since I have met heem, I—I feel considerable respect for Colonel Vane. And—and een some ways, I theenk he ees rather like Lord Rockingham.”

    Mrs Urqhart heaved herself to her feet, smiling. “If you thinks Colonel Vane be more like the Marquis than any other feller, well, all I can say is, Dom, I’m very glad to know that’s your opinion!” She embraced him heartily, advised him not to stay up too late, and went off to bed smiling.

    Dom remained in the sitting-room for a while, staring into the fire. Finally he said glumly to himself: “Aye, well, they may admire hees politics all they like. But een the first place that won’t change her mind about anything, eef she has made eet up, for she’s as stubborn as a mule, and een the second place, eet won’t help get ’em together, neither! For eef he rotates between Lumb Street and the House of Commons and she trots round doin’ the fashionable een all the squares of Mayfair, are their paths likely to cross? No, they ain’t!” And he took himself up to bed, looking cross.

    A promised balloon ascension was the next excitement in the great metropolis. Mr Baldaya, Mr Charleson and Mr Sotheby proved more than happy to escort the ladies and the children. Sir Noël was less keen. Cherry’s face fell ludicrously as he murmured that he had seen more than one balloon ascension, and they were composed largely of a long period of waiting while the intrepid adventurers failed to inflate the things, waiting for no apparent reason after they had inflated the things. and waiting until the things disappeared into the blue yonder. He looked at her face and consented to accompany her—warning her, however, that it was a choice between Pug Chalfont and himself. Pug was left behind. Amrita and Mina could not understand it: how could anyone prefer the company of a gentleman to that of a pug? Mrs Stewart having remarked wistfully that she had never seen a balloon ascension, Mr Amory then offered his escort also. Iris and Lilias having reported sourly that Robert had said it would be a crush, and not entirely suitable for young women of their station in life, Nan immediately offered them a place in her carriage. And Lady Creigh and Anne also, should they wish for it? As they had never seen a balloon ascension, very naturally they did wish for it. Mr Beresford turned up the day before the event eagerly offering to escort Lady Benedict: his face fell so ludicrously when Dom informed him they was goin’ anyway that Nan said kindly of course he must join them.

    So it was not a small party that convened at Mr Urqhart’s town house.

    Very fortunately Providence smiled on the expedition, not to say on the intrepid balloonists, and it was a gloriously fine day. The prognostications of such persons as Lord Keywes, Viola Amory and, indeed, Sir Noël also, proved, of course, more than justified: it was the crush to end all crushes, with hundreds of vehicles of all sizes and conditions, and thousands more spectators on foot; the two balloons did not take off until nigh on three hours after the appointed time; and when they did they merely hung in the sky for what seemed like an eternity. True, this was exciting enough for many of the persons present, particularly the very much younger persons. And the actual moment of ascent of course was utterly thrilling: quite miraculous, indeed!

    If one pair of dark eyes involuntarily roamed the crowds in search of a dark, unsmiling, sardonic face, and if one pair of hazel eyes involuntarily roamed the crowds in search of a quite different unsmiling face, neither Nan nor Tarry was yet quite willing to admit to themselves that the fact that neither Colonel Vane nor the Reverend Llewellyn-Jones was discovered in the crush marred the day even slightly.

    Certain other persons were most surprised indeed, on espying a barouche crowded with children, apparently in the charge of a little red-headed lady and a broad-shouldered gentleman, to discover when the latter turned his head that it was the Most Noble the Marquis of Rockingham.

    “That cannot be he,” said Daphne in a tiny voice to her brother.

    “Eh? Oh: the Marquis!” Dom removed his hat and bowed: the Marquis noticed him, grinned and waved, pointed to the vehicles jammed between them and indicated by means of rueful shrugs and head-shakings that they could not get closer. “Out of course eet ees: deed you not know that he has three leetle ones that he positively dotes on?”

