Empty Forms

Part II. London: Either for Tragedy, Comedy, History…

7

Empty Forms

    “And indeed,” said Miss Dewesbury earnestly, “I must confess I find the empty forms of social intercourse particularly disagreeable.”

    “Don’t do it, then,” said Gaetana in a bored voice.

    “No: tell your Mamma you wish to live a retired life in the country; surely she would let you? After all, you’ve been out for several Seasons now, haven’t you?” agreed Hildy unfeelingly.

    Poor Miss Dewesbury went very red and said in a stifled voice: “Only two.”

    “Well, there you are,” said Hildy without interest.

    Miss Dewesbury swallowed a sigh and wondered yet again why her mamma had solicited her particular interest in Miss Ainsley and her cousins.

    “Are you going to the Grahames’ ball on Tuesday next?” Gaetana then inquired of their guest in a voice of forced-politeness that did not manage to hide her boredom.

    Before she could answer Hildy said: “Of course not, Gaetana, how could you make such a frivolous enquiry? Balls must surely be the most disagreeable of all the empty forms of social intercourse!”

    Miss Dewesbury went very red again. “I fear Mamma wishes me to attend,” she said in a very small voice.

    “So does Tia Patty,” agreed Gaetana, endeavouring to smile nicely at Miss Dewesbury whilst glaring at Hildy. And at the same time endeavouring not to laugh. “Hildy is not particularly looking forward to it, that’s why she’s so grumpy.”

    Miss Dewesbury looked from one to the other of them in bewilderment.

    Suddenly Hildy grinned. “She’s right, actually! I’ve never been to a ball. I went to a dance once—well, it was only a dinner party with dancing afterwards—and according to Mamma did all the wrong things!”

    It was hardly possible for a gently brought up young woman to do all the wrong things. Miss Dewesbury looked more bewildered than ever but said: “Well—well, I dare say it will not be so very bad. And—and I am sure you will do splendidly, dear Miss Hildegarde.”

    “So am not I!” said Hildy with the grin which, Miss Dewesbury was trying hard not to think, for she was a truly charitable-minded young woman, made her look almost like... well, an urchin. “I’m just hoping that no gentleman will solicit me to dance, so I can just sit absolutely motionless in my chair not putting a foot wrong all evening!”

    Not being solicited to dance by any gentleman was, of course, in the eyes of Susan Dewesbury’s formidable mamma, tantamount to doing all the wrong things. Miss Dewesbury swallowed, and was unable to speak.

    “Well, Paul at least will dance with you!” said Gaetana cheerfully.

    “Horrors!” returned her cousin with a giggle.

    Gaetana smiled and added kindly to Miss Dewesbury: “He will dance with you, too, if you like. Shall I ask him?”

    Once again Miss Dewesbury went very red. This was only partly because of the indelicacy of the offer, kindly though it was meant. It was rather more because she had met Paul Ainsley and had been duly impressed by his Spanish good looks and exotic foreign charm; and even more because Sir Lionel Dewesbury, her respected papa, had declared roundly in her hearing that he didn’t give a tinker’s curse about the rubbish Giles had apparently got from Wellington, in his book Sir Harry Ainsley ought to be hung, drawn and quartered. And he dared say the son was no better.

    “You are very kind,” she said in a stifled voice.

    “You haven’t danced with him yet!” warned Hildy with a giggle.

    Miss Dewesbury looked at her in bewilderment. “Oh—you are funning,” she said with a faint, forced smile.

    ... “Help!” cried Hildy, flopping back on the re-covered satin back of the Ainsley town house’s sofa when the guests had departed.

    “Sit up, Hildy,” said Mrs Maddern without much conviction.

    “Tia Patty, will they all be like that?” asked Gaetana in awe.

    “Yes,” groaned Hildy.

    “I am sure Miss Dewesbury is a very pretty-behaved young woman,” said Mrs Maddern limply.

    Hildy groaned.

    “Why on earth did they come to call, Tia Patty?” asked Gaetana. “Are they relations, perhaps?”

    “Er—well... Lady Lavinia Dewesbury is a very distant connection. At least, the—the families are connected.”

    The girls looked at her blankly.

    “Dear Lady Georgina must have solicited her interest,” said Mrs Maddern, rather more firmly but still without absolute conviction: Lady Lavinia Dewesbury was a very grand lady indeed.

    “Oh,” said Gaetana blankly.

    “Lady Georgina... Mamma, you do not mean the old lady whose sister was the Marquis of Crabapple’s great-grandmother or something, do you?” asked Hildy.

    “Grandmother!” snapped Mrs Maddern. “And why not, pray? Lady Georgina was one of my mamma’s dearest friends! And she wrote me a very kind letter.”

    “Yes, possibly, but was it a very kind letter in which she said she would ask this Lady Lavinia Whosis to call with her incredibly boring daughter?” demanded Hildy.

    “Er—well—not precisely, my dear. But why should she not? After all, it is the same family!”

    “I see,” said Gaetana faintly.

    “Well, I don’t. Lady Lavinia is the grandest lady I have ever seen: in fact if ever there was a prime candidate for the Marchioness of Crabapple,” said Hildy with a giggle, “it is she!”

    “No, because she is his aunt!” cried Mrs Maddern on a desperate note.

    Hildy sagged where she sat, goggling at her, what time Gaetana turned crimson and stared fixedly at the carpet.

    Finally Hildy said, recovering herself: “Oh, of course: that will be it! The Marquis of Crabapple was so taken with the spectacle of us sitting on Mrs Parkinson’s rug that he solicited his terrifying aunt to call the minute we reached town!”

    Mrs Maddern had tried to tell herself something not unlike this, and had not succeeded in convincing herself, so it was with considerable annoyance in her voice that she said sharply: “Pray do not fun, Hildy! And I should think you would feel nothing but shame at the memory of that episode!”

    “Pooh!” said Hildy, pouting.

    “Possibly my cousin is right, however, in—in broad outline, Tia Patty,” said Gaetana in a low voice.

    “Well, I wish I could think so, my love,” she said frankly. “But if ever I met a ruder and—and less conciliating man! Well, I suppose a great lord can do as he likes—and at least he did not freeze us all to death!” She shuddered. “Only I am very sure he has never given any of us a thought since! No, it must be Lady Georgina’s kindness, and I shall write to her directly!” She nodded firmly, bustled to her feet and hurried out.

    “Well, I’m deeply disappointed!” declared Hildy with a giggle.

    “Why?” said her cousin in a strangled voice.

    “I had Lady Lavinia slated to be the Marchioness of Crabapple—writing off a putative Dewesbury or two, of course!” she said with a giggle. “She’s grim enough!”

    “Do you think the Marquis would care for a grim wife?” asked Gaetana carelessly.

    “No, I dare say no-one could care for her—and it makes you wonder what this Dewesbury can be like, does it not? But his grimness would be balanced by hers, they would be the perfect couple! Both as sour as crabs!” she gasped, going into a paroxysm of giggles.

    Gaetana gave a forced smile. “Yes. Very true. Did—did Lady Lavinia say she would procure us all vouchers for Almack’s, Hildy?”

    Hildy made a face. “Yes. We are not to be spared that torture, it seems.”

    Gaetana sighed. “It will be full of proper young gentlemen, none of whom will wish to dance with me. I shall end up the Season as I have begun it, and Madre will be vastly disappointed in me.”

    Hildy looked at her in horror.

    “Well, I am here to marry an English milord—or at the least a squire,” she said glumly.

    Hildy put her arm round her shoulders. “You would not marry a man you could not care for, though, would you?”

    A tear trickled down Gaetana’s cheek. “I shall have to. I do not wish to go to Spain and marry a Spaniard, because he would be very Catholic and—and I dislike Roman Catholicism. But that is the only alternative.”

   Hildy chewed her lip. “Perhaps you’ll meet someone you can truly care for,” she said in a low voice.

    Another tear trickled down Gaetana’s cheek. “I am very sure I shall not.”

    Suddenly Hildy, who was not by nature at all a demonstrative person, gave her a kiss. “Cheer up! We have only been here a week, after all!”

   Gaetana sniffed, and smiled. “Sí. Oh, dear, it feels like a lifetime already!”

    “Actually,” said Sir Julian Naseby with his pleasant smile, “I called to see if I might persuade Miss Hildegarde to drive out with me. With your permission, ma’am!” he said, twinkling at her mother.

    “Me?” gasped Hildy.

    “In your phaeton?” gasped Marybelle, who was present in the little sitting-room on account of Miss Morton’s having the migraine and on account of having come downstairs with a message to her mamma to that effect and having simply remained there. Very fortunately it was not a day on which Lady Lavinia Dewesbury had chosen to call.

    “As ever was,” said Sir Julian solemnly.

    Mrs Maddern made delighted noises and ordered Hildy to run along and put her bonnet and pelisse on.

    “She’ll be ages,” said Marybelle confidentially to Sir Julian. “Might we look at your horses, do you think?”

