If Music Be The Food of Love ...

8

If Music Be The Food Of Love…

    “You WHAT?” roared Sir Lionel terribly over the breakfast table.

    “Pray do not make that noise, Lionel. As I said, I invited Mrs Maddern and her party to join us at the opera in Giles’s box.”

    “Ruining Così fan tutte with a parcel of chattering females?” he choked.

    “I dare say they may be music lovers,” she said without conviction.

    Her florid spouse goggled at her. “You’ve run mad, that’s what it is! Has failing to get Susan off these past two Seasons addled your brain?”

    “You are being coarse, Lionel. And it is not failure—”

    “What is it, then?” Susan’s papa enquired nastily.

    “Dear Susan has—has a particular temperament. She has not yet met any gentleman who—who would suit.”

    “Hasn’t met any who’s been idiot enough to make her an offer, you mean. Or possibly,” said Susan’s papa with awful irony, “there’s been a queue of ’em, and I haven’t noticed!”

    “It is not a subject for levity,” said Lady Lavinia repressively.

    “No, it ain’t. You sit on the girl too much, Lavinia.”

    “I do not!” she cried.

    “Yes, y’do. She’s too biddable, anyway. Give her her head a bit more.”

    “And what would she do with it, if I did?” enquired Lady Lavinia acidly.

    Sir Lionel scratched his chin. “Youve got a point, there,” he conceded.

    There was a short pause.

    “I shall—I shall encourage her to see more of the Maddern girls and Miss Ainsley,” she decided on a glum note. “They are lively girls, perhaps they will help her to come out of her shell a little.”

    Sir Lionel grunted. He poured himself some more coffee and said glumly: “Meeting ’em at the opera house, are we?”

    There was a strange pause.

    “My God,” he discovered in hollow tones, “you’ve invited ’em here!”

    “Yes,” said Lady Lavinia in a very odd voice indeed.

    He had been about to spear a piece of ham, but he goggled at her with his fork suspended. “What?”

    “I felt Giles would wish me to.”

    Sir Lionel had been about to make a rude noise but instead he just goggled. Finally he said very weakly indeed: “Eh?”

    His wife gulped. “Yes. It was at his insistence that I invited them to the opera. It was not my idea, at all.”

    Sir Lionel transferred the piece of ham very slowly to his plate and then just sat there, looking at it.

    “I think I see now,” said Lady Lavinia weakly, “why dear Anne requested me so particularly to—to take them up.”

    “He’s run mad,” he croaked.

    “She is a pretty girl,” she said weakly.

    “Oh? Bit of a dasher, eh?”

    “No. Not at all.”

    Sir Lionel coughed. “Not the Marianne Pouteney type, then?”

    She winced. “No. And please do not mention her name in front of Giles.”

    “I’m not that stupid!” he said with feeling.

    Lady Lavinia picked up a piece of bread and butter and looked at it with loathing.

    Sir Lionel ate ham in a mechanical sort of way. He drank some coffee. He put the cup down and stared blankly at his spouse.

    “It—it must be his age,” she offered. “Some men, of course, do—”

    “Go senile. Yes.”

    “You’re being ridiculous, Lionel.”

    Sir Lionel took a deep breath. “I’m being ridiculous? Seventeen and thirty-seven?”

    “I think she may be eighteen— No, very well, you have a point.”

    There was a long silence in the charming breakfast room of the Dewesburys’ town house.

    “I had thought,” said Lady Lavinia finally, “that if she was a—a sophisticated young woman, it—it would not be entirely unsuitable, in spite of the difference in their ages.”

    Sir Lionel just looked at her.

    “She is the merest child!” she said in a distressed voice. “Oh, dear!”

    “You are absolutely sure that he—uh—?”

    “Yes! It must be that, Lionel: the aunt is a provincial nobody, and the cousins are—are pretty enough but nothing remarkable. Why on earth couldn’t he have taken Lady Jane Claveringham?”

    “Dull as ditchwater.”

    “What does that signify! She is over eighteen!”

    “Over twenty-five, ain’t she?”

    Lady Lavinia shrugged impatiently. “Well, there is no point in discussing it.”

    “No.” Sir Lionel endeavoured to pour from the coffee-pot but it was empty. Looking annoyed, he rang the bell. “Um,” he said.

    “What?” replied his wife with a sigh.

    “I suppose the girl—uh—does favour him?”

    “How should I know?” she said impatiently. “And in any case, what empty-headed child of eighteen would not fancy being a marchioness?”

    “Uh—yes. May not be empty-headed?”

    “Possibly not,” said his spouse grimly. “But if empty-headed will not do it, you may be sure eighteen will!”

    Sir Lionel shook his head gloomily.

    “What are you shaking your head for?” she demanded sharply.

    “Uh—was I? I’m agreeing with you, old lady. Agreeing with you,” he said, shaking his head sadly.

    Lady Lavinia got up, looking very grim. “Pray do not address me in that absurd fashion, Lionel. –And the next time Susan insists on tricking herself out in bright pink, I should be vastly obliged if you would refrain from saying she looks very pretty in it!”

    Sir Lionel gaped at her.

    “Eighteen! He will be bored out of his mind a se’en-night after the wedding!” she said bitterly, and swept out.

    Sir Lionel scratched his chin. “Eighteen? Well, I’d give it a bit more than a se’en-night, meself,” he muttered. He thought it over. “You’re right in principle, though, old girl,” he said glumly to the closed door. “Great one for becoming bored out of his mind, old Giles.”

    “How charming you both look, Miss Ainsley—Miss Hildegarde,” said Miss Dewesbury politely.

    “Thank you. But you look much prettier, Miss Dewesbury: I wish I could wear blue,” replied Gaetana. “And I must admit that I, at least, stand before you a hybrid!”

    “A hybrid?” said Susan in bewildered tones.

    “Certainly. The dress is mine but the sea-green ribbons are my cousin Christabel’s. And the brooch,” said Gaetana, touching the piece of white Oriental jade that was pinned on a sea-green ribbon round her slender neck, “is Amabel’s.”

    The Marquis, having greeted the party briefly when they had entered, was standing with his back to the young ladies, apparently immersed in conversation with Sir Lionel and Paul, but at this he swung round and said: “A hybrid? That sounds more like a mongrel, to me!”