    Daphne pouted, looking doubtfully at the other barouche. The Marquis was observed to hoist a very small, very excited boy onto his shoulders. After a certain amount of hat-knocking over the eyes had taken place. his Lordship unceremoniously tossed the hat into the depths of the barouche, and the little boy clung onto his greying dark curls.

    Possibly it was the combined effect of this domestic scene and the trials she had endured at the opera: but whatever it was, Daphne’s family and friends were very, very glad to find that from that day forward there was no more swooning and sighing over the Marquis of Rockingham.

    “Wore off,” summed up Mrs Urqhart pithily. “Said it would. Good thing we catched sight of ’em, hey?”

    Mrs Stewart nodded, an anxious look in her eye.

    “Don’t tell me: I knows it don’t necessarily mean she will turn to my Tim,” she said heavily. “And Lord, to tell you the truth, Mrs Stewart, lovey, I don’t know if I wants it or not!”

    The Season wore on, with all the usual rigours of the pleasures which Fashion makes duties. Dom attended a race meeting with Henri-Louis, Ferdy and Mr Shirley Rowbotham, and lost a great deal of money on a horse: Nan duly berated him for it, once he had nerved himself up to confess. Mr Sotheby attended a Hell where no sensible young gentleman should have even poked his nose, and lost a great deal of money which he did not possess to a Captain Sharp: Dom duly berated him but loaned him the wherewithal. He eventually confessed this also to his sister. Nan applied to General Sir Francis Kernohan for advice. The old soldier read the two red-faced miscreants a stiff lecture, which they did not wholly deserve, for they had both had a horrid lesson. Dom subsequently reproached his sister for having spoken of their personal business to one who was not even one of the family. Nan shouted at him. Dom shouted back...

    Daphne fell rapturously into love with a pink-faced Mr Jolyon Porteous. No-one could see why: he had nothing of distinction about him. The passion lasted three whole days and disappeared as suddenly as it had arisen. Susan received a very, very bad sonnet from Mr Shirley Rowbotham. Mrs Urqhart, though shaking all over and declaring it ought to be framed, subsequently sent Mr Shirley off with a flea in his ear.

    Nan received innumerable posies, two proposals from gazetted fortune-hunters whom, though she could have handled them herself, she meanly referred to General Sir Francis Kernohan, with the expected result, and one delicate proposal from General Hartlepool. This last couched in such polite terms, indeed, that it took her a while to realize just what sort of a proposal it was. She refused it, but the stout middle-aged general persisted. Nan did not quite know what to do: for if she referred him to General Sir Francis Kernohan, blood would probably be spilled. Nay, undoubtedly. Eventually she had an inspiration, and spoke to His Grace of Wellington. The Duke, it must be admitted, had to gulp, but gallantly assured Lady Benedict that he would speak to Bartholomew and she would hear no more of it. He must, indeed, have spoken to him, for the proposal was not renewed; but Nan did hear once more from the General: an immense sheaf of pink carnations arrived with not a card, even hand-annotated, but an actual note, conveying the General’s deepest apologies, assurances that it had all been a misunderstanding, and further assurances of his continued regard and respect.

    “I don’t know what gave heem the idea...” said Nan lamely to her brother and her kind hostess after an explanation had been jointly demanded and reluctantly given.

    “Huh!” retorted Dom.

    Mrs Urqhart sniffed. “Dare say. ’E’s a distant connexion of Noël’s, did you know? Not the Amory side: Viola’s. His Ma were a Whittaker.”

    “What?” cried Dom.

    Nan had been having such an eventful Season that she had almost managed to forget the episode with Whittikins. She went very red, right up to the tips of her neat ears, and stared at Mrs Urqhart in dismay.

    “Eet cannot be the same family, Mrs Urqhart!” gasped Dom.

    “Aye: ’tis. That Paul what she fancied too much, he is a son of that Cousin Lysle Whittaker what Noël cannot stand and what his father would not have in the house.”

    “No wonder, eef that ees the sort of person they are,” said Dom very grimly indeed.

    “I am sure he would not speak of eet!” cried Nan.