    “Er—well,” he said with an uneasy glance at her mamma, “possibly you could come out to the carriage with us when we leave, mm?”

    “Very well. But it is not a particularly warm day, Marybelle, so I think you had better run and find a wrap,” said Mrs Maddern.

    Marybelle exited, not without first demanding an assurance from Sir Julian that he would not leave before she had seen the horses.

    “If that is not Miss Morton all over! Now she chooses to have a migraine!” burst out Mrs Maddern to their visitor.

    “Frightful nuisance, ma’am,” he agreed easily. “Who’s looking after the littlies, then—the nurserymaid?”

    Mrs Maddern closed her eyes for a second. “That girl is worse than useless,” she pronounced grimly, “and had it not been for the fact of Mr Parkinson’s—our vicar, you know, Sir Julian—had it not been for the fact of his soliciting my interest in her, I would never have taken her on! Her father is our tenant, and they have a large family of girls, many of them in very good service, so— But she is the most harum-scarum creature, sir! Not three days since I caught her giving the twins bread and sugar for their supper! Bread and sugar! Fatal!” she said deeply.

    “Er—always rather liked it, myself.”

    “No doubt! But They,” said Mrs Maddern darkly, “are equal to eating an entire loaf—nay, an entire pantryful of sugar, sir!”

    “Oh, I see: encouraging ’em in bad habits, eh?” he said, nodding.

    “Precisely! Oh, dear, what was I— Oh, yes! Dearest Christa is looking after them today, Sir Julian, though I had sworn she was not to go near the schoolroom once we were in London. But Paul has put his foot down and at this very moment he is at a respectable academy enquiring about the twins! For it must be admitted,” she said with a sigh, “that we cannot cope, sir!”

    “That’s the ticket! Send ’em all to a dame school eh?”

    “Ye-es... Well, I am not sure— But Paul is seeing to it all, he is such a comfort to me, you cannot imagine!” she said, becoming lachrymose and scrabbling in her reticule.

    Sir Julian rolled a startled eye at Gaetana and Amabel but the latter merely said quietly, handing her mother her vinaigrette “Yes, Mamma, I am sure we could not go on at all comfortably without him.”

    “No, indeed!” Mrs Maddern sniffed, choked, handed the vinaigrette back with a shudder, and produced a lace-edged handkerchief. “And he said out of course he would accompany us to the Grahames’ ball, was there any question of it!” she beamed.

    “Er—naturally, ma’am,” he agreed weakly.

    “You would not say that did you but know my elder son, Sir Julian,” she said darkly. “Persuading him to accompany his sisters to a dance is like drawing teeth, sir! Worse!”

    “I see,” said Sir Julian with some amusement.

    “That boy is a Disappointment to me,” declared Mrs Maddern, grimly, stowing away her handkerchief.

    “Mamma, merely because Hal said he did not care to come to town for the Season…” murmured Amabel.

    “He said he did not care for fashionable foolishness, and I ask you, my dear, how is he to meet any eligible young ladies if all he does he does is gallop over the countryside with his horrid Oxford cronies, slaughtering defenceless rabbits?”

    “Oh, up at Oxford, is he?” said Sir Julian, faint but pursuing.

    “No, indeed, but he might as well be!” said his mother vexedly.

    “They are his old friends from when he was at the university,” explained Gaetana. “I would not repine, Tia Patty, I am sure some of them must have sisters.”

    “Yes, but what are they like?” she said darkly.

    Fortunately Hildy and Marybelle returned before anyone needed to formulate a response. They were accompanied by Floss and the twins: Sir Julian, in spite of his excellent manners, could not forebear to blink at the blaze of carrots.

    Mrs Maddern’s jaw had dropped.

    “Christa said we might just look at Sir Julian’s horses,” said Bungo quickly, with a melting look. “Is it a high-perch phaeton, sir?”

    “No!” cried Marybelle scornfully before Sir Julian could speak.

    “No, it ain’t, sonny, I’m not one of your high-fliers!” he replied with feeling.

    “No, and I would not permit Hildy to go in it, if it were!” agreed Mrs Maddern strongly. “Those carriages are dangerous!”

    “We saw a lady driving one in the Park the other day,” said Gaetana on a wistful note. “I thought it looked like fun.”

    “Yes!” cried Bungo eagerly.

    “Pooh, you can’t even drive Reverend Hilary’s trap straight for half a yard!” said Bunch, giving him a push.

    “That’ll do,” said Sir Julian hastily. “Er—shall we go, Miss Hildegarde?”

    “Yes, let’s escape!” she said with a giggle.

    He bent gracefully over her mother’s hand. “I’ll have her home safe in half an hour or so, never fret, ma’am. And she won’t be cold: there’s a fur-lined lap robe.”

    “So thoughtful,” said Mrs Maddern faintly. “Stop that at once, twins!” she commanded, rather more loudly.

    The twins more or less stopped pushing each other. They looked hopefully at Sir Julian.

    “Yes—er: look, take your cousin’s hand—if you don’t mind, Miss Marybelle?” he smiled. Marybelle turned puce and shook her head violently. “Good girl! And don’t let go, the pair’s a bit fresh, don’t want ’em startled!” he said with a laugh.

    “You may rely on me, sir!” panted Marybelle, grabbing the twins’ hands in a grip of iron.

    “Ow! Help!” they gasped.

    Sir Julian bade the company a distinctly feeble farewell and exited with his motley crew.

    “Whew!” he said to Hildy, when they were off at last.

    Hildy ceased waving to the motley crew on the pavement and turned back to him with a giggle. “Sorry!”

    “It’s certainly a family home,” he smiled.

    “Yes. Is—is your home very proper, Sir Julian?” she asked shyly.

    “Well—Mamma’s in charge, y’know... And it’s a dashed big house. Full of servants and so forth. But occasionally,” he admitted with a grin, “we have domestic crises, too—along the lines of the one that occurred that day I’d agreed to accompany Giles to deepest Tunbridge Wells!”

    “Oh, yes!” she recollected with a gurgle. “Sir Julian, I know now that the Marquis was wearing the insignia of—of some club where the gentlemen drive four horses, but—”

    “Aye. F.H.C.,” he said with a sniff.

    “Yes, quite. But why would he dress up like that for a visit to Tunbridge Wells? Or—or is a gentleman’s thing and I am just betraying my ignorance?”

    “No, no, bless us, no, Miss Hildegarde! No, thing is,” he said with a chuckle, “he’d forgotten all about the trip to Tunbridge Wells till I turned up! Silly fellow had got himself all tricked out for the dashed F.H.C. trot to—well, never mind. Sort of meeting, y’see: all get dressed up like guys and drive the teams at a strict trot. Don’t ask me why, I’ve never seen the point of it, either!” he said to the look on her face.

    “I suppose it would be quite hard, making four horses trot,” she said dubiously.

    “Yes. Well, hard enough drivin’ two, in traffic,” he admitted.

    “Oh, am I distracting you?” she gasped in horror.

    “Absolutely!” he said with a sly look. “No, no, I’m not that cack-handed,” he added to her reddening cheeks.

    “No,” said Hildy in a tiny voice, thinking that gentlemen were... very silly, really.

    “About the only thing Giles does in town, actually,” he said thoughtfully.

    “Is it? Does he not go to parties and balls and so forth, sir?”

    “Oh Lord, no! No, well, takes his seat in the House, y’know, when there’s an issue he’s interested in; quite a responsible sort of chap, really, old Giles,” he said in a vague voice, negotiating a tilbury and a lumbering coach laden with baggage.

    “I see.” Hildy didn’t know very much about politics, but lately she had come to realize that Gaetana’s republican principles extended further than did her own and that both Gaetana and Paul could talk far more intelligently, not just about the European political scene, but even about English politics, than she could herself. She had absorbed a little, but not very much, from listening to their talk, so she said shyly: “Is he a—a Tory, sir?”

    “What, Giles? Horrors, no, ma’am: a Whig!” he laughed

    “Oh, that’s the other side, isn’t it?”

    “Absolutely!” he said, laughing. “Hammonds have always been Whigs. Mind you, didn’t stop his aunt marrying a dashed Tory, but then Dewesbury’s dashed well-breeched. Er, sorry, Miss Hildegarde, my tongue runs away with me. Very plump in the pocket.”

    “I think you mean a gentleman of means, Sir Julian,” said Hildy sedately.

    Sir Julian’s handsome shoulders shook. “Think I might, actually!”

    She peeped up at him and giggled and he reconfirmed his earlier impression that she was enchanting. Especially dressed as she was now, rather than in that awful schoolgirl’s pelisse she’d worn on the occasion of their first meeting. So he said: “May I say, you look enchantingly, Miss Hildegarde? That green is just your colour.”

    “Thank you,” said Hildy, pinkening. “Mamma chose these things for me. We had dreadful trouble finding a bonnet to go with the green of the pelisse.”

    “That so?” he replied, lips twitching.