    Gaetana giggled. “True, sir, but it is not pretty in you to say it!”

    Hildy wrinkled her nose. “I expect if you are a belted lord you may say that sort of thing.”

    “Very true! You or I, alas, could not get away with it!” gurgled Gaetana.

    “Not in polite society, at all events,” agreed Hildy.

    Poor Susan Dewesbury was blushing very much. Her cousin shot her an amused glance but said: “The brooch is very fine. Carved white jade, is it not?”

    “Yes. Pa sent it for Amabel,” Gaetana explained.

    “Really? His taste has improved, then. And what did he send for you, Miss Hildegarde?”

    Hildy touched her seed-pearl necklet. “This. At least, Gaetana picked it out.”

    “Very appropriate. I commend your taste, Miss Ainsley.”

    “Oh, I inherited it from Harry, sir!”

    “Touché,” he said with a grin. “Looking forward to the opera?”

     “Well, I do not really know what to expect,” she confessed. “Does this opera feature a gentleman being dragged down to Hell, Lord Rockingham?”

    “Oh, it must have been Don Giovanni that you saw!” he said with a smile. “No, Miss Ainsley, it does not. It is”—he paused—“almost entirely light-hearted.”

    “Buh-but does it not have a moral message?” faltered Susan.

    “Does it?” he returned drily.

    Gaetana looked from Susan’s pink, distressed face to his Lordship’s slightly sneering, dark one and suddenly herself went very red. She put her arm through Susan’s and said: “Come and sit down on this sofa, Miss Dewesbury, and explain the story of the opera to me. For I am very ignorant, you know, and besides having seen only one opera in my life, have only ever been to the play twice! So you see, I shall be quite at a loss!”

    “I am duly snubbed,” noted the Marquis to Hildy as the two young ladies withdrew to the sofa.

    “You did ask for it,” she returned dispassionately.

    “Yes. –Is that true, do you think?” he said with a frown.

    “What Gaetana said?” He nodded, and she said: “Well, she only lies if it’s for a good cause, so I should think it might be. Besides, I don’t believe the family has ever had very much money, and she is only just out, so she probably has only been to the play twice.”

    “Mm,” he said, looking at her with a twinkle in his eye. “How many times have you been to the theatre, Miss Hildegarde?”

    “Never,” replied Hildy tranquilly. “However, I am very fond of reading Shakespeare.”

    “I see.”

    “Though in many ways I prefer Aristophanes,” she said thoughtfully.

    “What?” he croaked.

    “The Greek dramatist, sir,” said Hildegarde kindly.

    “I know who he— Good God,” he said, staring at her. Certain strange remarks dropped recently by Julian Naseby on the subjects of (a) bluestockings and (b) Julian’s own ignorance now seemed to be making sense. “Er—correct me if I am wrong, Miss Hildegarde, but I think you must be the young woman who—er—plumbed the depths of Julian Naseby’s ignorance of Classical literature quite recently.”

    “Yes,” Hildy admitted, glancing nervously over her shoulder at her mamma.

    “He may be ignorant, but he’s a good fellow,” he said casually.

    She replied politely: “I am sure he is, sir.”

    The Marquis frowned slightly. He opened his mouth to expand on the topic but at that moment Lady Lavinia’s butler entered to announce that dinner was served.

    Rockingham’s box was commodious but with the Madderns, Paul and Gaetana and Mrs Goodbody as well as himself and the Dewesburys it was rather a crush. Lady Lavinia for one sent up a silent prayer that it would not strike Mrs Maddern as odd that her party had been given a pressing invitation to round out a group that was already composed of four persons—hardly a box going begging. Unfortunately, the phrase having been repeated to Sir Lionel, it seemed to have taken his fancy, and he had trotted it out several times in the course of the evening, evidently under the impression that he was adding weight to the fiction. Lady Lavinia frankly, had she not been a lady, could have kicked him.

    The younger girls were enchanted with the lights and decorations of the opera house, and the colourful appearance of the ladies’ gowns. Even Christabel, who had not been looking forward to the evening, for of course she was aware that the invitation had added fuel to her Mamma’s misguided hopes, confessed it was a wholly delightful sight. And mentioned that although she had never before been to the opera, she had greatly enjoyed the organ music and the singing of the Abbey choir during a visit to Bath.

    The robust Sir Lionel, who was clearly much taken with Amabel’s delicate prettiness, asked her immediately: “And did you enjoy the choir and the organ, Miss Amabel?”

    Amabel agreed she had. She assured Sir Lionel that the choirboys were so sweet in their surplices, and their voices positively angelic: she had wept a little. The organ had been wonderful, of course, but so loud, she confessed at one moment she had feared the nave was about to come tumbling down about their ears!

    “That was the Bach, I think,” said Christabel.

    “Yes. It was a fugue, I think—a toccata and fugue,” said Amabel.

    Sir Lionel, immensely pleased, immediately began humming in an endeavour to hit upon the very piece.

    “My uncle is very musical,” said the Marquis in a terrifically dry voice to Mrs Maddern and Mrs Goodbody—he was seated just behind them.

    Mrs Maddern leapt where she sat. “Yes, indeed, my Lord!” she gasped.

    “A musical bumblebee,” murmured Gaetana.

    “My love!” protested Mrs Maddern faintly, though it was precisely what she had been thinking.

    “He sings quite reasonably. You must be sure and ask him to your musical soirée, Mrs Maddern,” Rockingham added.

    “My— Oh—yes, indeed,” she faltered.

    “He may have the place after Francisco, The Singing Valet!” noted Hildy gaily.

     Mrs Maddern winced.

    “Have you heard him, Miss Hildegarde?” asked the Marquis.

    “Not yet. But he has promised—” She broke off, eyeing her mother.

    “Promised to give us a concert,” said Gaetana blithely.

    “They are funning, my Lord,” said Mrs Maddern.

    “No, no, Tia Patty! Francisco was delighted to be asked. Though he said he feared his voice has gone rusty in the cold English weather!”

    “To English ears it will sound rusty anyway,” noted Paul.

    Rockingham rubbed his chin. “This becomes more and more interesting. May I join you?”