    “I grant you ’e don’t appear to’ve spread it around—luckily,” said Mrs Urqhart heavily. “But you is old enough to know that gents will speak very freely amongst their intimates, in especial when they has been drinkin’: and don’t try to tell me he would not have spoken of it to an older gent: General Hartlepool, he has got that look in his eye; you is experienced enough to have seen it for yourself, Nan!”

    Nan scowled and looked sulky.

    “Added to which,” said the old lady unemotionally, “old Hartlepool were at that dratted theatre the night you went with Clorinda Urqhart-Smyth. And added to which on top of that, he had an interest in watchin’ what went on in the Hartington-Pyke box, acos as I has since learned,”—she eyed her sardonically—“he had what you might call an interest there, himself, until that lady thought as she might catch Noël on ’er hook.”

    “That—that ees too much of a coincidence.”

    Mrs Urqhart appeared to consider this. “No, it ain’t,” she pronounced: “it’s London Society, that’s what it be. And if you was thinkin’ you were out of the woods, well, just watch it, that’s all.”

    “Yes,” said Nan in a very, very small voice.

    Dom took a deep breath. “I would weesh to speak to my sister alone for a moment, please, Mrs Urqhart.”

    “Be my guest.” replied the old lady graciously, going out.

    Dom took another deep breath. “Nan Baldaya, tell me the whole thees eenstant, both about that Whittaker fellow and what went on at the theatre behind my back.”

    “You should not have gone off and LEFT me!” she shouted. “And eet was NOT MY FAULT!”

    “Tell me thees eenstant or I shall put you over my knee and beat you!” he cried.

    “Pooh,” she muttered, pouting. “Um, well, eet—eet was truly nothing vairy much een both cases. But—but these theengs can be misinterpreted, Dom!” She swallowed. “Well, um, what deed Mrs Urqhart say about Paul Whittaker?”

    “At the time,” said Dom grimly, “I considered she said more than enough. But I now theenk that vairy possibly she was sparing my feelings.”

    “Um—well, eet—eet was nothing. He kissed me in the barouche weeth the hood up, coming back from Mr Fishe’s house.” She looked at him pleadingly.

    “Do not put on that face weeth me, I have known you all my life!”

    Scowling, Nan continued: “He... he put hees hand—”

    “WHAT?” he shouted.

    “I have seen you weeth my own eyes put your hand up a chambermaid’s skirt, Dom Baldaya; and what about that pretty leetle chee-chee granddaughter of John’s?”

    “That ees not the SAME!” he shouted.

    “Eet EES! And eet ees not fair: merely because I am a female!”

    “You should know how you are expected to behave! Do you want to turn out like Mamma?” he cried.

    Nan burst into tears.

    Dom waited until it was over, thinking things out. Eventually he said slowly: “I am not about to condemn you. I theenk that ees vairy true, what you said: eet ees not fair that you are expected to behave one way merely because you are a female—behave against Nature, een truth—and I am allowed to behave another.”

    Nan’s lip quivered. “Mm. Eet—eet ees all vairy well to expect eenexperienced girls such as Tarry and Cherry to—to not weesh for those theengs, buh—but—”

    “I can see that,” he said heavily. “I’m not entirely stupeed.”

    There was a short silence.

    “Nan, eef thees gets out eet weell ruin you.”

    Nan pouted.

    “You’re damned lucky Hartlepool and the Duke ain’t spread eet all over.”

    “The Duke ees a gentleman!” she flashed.

    “Uh—mm. Well, must be!” he said quickly. “Let’s just hope that thees Paul Whittaker don’t speak of eet to anyone else.”

    Nan looked slightly more hopeful.

    “You may take that look off your face, for now you may tell me what happened at the theatre. Who was eet, Sir Noël or Curwellion? Or both?”

    “Vairy leetle happened: the box was een full view of the entire theatre!” she said on an indignant note.

    “That’s what’s worrying me,” returned Dom frankly.