    “Yes; I will wager you cannot guess what this bonnet is made from!”

    “No, you’re wrong there, ma’am, I’m very well up in ladies’ fashions—m’sisters even admit I’ve got quite an eye for it!” he said proudly. “Silk, ain’t it?”

    “Yes, of course!” said Hildy with a gurgle. “But what did the silk come from, sir?”

    “No, y’can’t catch me like that, y’know!” he said, shaking his head, grinning. “Learnt that in the schoolroom when I was no taller than those dashed red-headed twins! Comes from a Chinese caterpillar! Silkworm. –Ain’t like a worm, don’t ask me why they call it that.”

    Alas, Hildy gasped desperately: “You have—a very literal mind—Sir Julian!” and went into a paroxysm of giggles.

    “Uh—suppose I have,” he said a trifle uneasily. “Not quite sure what you mean, there, Miss Hildegarde, actually.”

    “No! I’m sorry!” she gasped. “Yes, of course it comes from a silkworm, I was not quizzing you on your knowledge of nat-natural history, sir!”

    “Go on, laugh. Never was the brightest one of the family. Ought to meet my sister Amelia: now, she’s got a mind like a razor!” he said proudly.

    “Indeed, sir?” said Hildy feebly. “I—I’m sorry, I did not mean to criticize you. It’s one of those things ladies ought not to do, like mentioning Latin and Greek, is it not?” she added glumly.

    “Latin and Greek?” he groped.

    “I di not mention those, Sir Julian! Um, I learnt them off our late vicar, sir. Like a boy: do not say it.”

    “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, refraining with an effort from rolling his eyes. “Latin and Greek, eh? By Jove! Had to do them at school, y’know. Hopeless,” he said, shaking his head. “Hopeless. ’Specially at—what was the fellow’s name? Some dashed chappie that went on about this love ’em and leave ‘em fellow.”

    Hildy swallowed. “Was it Odysseus, sir?”

    “No, not him!” said Sir Julian cheerfully. “Left this female lamenting on the shore, or something,” he added vaguely. “The master said that was a good bit. Couldn’t see it, m’self. I remember young D’Oyly had a dashed good crib for that. Offered him a crown for it and the silly fellow wouldn’t take it. Said he’d fight me for it.” He shook his head. “No point in that.”

    “No, indeed!” said Hildy with feeling. “Fisticuffs are merely pointless violence!”

    “Eh? No, no, I was twice the fellow’s weight! Not that I’ve ever been a great one for fisticuffs, meself. Now, Giles—” He shook his head admiringly.

    “The—the Marquis of Rockingham fights?” asked Hildy in astonishment.

    “Boxes. –Oh, Lor’! Pray excuse me: not a topic for young ladies!”

    “Why on earth not? I’ve seen my brothers fighting all my life!”

    “Er—yes. Well, not the done thing.”

    “I have it!” she cried. Sir Julian twitched nervously. “You mean the Aeneid, sir!”

    “Er—mm.”

    “Virgil.”

    “Oh, yes! That’s the chap!”

    “Dido’s lament,” said Hildy in a shaken voice.

    “Er—yes. Think so. Oh, absolutely, yes. Poor old dame.”

    Hildy had to bite her lip.

    “Go on—laugh,” he said generously.

    “No, for I am very ignorant about many worldly things you know all about, sir,” she said, smiling up at him kindly.

     Sir Julian blinked. “Well—some truth in that, mm.”

    Hildy sighed. “I can drive a trap a little, but I certainly could not drive two horses!”

    “Oh, Lord, don’t look at me!” he said with a laugh.

    “I am looking at you. You are driving beautifully,” she said serenely.

    At this the worldly Julian Naseby went very red, gave a very silly, flustered laugh and said: “Oh—well! Thank you kindly, Miss Hildegarde! Doin’ my poor best! Uh—enjoying yourself, then?”

    “Oh, yes!” said Hildy with a happy sigh. “It is perfectly blissful, sir!”

    Sir Julian was pretty much of that opinion, too.

    “Well,” said Lady Lavinia Dewesbury grimly, “I have done it. And I am sure I hope Anne will be pleased!”

    Her husband grunted. Her nephew ignored her.

    “Giles!” she said sharply.

    Rockingham looked up briefly from the book he had picked up. “Hey? Oh—yes. Dare say she may be.”

    “Come out of that book, I did not invite you to dinner in order for you to become incommunicado all evening,” she said grimly.

    Rockingham lowered the book. “What did you invite me for, Lavinia?”

    “For a damn’ good dinner!” said Sir Lionel strongly, briefly lowering his paper. “Ought to sack that dashed cook of yours: never had anything worth eating in your house. –Did you see this nonsense Wellington’s spouting?” he added.

    “Yes. The fellow’s a general, not a diplomat,” said Rockingham shortly.

    “Well, precisely!”

    “That will do,” said Lady Lavinia firmly. “I was saying I have done it, and I hope Anne may be pleased!”

    “Yes,” agreed her nephew, sighing. “Done what, specifically?”

    Her Ladyship’s impressive bosom swelled ominously, but Sir Lionel grunted: “Saying it on purpose. Know what he is,” and she merely let the breath out again and said coldly: “Pray do not waste everyone’s time by pretending you were not listening, Giles.”

    “No, wouldn’t want to do that,” he agreed drily, glancing over at his cousin Susan, who was performing on the pianoforte.

    “I am determined her playing will be up to scratch by the time we visit you at Christmas,” stated her mother grimly.

    “That’s a long way off,” noted Sir Lionel into his paper.

    “Ain’t it?” agreed Giles, wincing. “Why don’t you simply admit the poor girl has not a musical bone in her body, Lavinia, and give it up?”

    “No. For Sophia Boyle will drag out that dreadful harp of hers—”

    “Not in my house, she won’t,” he said grimly. “I can promise you that.”

    “No, but we are promised to them for the New Year!” said his aunt crossly.

    “Are you? Good.”

     Lady Lavinia glared.

    “Did I invite you for Christmas, by the way?” he murmured. –Behind his paper, Sir Lionel winced.

    “It was arranged months ago,” said Lady Lavinia very grimly indeed.

    “By you and Anne?” inquired Giles, extra-genial.

    “You agreed to it, Giles,” said Lady Lavinia, almost lowering herself to speaking through her teeth—indeed, in a lesser woman you would have said that was what she was doing.

    “Must have been out of my skull. –Stay, was that just before Waterloo? Because I was almost out of my skull at that point, having discovered Welling’s—er—fugue,” he said on a sour note.

    “Ssh!” hissed his aunt, glancing over at the oblivious Susan.

    “Give it up, Aunt, his mother won’t let him have her. Not unless you increase the dot,” he ended drily.

    Lady Lavinia’s bosom swelled again. “I am sure his attentions were most marked last year, just…” Her voice faltered.

    “Just before Lady V. kidnapped him,” noted Sir Lionel, lowering his paper briefly. “Told you it was no go. Anyway, Giles won’t agree while he’s Vernon’s guardian: will you, Giles?”

    “No.”

    Lady Lavinia looked as if she was about to explode, so her husband said briefly: “For the girl’s sake, Lavinia; have some sense!” and retired into his paper again.

    “Oh,” she said, somewhat mollified. “Well, perhaps it would not do. And of course he is too young to think of marriage, just yet. –In any case, as I was saying, I have done as Anne asked. And I am sure Lady Sefton thought I had run mad!”

    “Er—quite possibly, ma’am,” returned her nephew. “In especial if you spoke in riddles as you are now doing

    “I asked her for vouchers for Almack’s!” she snapped.

    “Indeed? I was under the impression that it was already your favourite haunt, dear Aunt.”

    At this Sir Lionel groaned, lowered the paper, and said: “It is. Drop it, Giles. She’s talking about these dashed smoky connections of yours.” He sniffed. “Not that old Peregrine Jerningham is not a dashed smoky connection—or your Cousin Philomela.”

    “Poor Cousin Philomela is hardly a smoky connection!” his wife objected.

    “What? Bats in the belfry the size of sheep!” croaked Sir Lionel.

    “That does not make her smoky!” she snapped.

    “What about old Jerningham? Had me watch out of me pocket five times, last time we were at the Place when he was. –Don’t know why you keep on asking him,” he said sourly to Rockingham.

    “I do not ask him, Lionel,” he said pointedly.

    “And that reminds me,” Lavinia said grimly to her nephew, “I suppose you have worked out that if anything should happen to Vernon Standish nothing stands between Peregrine Jerningham and the title?”

    “Nothing but the madhouse, you mean,” said Rockingham politely.

    “That is neither witty nor accurate, Rockingham,” she warned.

    “No. Well, look at old Farmer George!” said Sir Lionel with feeling.

    “Quite,” agreed Lady Lavinia coldly. “If a king may be mad without being—er—”

    “Deposed?” suggested her nephew.

    She opened her mouth and shut it again. “No! Stop trying to side-track me! It is time you settled down and found yourself a wife! High time!”