    “Well, it is only a little concert for the children and the servants, sir!” said Paul with a laugh.

    “Children, servants and good republicans,” said Gaetana, rather loudly.

    “Alas, then I cannot hope to qualify,” he noted sadly.

    “No,” she agreed pleasedly.

    Mrs Goodbody said on a desperate note: “Our dear Gaetana is always so full of fun, Lord Rockingham! –Pray tell me, who is the gentleman opposite, in the odd green coat?”

    His Lordship glanced across indifferently. “No idea. You don’t mean Julian, do you?”

    “Sir Julian Naseby?” gasped Mrs Maddern. “Oh, so it is! –He has not a green coat at all, my Lord.”

    “He was trying to be witty, Tia Patty,” said Gaetana. “Sir Julian looks very elegant. Who is the lady with him, Lord Rockingham?”

    His lordship waved to them. “The lady in mauve, Miss Ainsley, or the terrifying female in the mustard with the plumes?”

    “Well, either, but I meant the lady in mauve. She looks most agreeable.”

    “She is: that is his mamma. Lady Naseby is very musical. –Julian hasn’t a musical bone in his body. Can’t even hum in tune,” he added drily. “The mustard creature’s one of his sisters; he has—er—five, I think. All terrifying.”

    “She looks most agreeable, my Lord,” said Mrs Maddern weakly.

    “Well, she ain’t. None of ’em are, particularly. –I think little Rommie may have mentioned one or two of her aunts when we met at Mrs Parkinson’s, Miss Hildegarde?”

    “Yes, she did. They would not believe her mamma could love God more than her papa.”

    “Quite.” He shrugged a little. “One theory is she preferred the cloister to the company of her sisters-in-law, of course.”

    “That is not funny, sir,” said Hildy coldly.

    “Then why are your shoulders quivering, Miss Hildegarde? Not cold, I hope?” he added with tremendous solicitude.

    Hildy bit down hard on her lower lip and did not respond.

    In the first interval Rockingham reached silently over Gaetana’s shoulder and dropped a handkerchief into her lap.

    “Thank you,” she said, blowing hard and sniffing.

    “My love, it was not sad!” said Mrs Maddern, patting her niece’s knee.

    “No. The singing was so beautiful,” explained Gaetana, returning the handkerchief to the Marquis.

    “Good. Well, there’s more to come,” said his Lordship briskly. “Enjoying it, Mrs Goodbody?” he added.

    “Oh, indeed, my Lord! To say truth, I really prefer Mozart to Gluck!” she confessed with a little anxious titter.

    “I perceive you are a woman of taste, ma’am.”

    “He means,” said Sir Lionel with a robust laugh, “that your taste coincides with his own! –Not bad, eh, Giles?” he added.

    “No, they are doing it quite well.”

    “Quite well!” cried Gaetana indignantly. “It is positively magical, sir!”

    “Yes, indeed,” agreed Hildy, blinking and sniffing a little.

    Looking resigned, the Marquis handed on the handkerchief to her. “I’d have said it was the least magical of all Mozart’s operas,” he noted drily. “Well, perhaps excepting The Marriage of Figaro.”

    “I meant the music!” said Gaetana crossly.

    Mrs Maddern agreed: “It is very pretty, is it not?” She peered at the opposite box. “I do believe Sir Julian may be coming over here!”

    Paul, meanwhile, had been conversing politely with Miss Dewesbury and Miss Maddern. The latter had declared in a stunned voice that the music was positively ravishing. Miss Dewesbury agreed eagerly, becoming almost animated, but added that the leading soprano, a largish Italian lady, was not thought to be in such good voice as she had been last year.

    “It is not only the music: the characters are so real!” said Amabel with an astonished laugh to Sir Lionel.

    “Ah! Now! You have seized the essence of a Mozart opera there, my dear!” he said, terrifically pleased. He began to favour the company with his theories thereon.

    “Come and take a stroll with me, for the Lord’s sake, I can’t take Lionel on Mozart’s bourgeois morality,” said Rockingham abruptly to Gaetana.

    Before she could speak, Mrs Maddern said eagerly: “Yes, my love, why not take a little promenade?”

    Gaetana rose uncertainly.

    In the corridor outside the boxes Rockingham said, holding out his arm for her: “So you are enjoying it?”

    “Yes. Thank you so much for asking us.”

    “I did not ask you,” he replied. “It was my aunt.”

    “Yes, but it is your box.”

    “True. –Why do you not take my arm?” he said, frowning.

    Gaetana looked up at him shyly. “I was not sure it was the thing. I have never been alone with a gentleman before in—in society.”

    “I would not be offering you my arm if it was not the thing, Miss Ainsley,” he said with a frown.

    “Well, how was I to guess that?” replied Gaetana with a smile. The Marquis smiled reluctantly, and she took his arm.

    “Why are you wearing your cousin’s ribbons?” he demanded out of the blue.

    “What?” she said dazedly. “Oh! Well, Tia Patty got—well, rather hysterical this evening over—over our gowns, and finally Christa said I might wear these ribbons to—to pacify her.”

    “Don’t you have any ribbons of your own, then?”

    “Yes, of course. But for some strange reason Tia Patty was—was most insistent I should wear sea-green,” she murmured.

    “Why?”

    “I do not know, Lord Rockingham: it is just as much a mystery to me as is the reason for your interrogation,” she said, looking up into his face with a twinkle in her big dark eyes.

    “Oh,” he said, rather taken aback. “I beg your pardon.”

    They strolled on, the Marquis frowning, and Gaetana looking about her with interest.

    “I was afraid your relatives might not be treating you kindly,” he said abruptly.

    Gaetana stared.

    “Very well, I am a fool with a head full of Gothick notions!”

    “I did not say so,” she said weakly.

    “You did not need to say so! So you are happy with them, then?”

    “Very. It is almost like being with my own family,” she said, smiling. “And amongst sisters, perhaps you are not aware, my Lord, the sharing of such items as ribbons and trinkets is quite customary!”

    “I see,” he said with a sheepish grin.

    “And of course I have Paul.”

    “Mm. You like being a lady, then?” he said drily.

    “I did not say that,” said Gaetana cautiously.

    “Oh?”