    Nan bit her lip. “Eet was only that Sir Noël came een and I stood up to greet heem, and treepped on my gown and, um—”

    “Just happened to treep onto heem: I get you.”

    “I deed not do eet on purpose!”

    “No, well, I grant you that’s possible. That eet?”

    “YES! Um—well, he spoke ruh-rather impertinently...”

    “What you mean ees,” said her brother: “you deed not speak cold and proper like a real lady would have! Ees that the whole of eet?”

    “Yes,” she said, sniffling. “We danced together a few days later and, um, more or less agreed that we—we are too much the same type. And that neither of us could feel seriously about the other.”

    He sighed heavily. “Well, that’s sometheeng, I suppose. What about Cherry?”

    “She does not enter eento eet. I believe he truly cares for her. And I could never become seriously attached to that type of man.”

    “Just see you don’t. Any more?” he said grimly.

    “NO! Am I not even allowed to dance weeth gentlemen?”

    “Dancing weeth ’em’s all right. Only don’t plaster yourself to their damned chests while you’re doin’ eet. And bear een mind,” he said grimly, going over to the door: “that while you’re cosying up to Wellington asking heem to rescue you from old Hartlepool, he ain’t precisely immune, heemself.”

    “Um—no,” said Nan, biting her lip.

    “By God, you’re smirking over eet!” he cried. “You are EEMPOSSIBLE!”

    “At least I do not lose huge sums on a stupeed horse!”

     Dom went out, shutting the door very loudly after him.

    ... “Well?” said Mrs Urqhart without much hope.

    “Hand up the skirt: let heem pleasure her; that the whole of the story she gave you?” replied Nan Baldaya Benedict’s brother grimly.

    “Aye. And I’m sorry as I didn’t tell you all of it before.”

    “That ees all right, Mrs Urqhart. But pray do not spare my feelings een the future.” He hesitated. “I am not an English gentleman, you know. I am vairy cross weeth her, but eet deed not shock me as much as you may have assumed eet would.”

    “No, I see that now, Dom. Well, no harm done, lovey.”

    “Not as such, no. But eef eet gets out, what about poor Daphne and Susan? Daphne has not yet attracted the notice of an eligible parti, but eef she do, what weell hees family theenk eef stories like that ees goin’ round about Nan? And Charleson’s a decent fellow, but what ees hees mamma going to say—” He broke off in bewilderment. Mrs Urqhart had gone into a gasping, wheezing fit.

    “Oh, Lord!” she gasped at last, fanning herself with her hand. “Remind me to tell you some time about Eric’s ma’s escapade with the Du-hu-huke of—ow—York!” she wailed, going off in another paroxysm. “No,” she said: “she won’t kick up, trust me for that, for she knows as I know she ain’t got a leg to stand on.”

    “Even so, eet ees not funny.”

    “No. Well, Nan do seem to be behavin’ herself now.”

    “Eef you don’t count visiting an unattached gentleman een hees rooms and fronting up to a meeting een order to try to break eet up—not to say being the cause of the damned meeting een the first place!”

    “No, well, right. Well, do you think as you can manage to control her, Dom, lovey?”

    “No,” he admitted grimly.

    Mrs Urqhart sighed. “I’m doin’ me best, but I don’t think that’s good enough, to tell you the truth. But she’s come off all right and tight so far. We’ll just have to hope, hey?”

    Dom nodded miserably.

    More balls, parties and al fresco entertainments came and went, and all the fashionables began to talk about plans for the summer. Sir Noël intentioned bringing his yacht round to Cowes. Bobby had been invited to Derbyshire, where there was nothin’ much to do, y’know, except maybe a bit of trout fishing. Ferdy Sotheby’s mamma and sisters having taken it into their heads to go upon a sketching expedition to the Scottish Highlands, Ferdy was slated to accompany them…

    “Everybody has somewhere to go to,” concluded Dom glumly, “save us.”

    The party of young persons at the breakfast table nodded gloomily.

    “I miss dear Blythe Hollow,” said Susan in a stifled voice.