    “If this is why you invited me to dinner, ma’am,” he said, raising his eyebrows very high, “I’m off.”

    “Don’t be a fool, for once in your life, Giles,” advised Sir Lionel.

    Rockingham went very red but said to his aunt: “Very well, Lavinia, I apologize. Go on. But just bear in mind I’m a lost cause.”

    Her Ladyship drew a deep breath. “Anne apparently wishes you to—to make a push to engage this Ainsley girl’s interest.”

    Rockingham sighed. “Anne has got some damned romantic nonsense into her head, Lavinia: the girl’s younger than Susan: more than young enough to be my daughter!”

    “Eh?” said Sir Lionel.

    “She is seventeen. Well, I dare say she may now be turned eighteen, but it is all the same,” he said tiredly.

    “That is dashed young,” Sir Lionel admitted uneasily. “Y’just said yourself young Vernon’s not of an age to think of marriage, yet, and if the girl’s only about his age—well, not too young for an engagement, but too dashed young for Giles!”

    “Yes. And I dare she is wholly unsuitable. That is not the point,” said Lavinia grimly. “The point is that your mother wishes you to improve your acquaintance with these Ainsleys, and wishes me to take them up a little. So I shall do it. And so will you,” she added firmly.

    Giles and Lionel exchanged glances.

    “Look, Lavinia, if Giles starts hangin’ on the girl’s sleeve— Well, don’t want to raise false hopes, do we?” said Sir Lionel uneasily.

    “No, quite,” he murmured.

    “There will be no question of that: naturally Giles will not see the girl alone. We shall always be a family party.”—Sir Lionel looked dubious but did not speak. Rockingham merely looked sardonic.—“Well, you may raise false hopes in Patty Maddern’s breast—that woman has not changed one iota, she is as silly as she was twenty-five years ago!—but I doubt if the rest of polite society will notice a thing. For after all, you have been on the shelf for such a very long time now, have you not?”

    “Steady on!” said Sir Lionel in horror.

    “I have no intention of mincing words with Giles. He is becoming a by-word! Why, that Quayle-Sturt woman”—Sir Lionel closed his eyes—“had the gall to insinuate the other day that you had set up your mistress in a quiet little house in—in—some appalling bourgeois place, I forget!” she said impatiently.

    At this point Sir Lionel glanced over uneasily at the pianoforte, but Susan was still oblivious.

    “Tunbridge Wells?” drawled Rockingham.

    “Well, that is as likely a pl— No, stay! The woman has relatives there, it quite possibly— My God, Giles, is it true?”

    “Don’t be a fool, Lavinia,” he said tiredly.

    After a moment Sir Lionel said on a weak note: “Well, were you in Tunbridge Wells, old man?”

    Rockingham drew a breath. “Yes. And it is very possible that your acquaintance, ma’am,”—he bowed slightly: Lavinia glared—“may have seen me with a respectable young widow and her infant. Not to mention her garrulous widowed mother.”

    His aunt goggled at him with her mouth open. So did Sir Lionel.

    “They are protégés of Mamma’s,” he sighed. “And the infant is not mine. Its father was killed at Waterloo.”

    “Well, who is she?” said Lavinia immediately.

    “I’ve just said. Her name is Catherine, she has several teeth, she can say ‘Mamma’ and walk across her grandmother’s drawing-room rug, and her papa was killed at Waterloo.”

    Sir Lionel choked

    “That will do, Lionel! –Very well, Giles: do not disclose the details. I am sure you may mount as many mistresses as you care to the length and breadth of the British Isles: I do not care. But do not be surprized,” she warned darkly, “if the Mrs Quayle-Sturts of the world make you the subject of their impertinent comment!”

    “Oh, I won’t be surprized, ma’am!”

    Sir Lionel had been endeavouring to envisage the scene. “Uh—you wasn’t toolin’ a four-in-hand round Tunbridge Wells, were you?”

    “Never mind all that,” said his spouse grimly. “Just bear in mind that you are to escort us to Almack’s next week, Giles.”

    At this Sir Lionel, with base cowardice, retired behind his paper.

    “No, look, Lavinia, I’m not making a fool of myself at the Marriage Mart at my age!”

    “Pray do not use that coarse expression, Giles. You will, of course, be there in loco parentis,” she stated firmly.

    “What? Well, where will Lionel be?” stuttered the Marquis.

    “Lionel,” said Lionel’s spouse firmly: “will be indisposed. This will give you the opportunity to accompany us in quite a natural way.”

    “Oh, markedly natural, ma’am. And who will be of this natural party?”

    “Susan, her friend Miss Lucy Telfer and myself. Carolyn will still be with your sister Margaret in Suffolk,” she reminded him. “She is not due back yet.”

    “There would then seem to be very little point to the expedition, Lavinia. Especially if Miss Telfer’s the fubsy little dame I think she is.”

    “Do not be absurd, Giles. Naturally it would look too particular had I invited the Miss Madderns and Miss Ainsley to accompany us. But I have ascertained that they will be present.”

    Rockingham groaned.

    Lavinia rose majestically. “And do not dare to forget,” she said threateningly to her nephew, glaring at his perfectly acceptable black pantaloons: “satin knee-breeches!”

    Rockingham groaned again.

    At the pianoforte Susan shrieked as her mother touched her shoulder.

    “That will do, my dear.”

    “Yes, Mamma. I am afraid I have not improved.”

    “Nonsense, Susan, you have been practising very hard.”

    “But Mamma—” Susan broke off. She rose and looked helplessly over at the two gentlemen.

    “Go on, Giles,” sniggered Lionel. “Tell her she’s improved!”

    “Imperil your own mortal soul, Lionel,” he advised. He strolled over to the instrument. “You have not improved,” he stated. “I’ve been trying to persuade your mother to let you give it up.”

    “Thank you, Cousin Rockingham,” said Susan in a squashed voice to the carpet.

    Rockingham sighed. “There is nothing intrinsically meritorious in having an ear for music, Susan: you cannot help it if you were born without one.”

    “No,” she whispered to the carpet.

    “For God’s sake play something, Giles, my stomach needs uncurdling!” called Sir Lionel loudly across the room.

    “Yes: please, Cousin!” begged Susan, becoming almost animated.

    “Very well, Giles, please play,” said his aunt resignedly.

    Giles sat down at Susan’s lovely pianoforte that Lionel had refused to sell to him until Susan should have married and left the house (on the grounds that if she made such a hash of what she played on it, what would she sound like on an inferior instrument?) and Susan said shyly: “Do you need me to turn the pages?”

    “No,” he said with one of his rare genuine smiles: “it’s all in my head. Sit down and relax, mm?”

    “Yes, Cousin,” she whispered, blushing.

    Giles played the same Mozart piece that Susan had murdered. Lionel smiled to himself but made no remark. Lavinia looked vaguely puzzled at first, then merely bored, but she made no attempt to talk during the performance, her husband having informed her roundly in the past that if she did that once again he’d have a divorce bill brought down. Susan blushed a lot at first but soon listened attentively, smiling occasionally and sighing at times.

    Giles took his leave after that, remarking pointedly that Lavinia’s snores did not form a desirable antiphony to any piece he knew of.

    Sir Lionel, creaking and groaning a bit, accompanied him to the front hall. “Look—ignore all this nonsense of Anne’s and Lavinia’s,” he said awkwardly.

    “No, I suppose they’re right; I don’t want to see the title go to the Standish side any more than Lavinia does,” he admitted, grimacing.

    “Er—well, no, understandable. Er—this Ainsley chit, then?”

    “She’s too young,” he said, frowning.

    “Well, you’d better make up your mind fairly soon, old fellow! I mean—well, a man likes to see his sons grow up,” he said awkwardly.

    Rockingham grimaced horribly. “Yes. Thanks, Lionel,” he said, holding out his hand.

    Sir Lionel shook it, looking surprized, “Don’t do anything you don’t want to, mind,” he said uncomfortably.

    Rockingham shrugged. “Doing what I have wanted to hasn’t got me anywhere, has it?” The footman had opened the front door for him. He went out without saying anything further.

    “Good-night to you, too,” agreed Sir Lionel. He returned slowly to the drawing-room, shaking his head. “Poor damned fellow,” he said to his startled daughter.

    “Why, Papa?”

    “Eh? Oh—never mind,” he said lamely.

    Mr and Mrs Grahame were a pleasant couple, the gentleman a distant connection  of Patty Maddern’s. Their ball was a small affair, given for the come-out of their second daughter, Laetitia, and just right for two very young ladies to make their first London appearance at. Or so Mrs Maddern and Mrs Grahame had agreed.

    Not to mention Sophia Goodbody, with whom Mrs Maddern had eagerly resumed the close friendship that had been theirs as girl cousins. So like dear Hildy and Gaetana, indeed, as Mrs Maddern had sentimentally remarked. Sophia’s clouds of black curls were now neat grey locks, if under a very smart London bonnet at the time when the remark was passed, but she had agreed to this as eagerly as would have done the Sophia of the large hat and the curls and the striped white and something-sigh gown.