    “Well—well, this is very pleasant: the opera, I mean. But in general young ladies seem to lead very boring, circumscribed lives. And the worst is—well, I have not seen very much of Society, of course, perhaps it is different in other circles—but the worst of it is that no-one will talk seriously!”

    “What do you want to talk seriously about?”

    “Well, for a start, I would like to know more of the English political system.”

    His Lordship goggled at her.

    “I understand that it is a constitutional monarchy, of course; but exactly what powers do the two houses have? And how do they interact?”

    “I can tell you, Miss Ainsley, but are you sure you wish to hear?”

    “There!” she replied angrily: “You are just like all the others!”

    “On the contrary, for I am quite prepared to tell you what you wish to know. But may I procure you some refreshment first?”

    “No, because it is not stupid orgeat I am thirsty for!” she said crossly.

    “I beg your pardon,” he said, lips twitching. “Well, the two houses...”

    “Thank you,” said Gaetana at last.

    “You are quite welcome. We shall not go into the Irish question at this precise moment, but if you should wish to discuss it. I am quite free—er, shall we say on Tuesday morning?”

    “Hah, hah,” said Gaetana, glaring at him.

    Rockingham began to lead her back to the box. “May I have the honour of taking you for a drive on Tuesday next, Miss Ainsley?”

    “Oh, is that what you— Well, I suppose it will be all right. Tia Patty let Hildy go for a drive with Sir Julian. I think it has to be an open carriage, or some such nonsense.”

    “I shall make sure it is an open carriage.”

    “Good. May we drive to the City?”

    “Er—the City is full of cits, Miss Ainsley.”

    “Yes. But I should like to see the great financial institutions. I did ask Paul if we might go for a tour of the Royal Mint, for I had heard it was possible, but he has been very busy. And one day we had intended to drive to the Bank of England, only… Oh, yes, that was the day that there was a crisis over the twins, and he went to see about a school for them. And besides, I think he is not truly interested.”

    “I shall arrange a tour of the Royal Mint!” declared his Lordship in a hugely fatalistic voice.

    Gaetana replied anxiously: “I did not ask you, Lord Rockingham.”

    Rockingham glanced down at her in amusement and saw with surprize that she was genuine. “Er—no, of course you did not. I shall tell your aunt it was completely my own idea,” he said weakly.

   Gaetana’s face broke into a smile. “Good! Thank you very much, sir! And thank you so much for telling me about the parliament!”

    “I think you knew most of it already,” he said feebly. “Your questions were most intelligent and informed.”

    “I did know some of it. But my knowledge was not... structured,” she said, frowning.

    “Structured. No,” he agreed weakly.

    “I shall ask you about the Irish question!” she promised, twinkling up at him.

    “I am sure you will,” he said feebly, bowing her into the box.

    Mrs Maddern had been perfectly correct and Sir Julian had, indeed, been headed for their box. After polite greetings he sat down in Rockingham’s vacated chair near Hildy. “Enjoying the opera, Miss Hildegarde?”

    “Very much! Especially when they all sing together but different tunes!” she said eagerly.

    “Er—yes. Clever, ain’t it?”

    Sir Lionel immediately broke into a disquisition on Mozart’s musical style.

    When it was over Julian said weakly: “Er—yes. Quite so, sir. Dashed illuminating. Never knew you was so musical, sir.”

    “All my husband’s family are musical,” said Lady Lavinia heavily.

    “Oh, of course, Lady Mandeville is your sister, isn’t she, sir? My mother admires her playing greatly.”

    “Yes, when my Aunt Fanny and Papa sing and play together it is really delightful!” said Susan eagerly.

    “I am sure it is, Miss Dewesbury. And do you play and sing, yourself?”

    Susan’s round, pink face fell. “I play a little, sir.”

    “She will do very well once she has practised more,” pronounced her mamma firmly.

    “Yes, Mamma,” said Susan faintly.

    Sir Julian eyed her sympathetically. “I’m sure you will! Now, me, can’t even carry a tune, y’know! Dreadful struggle we had when I was a little fellow to get a few musical notes into my noddle! Took years before poor Mamma was convinced it would never work!” He grinned cheerfully.

    “What—what instrument did you learn, Sir Julian?” faltered Miss Dewesbury.

    “Oh, the harpsichord, Miss Dewesbury. Though the right word isn’t learn!” he said with a chuckle. “Mamma has always been very fond of the harpsichord—plays herself, y’know.”

    At the word “harpsichord” Mrs Maddern had given Hildegarde a warning look. She swallowed, and said nothing.

    Mrs Goodbody was agreeing: “Yes, indeed, one has heard of Lady Naseby’s musicianship!”

    “Delightful,” agreed Sir Lionel. “Touch like an angel,” he assured the company. “Ought to encourage her more,” he said to Julian.

    “Er—yes, sir.”

    “You know: musical soirées, that sort of thing! Not enough of that sort of party around these days,” he grumbled. “Sometimes I think Prinny’s the only man left in Society who appreciates decent playing when he hears it!”

    “Yes, His Royal Highness is most musical,” agreed Lady Lavinia with no evidence of enthusiasm.

    “Reminds me, you removin’ to Brighton this summer?” demanded Sir Lionel of Julian.

    “No, Giles has invited us to Daynesford Place for the summer months, sir. My mother is quite keen for the little girls to get some country air. Had the measles in the house, y’know,” he said on a glum note.

    “Oh, aye: I was forgetting you were a family man,” said Sir Lionel cheerfully.

    “The measles, Sir Julian? Not dear little Romula, I trust?” asked Mrs Maddern.

    “Oh, Lord, no, ma’am! Had ’em years ago! No, it was little Tabby—the youngest. Covered in ’em, ma’am! Frightful sight! Poor little thing,” he said, shaking his head. “Bit pulled since, y’know.”

    “I would certainly not recommend the bustle of Brighton, then, Sir Julian,” said Lady Lavinia in some concern.

    “Actually Mamma thought she might take her for a couple of weeks to Bath once the weather is warmer, and go on to Daynesford Place from there. My Aunt Agatha is settled in Bath now, y’know.”

    “Oh, of course! And how is dear Mrs Hallam?”