    “Aye,” he agreed with a sigh.

    “Out of course you must come to me at The Towers, me loves!” cried Mrs Urqhart, amazed that they had not assumed they would do so.

    “No.” said Nan firmly. “Thank you vairy much, dear Mrs Urqhart, but we have eemposed enough already. We shall go home to Bath.”

    … “Dicky is expected at Vaudequays for the summer,” Iris reminded Nan. “I did ask Robert to invite you all, but he don’t think it’s fitting while he’s unmarried. –Would you be cross if I invited myself to stay with you, Cousin?”

    “I should be charmed, you seelly theeng!” said Nan, squeezing her hand. “Oh, my dear, what ees eet?” she said in dismay as the sophisticated Miss Jeffreys suddenly burst into snorting sobs.

    “Nothing!” sobbed Iris, mopping her eyes. “What a fool! –No, it’s nothing, except that I know Robert’s going to offer for the Beresford chit, or something very like her, before long, and—and I can’t seem to do the right thing and attract the right sort of eligible parti,” she ended, sniffing hard.

    “But of course you weell: you are far too pretty not to! And certainly you must come to us for the summer. But weell you be allowed?”

    “Very likely not. But trust me to make myself so unpleasant that they’ll be glad to see the back of me!”

    Nan had to swallow: but she did not say that that was most undesirable conduct in a young lady. For if Iris’s home life of course held every material comfort, it yet did not strike her as at all happy.

    So that was settled. But as to whether they would all go back to Bath... Presumably she would no longer be shunned. But the thought of the dull provincial town in summer did not appeal. Nor, frankly, did the thought of Brighton with the fashionables for a month.

    Strangely, it was Ferdy Sotheby who found the solution to the problem. There was a house—mind, it was not the style Lady Benedict was accustomed to—what his family had been used to go to in the summer, when they was all brats. A very obscure corner of Sussex. Little more than a farmhouse, really. Stood in a field, sloping down to its own little bay. Got the sun all day—southern exposure. On the spot, Nan decided rapturously she would take it. Mr Sotheby wrote to his papa, and Colonel Sotheby wrote back to say that the house was available, and Lady Benedict was entirely welcome to it, but it was not in terribly good repair. Nan and Dom both ignored that. They would take the children, the ayahs, the nursery servants and those of the footmen who wished to come, but they would not live at all a formal life. Rani and Sita having agreed fervently that they would like to do the cooking, Nanni Begum, the thing was settled. They would spend two months by the sea, free of all ridiculous social constraints and conventions!

    After some time it occurred to Dom that he had heard the word “Sussex” before, not in a happy connection. He took Iris aside and interrogated her cautiously. Iris assured him that their Jeffreys relatives lived miles inland, almost on the border of Surrey. This was Greek to Dom, but he consulted the big schoolroom atlas, and with Miss Gump’s help verified happily that there were, indeed, miles of countryside between the town that Iris had said was closest to her Jeffreys cousins’ home and the spot by the seaside where Ferdy reckoned the old house to be. Well, that spot was so small that it was not marked on the map, but he found the nearest town.

    “Stamforth!” cried Miss Gump. “Why, yes! The castle, of course: how exciting! It is said to be the most Romantick sight!”

    “Ruined, ees eet?” said Dom on a glum note.

    “Er—I believe... Of course the family has not lived in it for many generations.”

    Dom winced, but agreed kindly that Nan and the girls would love to visit a ruined castle with Miss Gump. And Miss Gump’s ever-faithful guidebook. Miss Gump then pointed out helpfully that Brighton was also in Sussex: see? Dom saw: the fashionable watering-place was a few miles away along the coast. They could do without that sort of nonsense: a Season in London was more than enough! He decided not to tell Nan how close this most fashionable of summer venues was, just in case the delights of the rural fastness should pall. And strictly enjoined Miss Gump to silence on the point. And, as an afterthought, Susan, Tarry and Iris also. That having covered those both closely connected and with a knowledge of geography, he happily dismissed the point from his mind.