    Mrs Grahame had sent out a large number of cards for her ball but although the Season was now well under way she had not expected a very large response. For there were many other balls and parties also being held this evening; and the Grahames were not precisely of the most fashionable set, so—

    But Mrs Grahame had not banked on the fact that Paul Ainsley was also eagerly renewing acquaintance in London and that, rather naturally, those he knew were dashing young officers who had seen service at Waterloo. Whether or no Paul had fleeced these gentlemen during their stay in Brussels as his sister claimed, he had certainly been very popular with them, for he was a young man of considerable charm. They had liked him in Brussels, but in London, as heir to a baronetcy with a hint of romance and intrigue in his past—Sir Harry’s having spied for Wellington under Boney’s very nose was a story that everyone at the Horse Guards had found too good to keep to themselves and that Sir Julian Naseby had most certainly found too good to keep to himself—in London, Paul unaccountably found himself the rage. Young gentlemen offered to put him up for clubs, other young gentlemen dragged him off to this or that gambling hell (where the Captain Sharps very soon found he more than had their measure and left him severely alone), or proposed cock-fights or taking a look-in at Jackson’s boxing saloon; or accompanying him to Tattersall’s to help him choose his horses.

    Paul was far too sensible to let this flattery go to his head and indeed recognized wryly that in London he was pretty much of a giraffe. French émigrés had long been two a penny but personable Spanish-looking fellows with romantic backgrounds and money and an English baronetcy in their pockets were quite thin on the ground. He gladly renewed friendships with one, Captain Sir Noël Amory and one, Major Grey, but was very leery indeed of the professions of attachment evidenced by such as young Lord Welling, his friend Mr Truscott, and a certain M. de la Bruyère who claimed to have known Sir Harry many years since in Venice. Paul doubted that Monsieur had any right to the “de”, or indeed that La Bruyère was his real name. And whilst it was possible that he might have met Harry in Venice, it was pretty clear to Paul that it would have been in some hell: M. de la Bruyère had “Captain Sharp” written all over him. Possibly for this reason he seemed to have struck up an undying friendship with young Welling. It only needed Mr Cunninghame, really, to round the group off, reflected Paul cynically.

    But Amory and Grey were decent fellows—Amory on leave and thinking of selling out in order to run the family property, but Major Grey, for his sins, as he explained with a deprecating grimace, on duty with the Household Cavalry—not a very onerous position! They introduced Paul to their own friends, were very interested to hear his sister and cousins were in town, and upon Major Grey’s finding that he, too, had been sent a card for the Grahames’ ball, decided to accompany Paul thither. So did half their friends. Those who hadn’t received cards were sure that Mrs Grahame would receive them because they were friends of young Squiffy Grahame’s from School, or their mammas had known Mrs Grahame for an age, or dear old Paul would see them in...

    So the stunned Mrs Grahame found her little ball awash with dress uniforms and turned into one of the squeazes of the Season.

    Paul’s friends were, needless to say, enchanted with his sister and cousins. Major Grey and a Captain Lord Lucas Claveringham, indeed, nearly came to blows over Christabel, and it was only her discovering that Lord Lucas was indeed related to her grandmamma’s old friend, Lady Georgina Claveringham, that saved the day. Lord Lucas led her off in triumph, having routed his adversary with the advice that he and Miss Maddern were going to have a quiet discussion about their grandmothers and those who were but mere acquaintances need not intrude—Christabel laughing very much. Major Grey immediately went off and joined the queue for Amabel’s hand, so it was plain to be seen that he was not heart-broken.

    Meantime, Sir Noël Amory and “Squiffy” Grahame had squared up to each other over Gaetana. Sir Noël won that one quite easily because he had picked up some Spanish in the Peninsula. He won not because his Spanish was good but because it was appalling and reduced Gaetana to helpless, giggling confusion, so that she mixed up her dances and gave Sir Noël the one that was actually poor Squiffy’s. Sir Noël led her off into the dance triumphantly, promising to explain exactly how “that fellow” had got his nickname.

    Julian Naseby, who had unconsciously expected, though he was not a vain man, to be rather the lion of the little ball, was entirely taken aback to discover that he had to fight off a rabble of scarlet coats for Hildy’s hand; she was particularly taken by the hussars, though he kept assuring her they were the merest fribbles—for some reason the word reduced her to helpless giggles—and dashed nearly missed out on the supper dance.

    “I don’t know when I have had so much fun!” sighed Hildy, looking up into his face.

    “Fun with fribbles,” he said coldly.

    Hildy went into a gale of giggles.

     Sir Julian grinned. “Who was that last one?”

    “I have no notion. He said he had met Tom at Oxford. I think he must be at least seventeen!” she said naughtily.

    “Aye: downy-cheeked little fledging, wasn’t he?” he agreed.

    “Yes: I am sure he does not yet borrow his papa’s razor! squeaked Hildy ecstatically.

    The innocent Sir Julian grinned happily, without its ever crossing his mind that if she could say that about another fellow to him, what might she say about him to another fellow? Well, not until much later that night when he was at the point of removing his neckcloth, humming. The humming stopped suddenly and resumed on rather an uncertain note.

    ... “I declare, I am exhausted!” cried Mrs Maddern happily, collapsing onto her bed. “What a triumph!”

    Mason, who had been waiting up in fear and trembling, felt her knees go all funny. As she would later report to Berthe, it gave her a real turn. A real turn. –It was not absolutely clear to the household how Berthe understood such remarks as this, but it was apparent to all that she did. She rarely needed to have anything translated.

    “I know not how many gentlemen I danced with,” admitted Christabel, sinking down on her mother’s dressing-table stool.

    “Every dance!” said Mrs Maddern ecstatically. “My dearest one, your blue gauze was a triumph! Said I not it would be?”

    “Sir Julian said she looked like Diana, with that crescent brooch in her hair,” said Amabel, smiling.

    “Diana Who?” said Hildy with a grin.

    “Hildy, dear!” protested Amabel.

    “Well, he would not know a Classical goddess if she stepped off her pedestal and shook hands with him: I expect he overheard someone else say it and appropriated it,” she said, still grinning.

    “Dearest child!” sighed her mother fondly.

    Hildy goggled at her.

    “My angel, did you not know Sir Julian said to me that you resembled a wood-sprite tonight? So fond!” she sighed.

    “Foolish fond, do you mean?” replied Hildy, nonetheless going very red.

    “I am persuaded he will make you an offer before the Season is out!” sighed Mrs Maddern. “Dear, dear child!”

    “On present showing she is just as likely to get an offer from Captain Lord Lucas Claveringham, or young Mr Grahame, or that very young friend of his who knows Tom,” said Christabel with a smile.

    “She! Nonsense, my dear, Captain Lord Lucas was absolutely bowled over by you!” cried her mother.

    “Yes. But then he was bowled over by Amabel and Hildy, too. I think he is an eminently bowl-overable man!” said Gaetana with a loud giggle. “Ooh, dear, is that English?”

    “I am sure it is better, at all events, than Sir Noël Amory’s Spanish!” declared Amabel significantly.

    Gaetana blushed and laughed.

    “The Guards, you know!” sighed Mrs Maddern.

    “I thought that was Major Grey?” said Hildy in confusion.

    “So did I,” admitted Amabel.

    “Well, it is no matter, Sir Noël was saying he is selling out,” she said, nodding significantly. “He has inherited a pleasant little place in Devon from his late papa.”

    The girls looked at her in some amaze.

    “That was quick,” said Hildy faintly.

    “Did he tell you, Mamma?” asked Amabel weakly.

    “Certainly! We had quite a comfortable chat, while he was waiting for a dance with dearest Gaetana!”

    “Well, your fate’s sealed,” said Hildy drily to her. “A country squire!”

    “Does not a baronet rank as a milord, then?” she said sadly. They both collapsed in giggles.

    “Run along, my dears,” said Mrs Maddern indulgently. “No—stay, Christa, dearest,” she added, as Christabel rose with the others. “Well,” she said to her as Mason removed her headdress, “all funning aside, it went off excellently well, did it not?”

    “Yes, Mamma.”

    “And how did Lord Lucas Claveringham strike you, dearest?”

    “A very pleasant gentleman, Mamma.”

    “Indeed. He would be a trifle older than the other officers, I think. I believe he is dear Lady Georgina’s eldest grandson.”

    “He cannot be, Mamma,” she said, frowning. “Not if his papa is an earl: would he not be a viscount? And I do not understand, I must confess, why Lady Georgina Claveringham calls herself so, and not Lady Hubbel.”

    “Well, she disliked extremely to be known as the Dowager Countess, my dearest, so after her husband’s death she returned to her former title. Well, she was always a trifle eccentric. –Yes, you are right, Lord Lucas must be the second son.”

    Christabel ignored this last and said: “A trifle eccentric, Mamma?”