    Julian responded politely and in answer to Lady Lavinia’s further enquiries after his aunt’s family revealed that the girls were not old enough to be out yet and that the elder two were still at Miss Blake’s seminary.

    “There, now!” said Mrs Maddern with a little nod at her daughters.

    “Went there, did you?” said Julian to Hildy.

    “Not I, sir, but Christa and Amabel did.”

    “Indeed?” said Lady Lavinia with evident approval.

    “Yes. My husband’s uncle, Mr Hildebrand Maddern, was so obliging as to insist on sending them,” said Mrs Maddern.

    “Old Hildebrand Maddern?” asked Sir Lionel with interest. “He was a friend of m’father’s, ma’am. Is he still living?”

    Mrs Maddern explained that he was, but he lived very much retired—actually very near to Bath, and…

    Sir Julian eventually rose to take his leave, conveying an invitation from his Mamma to Hildy to join them in their box during the next interval, if she would care to. Hildy went very red and looked anxiously at her mother. Mrs Maddern promptly accepted with great expressions of gratitude.

    “What a charming gentleman he is, to be sure!” she said pleasedly, scarce thirty second after he had left them.

    “Yes, indeed: delightful!” agreed Mrs Goodbody. “Such easy manners!”

    “A very pleasant fellow, in spite of that harum-scarum manner. And I believe truly devoted to his little girls,” pronounced Lady Lavinia.

    “Yes, indeed!” said Mrs Maddern eagerly, “Why, when we encountered him and Lord Rockingham at Tunbridge Wells they had his little Romula with them, just fancy, as her governess was indisposed! Now, it is not every gentleman who would care to encumber himself with a child on such an expedition!”

    “No, indeed,” said Lady Lavinia in a hollow voice, endeavouring to ignore the fact that her husband was rolling a startled eye at her. “Tunbridge Wells, did you say, Mrs Maddern?”

    “Yes, indeed, Lady Lavinia! We live but a short drive from there, and my oldest friend, Mrs Parkinson, removed there but two years since!”

    “A little more, Mamma. Baby Catherine is one year old now,” Christabel reminded her.

    “Baby Catherine, Miss Maddern?” faltered Lady Lavinia.

    “Mrs Parkinson’s granddaughter, ma’am,” explained Christabel with a smile.

    “She is the dearest little thing! And so bright!” said Amabel enthusiastically.

    “I am sure,” agreed Lady Lavinia in a strangled voice, as her husband again rolled his eyes at her.

    Holding tightly to Sir Julian’s arm as he led her from the box, Hildy looked around her with bright-eyed interest.

    “Crush, ain’t it?” he said. “Only come because Mamma drags me, y’know. Not a musical fellow,” he confessed.

    “No, I realize that, sir. I am afraid you must be very bored.”

   Sir Julian considered this. “Not all that. Quite a lively piece, isn’t it? Well, I’d rather be at the play, of course.”

    “Would you? I have never seen a play.”

    “Then possibly we should make up a party!” he said eagerly.

    “I would very much like that,” said Hildy, blushing.

    “Good, I shall ask Mamma to invite you all.”

    She blushed again. “Would that be the—the thing, Sir Julian?”

    “Mm? Oh, of course!” he said in amusement. “Why not?”

    “Your Mamma does not know us.”

    “Never mind, she soon will! –Busy, of course. But she enjoys a play. Well, don’t approve of some of the stuff we get nowadays. Didn’t think much of The Fatal Marriage—took her to that last year. Well, didn’t think much of it, myself. S’pose Miss O’Neill’s very fine. Don’t care for those Grecian looks, to tell you the truth.”

    “No, sir,” said Hildy in mystification.

    “Come along, round this way!” he said cheerfully.

    Hildy clung tightly to his arm.

    “Don’t worry: I won’t lose you!” he said with a chuckle.

    “No,” replied Hildy in a tiny voice. Somehow Sir Julian, in the crowd of fashionables at the opera house, seemed very much more grown up and more imposing and altogether less approachable than he had at their little dance.”

    “Oh: there are some ladies!” she saw in some relief as they made their way amongst the press of evening coats.

    He gave a strangled cough. “Tend to—uh—happen across such creatures in places like this, y’know. Just ignore ’em, that’s the ticket!”

    “Oh,” said Hildy, very puzzled. “Oh!” she said in pleased enlightenment. “Are they courtesans, sir?”

    “Uh—yes. Don’t say that, Miss Hildegarde. Not the done thing,” he added miserably.

    “I have never seen one before.”

    “No, and you shouldn’t be seeing ’em now! –Shouldn’t be allowed in,” he muttered, very red.

    “One cannot acquire a Classical education without knowing about such things,” she said seriously.

    “No, I suppose not,” he agreed glumly.

    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. But you may rest assured I will not mention them to your mamma.”

    Julian sighed. “Don’t think she’d mind if you did. Interested in rescuing poor unfortunate women, y’know.”

    “Is she really, sir?” she cried.

    “Mm. On committees and so forth.

    “What a strange life theirs must be,” she noted thoughtfully.

    “Yes,” said Julian in an agony of embarrassment. “Uh—best change the subject, Miss Hildegarde.”

    “Yes; I’m sorry.”

    “No, don’t be. I don’t mind.”

    “I think you do,” she said, looking up at him with a doubtful smile.

    “No, no! Er—just not used to talking about that topic with young ladies!”

    Hildy had perceived that he had a very conventional mind. “I understand, sir,” she said kindly.

    “Yes,” agreed Julian glumly. He had perceived that she did.

    Directly Julian had left the box Mrs Horsham had said: “Who on earth is this girl, Mamma?”

    Lady Naseby replied calmly: “I really have no idea, Emily. For myself, I am simply pleased that our dearest Julian is beginning to take an interest in members of the opposite sex again, at long last.”

    Emily Horsham reddened, although there had been no specific reproof in her mamma’s tone. “Yes, well, naturally one is pleased— But I have never heard of these Madderns!”

    “Neither have I,” said Lady Naseby placidly.

    Emily hesitated. “And then, if there is, as I think Julian mentioned, a connection with the Ainsley family? Considerable doubt must hang over Sir Harry Ainsley’s head!”