    Perhaps Miss Gump, or at the least Miss Gump’s guidebook, could have enlightened him as to what family it was, that was reputed no longer to occupy Stamforth Castle, but Dom did not think to ask. And Miss Gump, though she had reproved Daphne more than once for using the expression “Colonel Sour-Puss”, had no notion that the gentleman thus referred to was heir to Stamforth Castle and the viscounty that went with it.

    Lord and Lady Rockingham’s invitation to their musical soirée had included all of Mrs Urqhart’s younger guests. Tarry and Cherry both seemed eager to accept but Daphne and Susan voted unanimously, they did not even have to think it over, for another visit, ending with a little dance, to Mr and Mrs Neville Wayneflete’s home. Nan’s feeble reminder that the Waynefletes lived at Marlow produced only the response that they might sleep in the carriage coming home. Not entirely to anyone’s surprise, Mrs Urqhart also plumped for Marlow.

    Without really thinking about it, Nan was expecting great things of the Rockinghams’ musical soirée. She knew that a great many people had been invited: and the Marquis himself had assured her that they were persons who shared his and his wife’s tastes, not persons to whom they owed invitations. And, well, his Lordship and Colonel Vane had a great deal in common politically, and, well— In short, she had hoped.

    These hopes were doomed to disappointment. He was not there. The music was very fine, but Nan had great difficulty in concentrating on it.

    Her let-down mood scarcely improved when, as the serious part of the evening ended and the supper was announced, Tarry clutched at her arm convulsively, and, following the direction of her gaze, she saw that the Reverend Mr Llewellyn-Jones, accompanied by the terrifying Lady Lavinia Dewesbury in person, was approaching.

    Lady Lavinia, smiling graciously, assured herself that Lady Benedict and Miss Kernohan had indeed met Mr Llewellyn-Jones at the Daynesford Place Easter ball, and sailed  away.

    Nan could see that Tarry was reduced to a state of blushing inarticulateness. She pulled herself together and exerted herself to be agreeable to the young clergyman.

    “Well?” she said kindly, as the carriage conveyed them the short distance to Mr Urqhart’s house. “What ees the verdict?”

    “It was wonderful: really, the Marquis’s playing is awe-inspiring,” said Cherry.

    “Yes, eendeed,” she agreed. “Deed you not theenk so, Tarry?”

    “Yes, of course,” said Tarry hoarsely. “It was magnificent.”

    “How surprising to see Mr Llewellyn-Jones,” continued Nan airily. “I knew he was een town, but had thought he must have gone home again, when he deed not call.”

    “Said himself: tairribly tied up with church whatnots,” said Dom, yawning. “Dare say he weell call tomorrow, as he said.”

    “Yes,” said Tarry hoarsely.

    Nan smiled, and ceased teazing her.

    “I wonder if the others will be back from Marlow, yet?” said Cherry.

    “Eet ees not so vairy late,” replied Nan: “I theenk we shall be before them.”

    And so indeed it proved. Nan and the girls decided to retire; Dom, though yawning, thought he would wait up.

    Nan retired, but did not instantly fall asleep. Why had she ever expected— Well, she was a fool, that was all! Clearly Colonel Vane did not truly move in those circles, even if the Rockinghams and their set approved of his politics and his charitable interests. He must have been present at Lady Mary Vane’s party, where she had first met him, because Lady Mary (who was a rather grand lady, a sister of the present Earl of Blefford) had taken pity on an impoverished connexion of her husband’s! Biting her lip, Nan stared into the dark. There was no hope— Ridiculous, what was she thinking? Not hope: no possibility of bumping into him again in what remained of the Season. And—and she would put him out of her mind. No doubt he had, indeed, fought the duel as a matter of principle, and if she had been the direct cause, that had no significance whatsoever: it could have been any lady at all! And in any case he was obstinate and ugly and—and mannerless. And ungrateful.

   She would just look forward to a peaceful, undemanding summer with the children and forget about London and all its nonsense!