    Mrs Maddern shifted uneasily and ordered Mason testily not to pull at her hair like that, and to help her off with her bracelets.

    “Lord Lucas said—and I do not think he was funning,” said Christabel carefully, “that it is his grandmamma’s custom to bathe in the artificial lake in the grounds of his papa’s seat,”—she swallowed—“quite unclad.”

    “Only in full summer, dearest!” she said quickly.

    Christabel goggled at her.

    “It was always a—a mania of hers,” said Mrs Maddern weakly. “I do not mean that, exactly,” she amended feebly.

    “Possibly not. But the five Black footmen?”

    “It was only one when I knew her,” said Mrs Maddern somewhat dully.

    “She goes everywhere with them. And a monkey.”

    “That was a fashion of her day! You cannot blame her for that!”

    “Hoop skirts were a fashion of your day, Mamma, but I do not see you wearing one.”

    “No-o... Well, never mind that, a man is scarcely to blame for his grandmamma!” she said briskly.

    “No, indeed,” said Christabel, smiling at her.

    “You really did like him then, dearest?”

    “Yes, very much; I do not think anyone could dislike him.” Christabel came and kissed her Mamma’s cheek. “But I should warn you,” she said naughtily, going over to the door, “that I also liked Major Grey and Captain Sir Noël Amory very much! I shall leave you, Mamma, I am persuaded you need your rest!” She went out on this.

    “Well!” said Mrs Maddern on a pleased note to Mason.

    “Yes, indeed, Miss Patty. –If that’s the Lady Georgina I recall, I’m sure I’m not surprized. Weren’t that the monkey that pulled the Prince of Wales’s wig off bang in the middle of a concert?”

    Mrs Maddern gulped. “Yes. But for Heaven’s sake do not mention it to Christabel!” she hissed.

    “Discretion, as you very well know, Miss Patty, has ever been my watchword,” her grim handmaiden replied.

    “Of course, Mason, my dear. –Oh, dear, five Black footmen!”

    “Well, maybe he ain’t inherited it. That’ll be Lord Hubbel’s family, won’t it? Deering knows them, Miss Patty, he was with his Lordship for some years in his youth. I’ll find out about this Lord Lucas.”

    “I knew I could rely on you, Mason! But do not let Deering know you are pumping him!” she said hastily.

    Mason sniffed a little. She’d like to see the London butler that was a match for her. “No, Miss Patty,” she said on a dry note. “You may be sure of that!”

    Mrs Maddern did not adjure her to find out exactly where Lord Lucas Claveringham stood in the succession. She knew Mason would, without being told. ...Christa a countess! Well, it was no more than she deserved!

    “This is awful,” said Hildy glumly.

    “Yes,” agreed Gaetana.

    “Well, it is certainly not as lively as the Grahames’ ball,” admitted Amabel.

    The girls watched dully as Christabel went down the dance with a fattish young gentleman with a squint. And she had only got him because she was the eldest and his mamma had very properly introduced her as such.

    “Almack’s is never very lively, I believe,” said Mrs Maddern faintly.

    “Mamma, this is not merely not very lively, it’s dead!” hissed Hildy.

    “Er… Well the Grahames’ ball was rather a romp, my love!” she said with an uneasy laugh.

    “I could have stayed at home and finished my book,” said Hildy crossly.

    “Never say that, Hildy!” hissed Mrs Maddern in horror.

    “I thought the nice officers would be here,” said Gaetana sadly.

    “I must admit I feared they would not,” owned Amabel with a sigh.

    “Well, Paul will dance with you as soon as he’s finished with Fatty Squinty’s sister,” said Hildy kindly, squeezing her hand.

    “Hildegarde! I’m surprized at you!” hissed her Mamma.

    Hildy sighed. “He may be a very admirable young man, Mamma. But he is not as personable as Captain Lord Lucas. Or Sir Noël. Or—”

    “The Marquis of Rockingham!” gasped Mrs Maddern, rigid as stone and turning a strange purple colour.

    “No, he isn’t personable at all,” said Hildy in amaze.

    “No! Here! There!” She gulped. “With his aunt!” she added in a strangled squeak.

    “I suppose a man may escort his— Ooh, help!” gasped Hildy. “That aunt! Girls, become invisible this instant!” she hissed.

    Gaetana and Amabel shook silently.

    “Stop it, Hildegarde, this instant,” commanded Mrs Maddern in a trembling voice. “Oh, my land, will she notice us...”

    They waited, Mrs Maddern at least in a state of trembling hope. After some time had passed Hildy said flatly: “Well, she hasn’t noticed us yet.”

    Mrs Maddern agreed sadly: “No. Who is that very young man with them? With the fair hair. Would he be Lady Lavinia’s son, I wonder?”

    “I believe it is Lord Welling,” said Gaetana in a strange voice.

    “Oh? Did not Paul mention him?”

    “Yes,” said Gaetana in a strange voice: “he encountered him in Brussels.”

    Hildy, to whom the story of the naked viscount had been purveyed, gave an agonized snort.

    “Hildy, what has come over you?” hissed Mrs Maddern.

    Gaetana said quickly: “She has been driven hysterical by the hectic excitement of Almack’s.”

    “No, by the quality of the refreshments!” gasped Hildy.

    “Yes, they are famous for them, I believe,” admitted Mrs Maddern dully.

    The girls gaped at her.

    “No, no, for their inadequacy!” she said crossly.

    “Tepid inadequacy,” corrected Hildy.

    “Tepid nullity?” suggested Gaetana.

    “Girls, please! –Oh, here is dear Paul!” she said in relief.

    Paul came up smiling and duly bore Amabel off to dance.

    ”What did he talk about, Christa?” asked Hildy after the fattish, squinting young man had returned her dutifully to her mamma.

    Christabel had a very odd expression on her face. “Mr Trotter has lately become fascinated with a—a Plan.” She swallowed.

    “For what, Christa, dear?” demanded Mrs Maddern.

    “Colonization, Mamma.”

    “What?” said Mrs Maddern.

    “Where?” asked Hildy.

    “Anywhere,” said Christabel, shutting her eyes briefly. “That is the Plan, I believe.”

    “That doesn’t sound sensible,” said Hildy, frowning.

    “I made the mistake of saying that,” she agreed.

    Hildy and Gaetana went into a smothered paroxysm. Possibly Mrs Maddern, as a proper mamma, should have reproved them, but somehow she did not find it in her heart to do so.

    ... “Thank you, Cousin, but should you not ask some other young lady?” said Christabel very weakly, after a further period had passed without excitement.

    “And leave the most beautiful young lady in the room seated by the wall?” replied Paul, shocked. “No, I could not do that, people would believe I was losing my mind!”

    Christabel smiled weakly but as her sisters and cousin were dancing and her mamma, who had found her dear Cousin Sophia and was immersed in conversation with her, was nodding hard at her, she let Paul lead her into a set.

    ... “Shall I dance with that appalling child?” groaned the Marquis.

    “Ssh!” hissed Lady Lavinia, frowning. “Poor Miss Telfer, she has not had a partner at all, after Mr Trotter.”

    “And you found her that,” he agreed.

    Lady Lavinia’s wide shoulders shook: she was not, as her erstwhile sister-in-law Anne Girardon was wont to point out to her son, without a sense of humour. “I should let you off after that,” she said with a twinkle.

    “But you won’t,” he groaned.

    “No, do be an angel.”

    “If I do, you must let poor old Lionel come to the opera with me tomorrow night.”

    “But the Revesbys’ party— Oh, very well,” she said weakly.

    ... “Shockingly flat, ain’t it, Miss Telfer?” said the Marquis desperately.

    “Oh, no, Lord Rockingham!” she whispered.

    Stalemate.

    ... “Ainsley: wonderful to see you!” said young Lord Welling with an uneasy laugh, encountering Paul in the crush for the inadequate refreshments.

    “How are you, Welling?” returned Paul without enthusiasm.

    “Oh, tolerably, y’know! I say, you seem to have found all the prettiest girls!” he said enviously.

    “Mm? Oh—they are all my relations,” said Paul with a mocking look in his eye.

    “No! I say! I say, I don’t suppose you’d introduce a fellow?”

    Paul hesitated. After all, he didn’t want to put his foot in it with polite society from his very first appearance at Almack’s. On the other hand, Welling was a worthless young fool whom he didn’t care to see dangling after his sister or his cousins. Finally he said in a voice that held a distinct chill: “I shall introduce you if you still wish me to after I have reminded you that my sister and I were in Brussels at the time you were, shortly before the late battle. The whole family is fully cognizant of precisely what took place there. Up to and including a certain moonlight encounter by a stream on the outskirts of the town. Which, just so there will be no mistake, I shall not scruple to tell you that I had the misfortune to witness.”

    “Oh—ah,” he stuttered, very red.