    Lady Naseby looked at her sideways with a twinkle in her blue eyes. “At least one has never heard that these Madderns have a grandmamma who bathes naked publicly in the company of a retinue of black footmen!”

    Mrs Horsham winced involuntarily. “Lady Jane Claveringham is a—an entirely respectable young woman, Mamma,” she said weakly.

    “Of course. And I have heard,” she said, the twinkle increasing, “that the footmen are all trained to turn their backs.”

    “Mamma!”

    “Well, nobody’s family is perfect, dearest, that is all I wished to imply,” she said, patting her daughter’s hand.

    Mrs Horsham sighed. “No. Well, look at Cousin Cyril Horsham!”

    “Quite. And Cousin Mortimer Naseby.”

    Mrs Horsham shuddered. “You are right. Though at least he has never been accused of spying for the French!”

    “No, but then possibly the French had not thought to offer him sufficient inducement.”

    Mrs Horsham bit her lip.

    “That’s better, dear!” said Lady Naseby with a little laugh. “Lady Jane is a pleasant young woman, but she would not do for Julian. –I hope you will make this little girl welcome, Emily.”

    Emily flushed. “I should not dream of doing anything else, Mamma. I am surprized you could doubt me!”

    Lady Naseby patted her hand again. “I know how very anxious you have been about dear Julian, my love. I did not mean to criticise you.”

    “No,” said Emily, slightly mollified. “Well, we have all been anxious.”

    “Yes,” she said on a little sigh.

    There was a slight pause. Lady Naseby fanned herself placidly. Mrs Horsham looked unseeingly at the colourful throng.

    “Little Rommie likes her,” said Rommie’s grandmother calmly.

    “Mamma, she is but twelve years old!”

    “Yes, but she has very sound instincts about people. Do you not remember how she said your brother-in-law’s new butler had a funny look in his eye but three weeks before he fell over, completely intoxicated?”

    “It is hardly the same case!”

    “No, but it illustrates my point,” said her mother placidly.

    Mrs Horsham frowned and did not reply.

    “Here we are at last!” said Julian with a nervous laugh. “Terrible crush tonight! Mamma, Emily, may I present Miss Hildegarde Maddern? –My mother, Lady Naseby, Miss Hildegarde, and my sister, Mrs Horsham.”

    Hildy gave a timid little curtsey.

    “Come and sit down, my dear,” said Lady Naseby, holding out a hand to her. “We are very pleased to meet you, are we not, Emily?”

    “Yes, indeed. Are you enjoying the opera, Miss Hildegarde?”

    “Very much, thank you,” said Hildy in a tiny gruff voice.

    “My dear, do you sing yourself?” said Lady Naseby, looking at her with great interest.

    “Steady on, Mamma! Only just met her, y’know!” said Julian, holding a chair for Hildy. “That’s right, Miss Hildegarde, sit there. Mamma’s looking for a contralto,” he explained glumly.

    “We have a little group of friends who sing,” said Lady Naseby with a smile. “I must confess, music is my passion! And contraltos are in such short supply!” She looked at her hopefully.

    “I see,” said Hildy. “I’m afraid I don’t sing, Lady Naseby.”

    “Well, that is a great pity.”

    “So this is your first Season, is it, my dear?” asked Mrs Horsham kindly.

    “Yes. I—I suppose I am not really quite out. Mamma and Cousin Paul thought it would be a good idea if Gaetana and I went to a few parties during what remains of the Season and—and then we are to be presented properly next year. –I’m sorry,” she said, reddening. “Gaetana is my cousin. They are living with us.”

    “So Julian has told us,” said Lady Naseby, smiling kindly at her. “It must have been very exciting for you all, to have your cousins come from the Continent!”

    “Yes,” said Hildy uncomfortably.

    “More like a shock, Mamma. They arrived complete with a French parrot which says Vive l’empereur!” said Julian with a chuckle.

    “Good gracious! How awkward!” cried Mrs Horsham.

    “Indeed!” agreed Lady Naseby with a laugh.

    “Yes. It was terrible the day the children had it downstairs and our neighbour Mrs Shallcrass came to call.”

    “Not very tolerant towards parrots,” Julian explained to his family.

    Hildy gave a startled giggle. “No!”

    “And the parrot is sadly lacking in tact,” Julian elaborated.

    “It said it before your neighbour, I presume?” said Lady Naseby, twinkling at her.

    “Yes,” she agreed, gulping.

    “However,” said Julian, now frankly grinning, “Miss Maddern is endeavouring to bring it up in the way it should go, by teaching it to say God save the King!” He broke down and had a terrible spluttering fit.

    Lady Naseby laughed so much she had to mop her eyes. Even Mrs Horsham chuckled. Hildy, very much flushed, managed to smile gamely. Lady Naseby then engaged her in gentle chat about London, and Hildy answered shyly but gratefully, thinking that Sir Julian’s mamma was not such a dragon as she had feared, and that even the terrifying mustard lady was not so bad, and not realizing that both ladies were keenly summing her up.

    Sir Julian pressed her to stay with them for the remainder of the opera, but his mother, perceiving that she was suffering an agony of shyness, kindly said that she thought Miss Hildegarde would prefer to return to her mamma’s party.

    There was a short silence as they left the box.

    “Quite a pleasant little girl,” pronounced Mrs Horsham finally.

    “Mm. Very shy—much younger than I had thought.”

    Mrs Horsham hesitated. “Did you like her, though, Mamma?”

    Lady Naseby considered her answer carefully before she spoke. “I should like to get to know her better. I think once she gets over that shyness we might see something of the sense of humour Julian assures me she possesses. –Poor child, Julian should not have mentioned the parrot: she was obviously in an agony lest we should take the creature’s imperialist sympathies the wrong way!” she added with a little laugh.

    “Yes. But then tact was never his middle name,” said his sister.

    “That is a little hard, Emily, dear: he was very nervous, himself, did you not notice?”

    Mrs Horsham had, but she had very much hoped her mother had not. “Yes, I did, actually, Mamma.”

    Lady Naseby gazed out unseeingly over the throng, what time Mrs Horsham watched her delicate profile anxiously.

    “He is rather more serious about her than I had supposed,” she said at last.