    At this a hard hand came down on Paul’s shoulder and a harsh voice said in his ear: “Good for you, young bantam. –I’d retire, Vernon, if I were you—unless you desire another dose of home-brewed,” he added to the crimson-faced young lord. “You’ll get an introduction to Miss Ainsley and her cousins over my dead body, is what I shan’t scruple to tell you!”

    “Sir, you are vastly unfair! For one mistake!”

    “Not for one mistake, Vernon—good God, how many of us have not had a Violet Cunninghame in our lives! No, for the manner in which you did it. And I suggest that if you wish to discuss it further we step outside.”

    “I do not wish to discuss it, Lord Rockingham,” he said through trembling lips.

    “Fancy. And don’t ‘Lord Rockingham’ me, you sound absurd. Go and pay some attention to Susan and Miss Whatsername, I believe you’re supposed to be in their party? –Who are these for?” he added to the mesmerized Paul as Welling stumbled off.

    “Oh—for Gaetana, Amabel, and Hildy, sir. How they can drink the stuff!”

    Rockingham smiled and relieved him of a glass of orgeat. “Disgusting,” he agreed. “My stepfather drinks it with milk, would you believe?”

    “Some continentals do,” agreed Paul, looking sick.

    “Keeps a damned cow behind the house. Quite idyllic, really. Roses round the doors, and so on,” he said on a dry note.

    “Really, sir?”

    “Mm. Oh, well, he’s a decent little chap, and he’s made Mamma happy. –My father was a brute,” he said abruptly.

    “I see,” said Paul, going very red.

    Rockingham took his elbow gently. “Where are they?”

    “Over here, sir. What a shocking crush it has become! Is it always like this?”

    “Don’t know: never come,” he said glumly. “My Aunt Lavinia dragged me. Husband’s indisposed.”

    “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Paul politely.

    The Marquis replied with feeling: “Not nearly as damned sorry as I am, believe you me! –Oh, my God, you’ve got one, too,” he muttered.

    “One what?” replied Paul in amazement as his Lordship goggled at Mrs Maddern’s party.

    “A turban,” he groaned.

    Paul’s slender frame shook helplessly. “Stop it!” he gasped. “It is a very dear old friend of my aunt’s.”

    “It would be. I’ve got even less excuse, my one’s me actual aunt,” he said, making a comical face.

    Paul shook helplessly again.

    “Look out: you’ll be spilling the precious fluid,” said Rockingham drily. He deserted the shaking Paul, went up to Mrs Maddern’s numbed party, said briskly: ”Good evening, ma’am: dreadful squeeze tonight, ain’t it?”—and handed the glass of orgeat to Gaetana. “Don’t thank me, I’m only a deputy,” he said.

    “Thank you—I mean—um—well, no thanks, then!” she gasped.

    “If you say ‘no thanks’, he’ll have to take it back,” said Hildy with interest, leaning forward. “He’s got you in a cleft stick, really.”

    The Marquis grinned at her. “That’s right, Miss Maddern.”

    “I’m Miss Hildegarde, actually, but I’m sure no-one could blame you for not remembering, Lord Rockingham,” said Hildy in a prim voice.

    “On the contrary, Miss Hildegarde, I remember perfectly. Rug, green bonnet, unspeakable pelisse. –Your bonnet had coquelicot ribbons on it,” he added to Gaetana.

    “Coral, sir,” she corrected numbly.

    “It was coquelicot in my day,” he replied, unmoved.

    “Pray, Lord Rockingham, will you not be seated?” faltered Mrs Maddern.

    “Thought you’d never ask, ma’am.” He took the vacant seat beside Gaetana.

    “Oh! Lord Rockingham, may I present Mrs Goodbody!” gasped Mrs Maddern.

    “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Don’t your husband ride with the Quorn?”

    “His brother, Marquis,” she faltered.

    “Know him well. Kill himself one of these days,” he said, nodding at her.

    “Y-yes, my Lord!” gasped Mrs Goodbody.

    “What is it?” asked Gaetana blankly.

    “What?” responded his Lordship.

    “This Quorn.”

    “It’s a hunt.”

    “She could not know, my Lord!” gasped Mrs Maddern.

    “Naturally,” he agreed.

    “Fox hunting is naught but the senseless slaughter of innocent animals that cannot be used for food,” announced Gaetana.

    The Marquis looked dry. “Foxes aren’t innocent. Cunning creatures. When you shoot you go after larger game, Miss Ainsley, is that it?”

    “Preferably something that has a sporting chance of shooting back, if only it were quicker off the mark,” she retorted, glaring.

    “Oh, we may all be surprized at some time!” said Paul, recovering from a stone-like-trance and handing his cousins their refreshment.

    Poor Mrs Maddern had given Gaetana a warning look which had been ignored. She gave a desperate cough and managed to croak: “Do you come to Almack’s often, Lord-Rockingham?”

    “Never.”

    Mrs Maddern winced visibly,

    “He was dragged by his aunt, dear Tia Patty,” said Paul with his charming smile. “Unlike I, I hasten to add!”

    “Is it not ‘unlike me’?” asked Gaetana, getting linguistically side-tracked.

    “Most unlike you, if you’re like most young ladies,” said Rockingham drily. “Usually can’t wait to get to the damned place. Susan—that’s my cousin—Susan actually claims to enjoy herself here.”

    “But she is a very polite-mannered young lady, sir,” said Gaetana dulcetly.

    “She would probably claim to enjoy Purgatory,” agreed Hildy.

    “You’ve met, I see.”

    “Yes, she and her Mamma were so kind as to call quite recently!” said Mrs Maddern desperately.

    “Last week,” agreed Amabel. “Unfortunately Christabel and I were out, sir, so we missed them.”

    Rockingham goggled at her.

    “Stop that, you are being deliberately provoking!” said Gaetana to him crossly.

    Cousin Sophia was looking astonished: Mrs Maddern shut her eyes for a moment.

    Paul attempted to glare at his sister without being remarked by the company. “It was most kind of Lady Lavinia.”

    The Marquis responded coolly: “Yes, weren’t it?”

    Then an awful silence fell.

    Mrs Maddern burst out: “How charmingly your cousin looks tonight, my Lord!”

    At the same time Amabel said: “Miss Dewesbury is in such looks tonight, sir!”

    And Mrs Goodbody, who had a vague idea the Marquis was fond of music, said desperately: “May we expect to see you at the opera this week, Lord Rockingham?”

    “Yes, my cousin is looking well, and you may expect to see me at the opera if you are there tomorrow, ma’am,” he replied calmly.

    “I expect you have a box,” said Hildy knowingly.

    “Quite, Miss Hildegarde.”

    “It—it is Gluck tomorrow, I believe,” ventured Mrs Goodbody.

    Rockingham returned drily: “If that is what you are hoping, ma’am, you are doomed to disappointment. It is Mozart.”

    “Oh, of course, yes! Mozart, delightful!”

    “Which piece, sir?” asked Paul with interest.

    “Così fan’ tutte. Are you amongst those who find it sadly outmoded, Mr Ainsley?”

    Paul smiled a little. “I could hardly be that, sir, for to tell you the truth I have never heard it.”

    “What was that one that Pa took us to?” asked Gaetana.

    “Um—I think that was Mozart,” he recalled with an effort, “but I forget the name.”

    “You are a musical family, I see,” said his Lordship drily.

    “Well, we have never had very much chance to be,” explained Gaetana. “Madre has taught us all to sing, however, and Paul plays the guitar.”

    “We had a harpsichord once,” added Paul, “but it was found necessary to sell it.” His dark eyes twinkled.

    “Yes. Bunch wept her eyes out and none of us could understand why,” said Gaetana, “for she could not play. But as it turned out she had installed a family of white mice inside it,” she ended serenely. Promptly Hildy went into a helpless sniggering fit.

    “When was this discovered, Miss Ainsley?” asked Rockingham, straight-faced.

   Gaetana’s eyes sparkled but she replied seriously: “To our knowledge, it was not. When the sobs became unbearable Madre finally got it out of her. But by then it was too late.”

    “But the poor baby mice!” cried Amabel in horror.

    “My dears, I am sure his Lordship does not find the topic amusing,” said Mrs Maddern weakly.

    “Well—relatively amusing, ma’am. Hardly elevating, though. Is that the sum of your musical knowledge, then?” he said on a very dry note to Gaetana.

    “More or less. I know some of the songs from the old zarzuelas. And—” she broke off.

    “And?”

    “Madre is very fond of the songs of the common people of Spain, and has taught us to sing in that style also. But that music would strike oddly on the English ear, I’m afraid.”

    “I’d like to hear it.”

    Paul put in quickly: “I am persuaded Gaetana is right, Lord Rockingham, and that you would scarcely care for the songs of the taverns and gypsy camps. I suppose one would say that the style shows the Moorish influence,” he said on a dubious note.

    “How fascinating!” said Hildy eagerly.

    “I entirely agree, Miss Hildegarde,” said his Lordship.

    “It is Francisco—Paul’s valet—whom you should hear, then, not us,” said Gaetana with a smile.