    Mrs Horsham had concluded exactly that, of course, from her brother’s nervousness, but she had very much hoped Mamma had not. “Yes,” she said shortly.

    “I had better invite the family to—to dinner or something.”

    Emily hesitated. “Would it not look too particular? I am to drive to Richmond next week with little Timmy; I had intended to take Rommie, too. If you approve it, Mamma, I shall write Miss Hildegarde inviting her to accompany us.”

    Lady Naseby squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Thank you, Emily, dear. I think that would be best. She will not be so shy of you and the children.”

    “No. And Mamma-in-law will ply her with tea and cakes and prose on about her embroidery, I do not think there is anything alarming in that!” said Emily with a smile.

    “No, indeed! Is she still working on that large tapestry piece for the sofa in the morning room?”

    “Yes, but she is getting on so fast with it that I think she will have finished it before Rommie is but a quarter way through the matching footstool cover!”

    Lady Naseby smiled. “Handwork is not dear Rommie’s forte.”

    “No. I suppose I shall have to help her with the background: I remember I always found that the most boring when I was younger.”

    “That would be very kind of you, dear. And do you find it the most boring now?” asked Lady Naseby with a twinkle in her fine blue eye.

    “No, for to tell you the truth, Mamma, I find there is considerable challenge in working the lines to be completely even,” she confessed.

    Lady Naseby had thought it might be something like that. Both the predilection and the offer rather summed up Emily’s character. She smiled, but said nothing.

    “Well, that is settled, then!” said Sir Lionel at the conclusion of the evening. “You shall come and try how you like Susan’s pianoforte, Miss Amabel!” He beamed at her.

    “I should like to, of all things. But I fear my performance will be but indifferent compared to yours, Miss Dewesbury,” said Amabel politely.

    “Nonsense, nonsense! It’s a fine instrument!” said Sir Lionel proudly.

    “It’s a wasted instrument,” noted Rockingham drily.

    “You may say what you like and I still won’t sell it you!” said Sir Lionel with a chuckle. “—Fellow’s tried everything! Insults, cajoling—offered me a fortune for it! Even tried to bribe Susan!” he added with a wink.

    “Papa!” gasped Susan in horror.

    “’Course he did. Why else would he offer to coach you, eh?”

    “Possibly because he could not bear to hear the instrument insulted,” he drawled.

    “What a horrid thing to say!” cried Gaetana.

    “I fear my cousin is right. My performance is but indifferent,” said poor Susan, blushing terribly.

    “Wait until you hear her,” agreed her father.

    Gaetana had opened her mouth again. She looked from Sir Lionel to the Marquis and back again in horror.

    “Yes. Now normally,” said Sir Lionel with satisfaction, “you wouldn’t hear me agreeing with him. Rudest man in London. And a dashed Whig, into the bargain!”

    “I know that, sir,” said Gaetana with a twinkle in her eye. “He has been explaining to me the exact position of Mr Pitt over the former American colonies.”

    “WHAT?” he cried.

    “That will do, Lionel,” said Lady Lavinia firmly. “I dare say Miss Ainsley does not wish to hear you expound your political position. And even if she does it is past time all these young ladies should be in their beds. We shall be delighted to see you and your sisters and cousin, Miss Maddern,” she said firmly, “and please ignore anything my husband may say about the pianoforte. We should love for Miss Amabel to try it.”

    “But I never criticized the piano! Best instrument in the country! That’s precisely why Giles—”

    “We know. You may tell the young ladies all about it when they come to call.”

    … “Masterly, ain’t she?” summed up Rockingham two minutes later as the Dewesburys were shepherded firmly into their carriage by Lady Lavinia.

    Gaetana giggled. “She is wonderful, sir! A collector’s item!”

    “Gaetana!” gasped Mrs Maddern in horror.

    “I’m sorry, Tia Patty, it just slipped out.”

    “Good thing, too. Can’t stand mealy-mouthed women,” said his Lordship. “Now, ma’am, about this musical soirée of yours!” he said to Mrs Maddern.

    “Buh-but, my Lord—”

    Paul came quietly up and tucked her hand in his arm. “Lord Rockingham is funning, dear Tia Patty. And unfortunately we have no instrument in the house, Lord Rockingham, so I am afraid your scheme will come to naught. But should you yourself decide to give a musical soirée,” he said with a twinkle in the dark eyes, “we should, of course, be greatly honoured to receive an invitation.”

    “Ugh. Do you play chess, Mr Ainsley?” he replied.

    “Certainly, sir.”

    “Remind me never to play with you.”

    “He usually sees several moves ahead,” agreed Gaetana. “Even Harry cannot beat him!”

    “And no-one could accuse him of not seeing several moves ahead,” the Marquis agreed smoothly. Hildy swallowed, Miss Maddern bit her lip, and even Gaetana gulped.

    “Dear Harry was ever one for games of skill,” said Mrs Maddern in a bewildered voice, looking from one to the other of them.

    Paul squeezed her hand against his side. “Yes, indeed, Tia Patty: I assure you he is even king of the spillikins table in our house.”

    “Spillikins! Why, yes, we used to play when we were children!” she cried.

    “Harry has often assured us of that. –Ah: here is our carriage.” He held out his hand to Lord Rockingham. “Thank you for a delightful evening, my Lord. I think you have converted the Ainsleys to a love of opera!”

    “And the Madderns!” said Hildy eagerly.

    “Yes, indeed,” agreed Miss Maddern, smiling. “It was a wonderful experience, my Lord.”

    Rockingham shook Paul’s hand, looking dry. “Your father should have put you to the diplomatic service. You don’t get that from him, at all events,” he noted drily. “Do you box, Mr Ainsley?”

    “No, I abhor such rough sports, one can get hurt that way,” said Paul naughtily.

    “Fence?” returned Rockingham, his face not flickering.

    “I do fence a little, yes, sir.”

    “Good. I shall look forward to thrashing you soundly at the fencing salon, then.”

    “It will be my pleasure, sir,” bowed Paul, dark eyes dancing.

    Rockingham grinned, and, since Paul was helping Mrs Maddern, turned to give the flattered Mrs Goodbody his arm.

    “Well?” said Sir Lionel with a laugh in his voice, as their carriage set off.

    “It was quite unnecessary to criticize Susan’s playing in front of our guests!” replied his wife crossly.

    “Pooh: had to give them fair warning.”

    “I do not mind, Mamma. I know my limitations,” said Susan wearily.

    Lady Lavinia hesitated. “Yes. Well, perhaps you should try a simpler piece, my dear. Lionel, you may look one out for her,” she added threateningly.

    “Oh, very well,” he said with a sigh. “Dare say those Maddern girls will only be able to tinkle a bit, too. Didn’t they say they only had a spinet, at home?”

    “Yes,” murmured Susan.

    “Mm, well, there y’are. S’pose I’d better let Giles have the pianoforte, after all. Tell you what,” he said with a chuckle, “I’ll give it him for a wedding present!”

    “That is not amusing, Lionel,” said his wife coldly.

    “What can you mean, Papa? Cousin Giles is not to be married, is he?” said Susan in bewilderment.

    “No. Sir Lionel was funning,” said Lady Lavinia majestically.

    “Rubbish! Couldn’t take his eyes off her!”

    “Off whom, Papa?”

    “Eh? Don’t tell me you didn’t notice, child!”

    “No,” said Susan faintly.

    “Lionel—”

    “Off that little Ainsley chit, that’s who! Taking little thing, ain’t she? What’s more, she can stand up to him! There’ll be a few battles royal before that pair are sorted out!” he said with a chuckle.

    “Miss Ainsley?” gasped Susan. “But she’s only just out, Papa!”

    Lady Lavinia drew a deep breath.

    “Yes, well, that’s what I thought, before I met her,” continued Susan’s misguided progenitor. “But it sticks out a mile she’ll handle Giles with both hands tied behind her back!” He chuckled again. “He’s met his match at long last! Never thought I’d see the day! ‘What a horrid thing to say’ she ups and says to his face! And earlier—did you hear her refusin’ to invite him to hear the dashed valet sing? ‘Children, servants and good republicans’ she says. And he says he won’t qualify, hopin’ to put her to the blush, and she ups and agrees with him, cool as you please!” He went into a prolonged rumble of laughter.

    “Miss Ainsley’s manners are certainly rather free, for a girl who is scarcely out,” pronounced Lady Lavinia grimly.

    “Mamma, she was just funning,” murmured Susan.

    “Aye! She can handle him!” gasped Sir Lionel. “And did you see her give him the cold-shoulder before dinner when he was rude to Susan, here? Never seen anything like it! Walked off and left him flat! Standing there with his mouth agape like a gudgeon!”

    “Yes, well, I certainly was pleased to see that someone was taking Susan’s side,” said Lady Lavinia pointedly.

    “Eh? Now, look, Lavinia, if you didn’t force the girl into playing pieces she can’t handle—”

    “I have said! She had best stick to simpler pieces!” she snapped.

    “Thank you, Mamma,” said Susan faintly.

    “Good,” said Sir Lionel simply. In the dimness of the carriage Lady Lavinia glared at him, but he pretended he hadn’t noticed. “Now, I’ll tell you what!” he said. “If no-one else will give a musical evening, I’ll give one meself! Don’t know why I didn’t think of it before! We’ll have Lady Naseby, of course. S’pose we’ll have to have Julian, though the fellow will probably make a dashed nuisance of himself, try to talk all through the pieces, like as not—and must have the little Maddern girls, they’ll enjoy it! Giles, of course, goes without sayin’, and I’ll get the fellow to play, too, count on me! Um—and let’s see… I could get Prinny,” he said on a hopeful note.

    “No,” said Lady Lavinia instantly.

    “Lavinia, if Giles is to play, he’ll want to come, no question!”

    “No. Not with all those young girls in the house.”

    “He ain’t that bad! Not a loose screw, y’know!”

    Lady Lavinia took a deep breath. “Oblige me by not using that expression in front of Susan, Sir Lionel.”

    “Mm? Oh—sorry. Forgot you was there,” he said to his eldest daughter.

    Both her parents frequently did: they were not yet used to having a grown-up daughter with them. “Yes, Papa,” said Susan humbly, trying not to wonder what a loose screw was, since it was obviously something she shouldn’t have heard.

    “In any case, Giles does not care for His Royal Highness,” Lady Lavinia reminded her husband coldly.

    “Don’t know that I care for him, if you put it that way!” He rubbed his chin. “Don’t know that anyone does. Well, Mrs Fitzherbert, poor thing. But—”

    “That is enough! We will not invite the Prince Regent!”

    “But the poor fellow was sayin’ only the other day he never gets any decent music! He’s harmless enough, Lavinia. I’ll keep an eye on him!”

    “No. You know what happened at Brighton when he inveigled Lady Jane Claveringham into the conservatory!”

    Sir Lionel shook all over.

    “The poor girl was in hysterics!” she snapped.

    “Aye, and Prinny wasn’t much better! Damn’ fool should have known better, a straight-laced little chit like— Oh, aye,” he recognized, eyeing his daughter. “’Nuff said.”

    “Quite. Well, all I can say is,” burst out Lady Lavinia, “it quite serves Lady Hubbel out for throwing the poor girl at the Duke of York!”

    “Aye. Thought she’d catch Giles, missed out there, set her cap higher, missed out there, too. There’s the Princess Charlotte between him and the succession. And encouraging the poor girl to cosy up to Prinny is no way to York’s heart!” he said with satisfaction.

    “I—I thought the Duke of York was already married?” faltered Susan.

    “They never see each other. But as I say, it’s not likely.”

    “No, Papa,” said Susan humbly.

    “Well, Prinny’s out, then,” decided Sir Lionel.

    “What? Oh, for this—this musical evening. Must we?” said Lady Lavinia glumly.

    “Yes. You needn’t come!” he choked.

    “Very amusing. Well, it will be pleasant to see Lady Naseby again.”

    “Mm. Might get La D’Angelica to sing, too!”

    “Papa, I believe she is very booked up for the Season.”

    Sir Lionel snorted. “Offer her twice the usual fee: then we’ll see about booked up for the Season! –Yes, be a nice little evening. Hire a decent quartet, too! Here, what about some of this Beethoven fellow’s stuff, eh?” he said to his daughter.

    Lady Lavinia sighed.