    “My love,” remonstrated Mrs Maddern faintly.

    “A singing valet? Why not, ma’am?” said the Marquis with a grin.

    Poor Mrs Maddern swallowed helplessly.

    He rose and bowed over her hand in quite the grand manner. “I shall an expect an invitation to your next musical soirée, Mrs Maddern.”

    They watched numbly as his broad-shouldered figure retreated.

    Eventually Hildy said drily: “I fear you must give a musical soirée, Mamma.”

    “What exactly is a musical soirée?” asked Gaetana dubiously.

    “It—it is an evening, with music,” replied her aunt weakly.

    “Self-evident,” murmured Hildy.

    Little elderly Mrs Goodbody was looking wistful. “I must own, a musical soirée… Do you not remember, Patty, when you and I and Wilhelmina were in our first Season and Lady Georgina’s sister-in-law gave that delightful evening with—with—well, I have forgot her name, but an Italian singer? Very fine!”

    “Oh, of course! Stay, was that not the evening when Mr Goodbody so much admired your blue taffety, my dearest Sophia?”

    “I believe it was,” owned Mrs Goodbody with a smile and a sigh.

    “Good. We’ll have a musical soirée, and gratify the Marquis of Crabapple with a performance from Francisco, The Singing Valet!” gurgled Hildy.

    “What did you call him, my dear?” asked Mrs Goodbody in astonishment.

    “Just some schoolroom nonsense, Sophia!” said Mrs Maddern hurriedly.

    “It was our parlourmaid who said it originally,” explained Hildy, “but we have all adopted it because it seems to suit him! Do you not think so, Cousin Sophia? Does he not strike you as cross as crabs?”

    Mrs Goodbody replied in astonishment: “No, my dear! Good gracious, he is a most—most attractive gentleman! You are too young to perceive it, I think!” she added with a little trill of laughter, fluffing up her shawl a little.

    Hildy rolled her eyes wildly at Gaetana and Amabel.

    “Dearest, pray remember where we are,” said Amabel in a low voice.

    “I would not call him attractive, precisely,” said Gaetana weakly, swallowing.

    “Nor I,” admitted Mrs Maddern faintly. “Those dark, scowling looks... You cannot be serious, dear Sophia!”

    Mrs Goodbody gave another little trill of laughter. “Of course I am serious! So... saturnine, is he not? He quite brings to mind those wonderful lines ‘The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold!’”

    Hildy rolled her lips very tightly together. Her cheeks got very red.

    “I agree, ma’am, he has quite a look of the dark, mysterious East,” said Paul politely. His eyes twinkled. “And his cohorts gleaming in purple and gold would have to be Lady Lavinia, that is a truly wondrous gown she has on!”

    “Dreadful boy!” cried Mrs Goodbody with a loud giggle, smacking his hand with her fan.

    At this, Hildy broke down entirely.

    “Don’t,” said Gaetana faintly.

    “Oh, dear,” said Mrs Maddern weakly;

    “Don’t laugh, Mamma,” said Amabel in a shaking voice.

    Mrs Maddern had abruptly to hide her face behind her fan. Odd wheezing noises escaped her.

    “You are all very merry,” said Christabel in a puzzled voice, coming up to them on young Mr Grahame’s arm.

    “At least we are brightening the scene,” said Paul with a twinkle.

    “Aye, flat, ain’t it? Mamma makes me come,” revealed young Mr Grahame glumly. “Present company excepted, of course, Miss Maddern!” he added in a horrified gasp.

    Hildy and Gaetana went into fresh fits.

    Mrs Maddern swallowed hard and invited Mr Grahame to be seated. Mr Grahame, however, bowed very low and solicited Miss Amabel to dance.

    “Don’t ask,” warned Paul, twinkling, as Miss Maddern sat down.

    “I have no intention of it. I at least have no ambition to make myself particular by having hysterics at Almack’s.”

    “Not hysterics, precisely,” said Hildy, blowing her nose.

    Mrs Goodbody leaned forward. “They are all being vastly silly, Christabel, my dear, because I admired Lord Rockingham’s saturnine looks. Would you not agree with me?”

    Miss Maddern’s mouth opened very slightly, but she made a quick recover and said: “I believe that dark, Byronic look is admired by many— Now what is the matter with you all?” she demanded.

    ... “What on earth were you talking about?” inquired Lady Lavinia on a weak note as Rockingham returned to his own party..

    The Marquis scratched his chin. “Er—music and white mice, mainly.”

    “Very amusing, Giles,” she said coldly.

    “No—true. I am reliably informed that one of the Ainsley children once housed some white mice in a harpsichord.”

    “That is not funny,” pronounced her Ladyship. “And if you were content to converse at that nursery level, Rockingham, I can only say must be for the first time in your life.”

    “Shall we make up a party for the opera tomorrow night?” he said abruptly.

    “I have already told you that I am promised to the Revesbys.”

    He shrugged. “Very well, Lavinia, I shall write and inform Mamma that you thwarted my conscientious attempts to carry out her wishes at every step.”

    “Kindly do not speak in riddles!” snapped his aunt.

    “Invite the Ainsleys and their damned relatives to the opera, Lavinia,” he said in a bored voice.

    “What, at such short notice? Do not be absurd.”

   He shrugged. “I dare say they may not have an engagement. Have it your own way, however.”

    There was a short pause.

    “I should very much like to go to the opera, Mamma, if—if there was to be a party,” said Susan in a small voice.

    “Maria Revesby—” Lady Lavinia broke off. After a moment she said with a frown: “At all events it is not a dinner party.”

    “No, only cards,” agreed Susan.

    “Indeed. Now explain to me, Giles, exactly how I am to walk up to the Maddern woman and invite her out of the blue to join me at the opera at a moment’s notice?”

    “Oh, not a moment’s,” he said sardonically.

    Lady Lavinia frowned. “Those girls appear a harum-scarum lot to me.”

    “They—they are very lively, Mamma,” ventured Susan.

    “Liveliness, Susan,” said her mother awfully, “is not what is required of a young woman at Almack’s Assembly Rooms.”

    “No, Mamma.”

    Lady Lavinia sighed. “I shall say— I shall say— I have no notion what I shall say! Must it be tomorrow, Giles?”

    “Mm. I have a fancy to see how Così fan’ tutte strikes the Ainsleys. Say my box is going begging but for Lionel and myself, and since they have not heard the piece they are welcome to join us,” he said heavily.

    Lady Lavinia took a deep breath. “I dare say that will have to— Where are you going?” she added sharply.

    “To say hullo to Sally Jersey. Mamma has asked me to give her respects to her. Do you have any objection?” he returned blandly.

    Lady Lavinia had several objections, none of which could be mentioned before Susan. She did not reply.

    Looking sardonic, his Lordship strolled off.

    ... “My dear, the Marquis must have asked her to invite us!” gasped Mrs Goodbody when the girls were once more dancing and Lady Lavinia, with a most gracious bow, had left them.

    Mrs Maddern looked dubious.

    “He must, my dear! It would be too much of a coincidence, otherwise!”

    “Ye-es... But if dear Lady Georgina has solicited Lady Lavinia’s interest in my girls... It is just her kindness, I expect.”

    “But it is his Lordship’s box!” insisted Mrs Goodbody excitedly.

    Mrs Maddern thought it over. “Well, that is true. But why did he not invite us, himself, if it was he who initiated the invitation?”

    “My dear Patty! Do not be absurd! A single gentleman could not possibly!” she tinkled.

    Mrs Maddern reflected silently that that laugh of Cousin Sophia’s always had been extremely irritating and it had not improved with age. Her dearest Mr Maddern, indeed, had ever maintained it had been the laugh that had driven Mr Goodbody to an early grave—

    “My dearest Patty! Think about it!” urged Sophia.

    Mrs Maddern was only too eager to believe that Sophia’s theory was correct. Because it would mean that Amabel’s earlier theory was right and the Marquis of Rockingham was interested in dearest little Gaetana! Only, common sense indicated... “Ye-es...” she murmured.

    “I am convinced it was he! After all, he is hardly the type of man who would let his aunt persuade him to something he would not wish to do!”

    “Well, no, he has not that appearance,” confessed Mrs Maddern.

    Mrs Goodbody nodded triumphantly. “Exactly!”

    “But—do you think... Well, he appeared merely slightly amused. And he did not ask Gaetana to dance,” she said sadly.

    “What does that signify? He could not take his eyes off her!” returned Mrs Goodbody, nodding portentously.

    “Oh, my dearest Sophia, if only I could be convinced you are right! It is the wish of my heart!”

    Mrs Goodbody knew that, of course. And as she had no girls of her own she was only too ready to enter wholeheartedly into her Cousin Patty’s sentiments. “We shall see tomorrow!” she beamed. She lowered her voice. ”He must marry, you know: there are no brothers, and I believe some distant cousin is the heir!”

    The two ladies looked at each other in excited speculation.