In Eclipse

12

In Eclipse

    “Perhaps it is but a—a ruse,” said Fliss fearfully, looking at the posy of roses with which Viscount Harpingdon had presented Alfreda on the occasion of his calling to inform the Parkers and their hosts that he had to leave London for a little: his papa was not well.

    Two weeks had passed since the date of the Gratton-Gordon ball: the weather was very much warmer, the Season was at its height, everything was sprig muslins, light shawls and charming summer bonnets—and Society was virtually ignoring the Parkers.

    “Why should it be a ruse, pray?” said Mrs Parker sharply.

    Fliss swallowed and looked plaintively at her.

    “Possibly Lord Blefford is not ill at all, and—and Cousin Christian is but looking for an excuse not to call,” explained Dimity nervously.

    “No!” cried Henry angrily. “He isn’t like that!”

    There was a short pause. Everyone was looking at Alfreda.

    “No,” she said in a low voice. “He is not that sort of gentleman.”

    “It is certainly a lovely posy,” said Fliss, fingering the silky crimson blooms in envy. “And Aden has always said that Harpy is the most decent fellow he knows.”

    Mrs Parker did not reprove her for quoting her brother’s exact words: she was too disturbed. “Of course. I am sure there can be no question— And then, his attentions have been most marked, my love! Most marked!” she said brightly to Alfreda.

    Miss Parker flushed up very much and replied in a low voice: “Mamma, if you will excuse me, I have a slight headache. Fliss, pluh-please may I—”

    “Oh! I am sorry, dearest Alfreda!” gasped Fliss, jumping up with the flowers and giving them to her. “Here! Please: allow me!” She opened the door for her.

    Alfreda smiled wanly and went out with lowered head.

    Fliss closed the door and turned with angry tears in her eyes. “There! She scarce believes it, either! And I am sure it would not be surprizing if he were to drop us, for everyone else has!”

    Dimity blew her nose crossly. “Yes. And I am persuaded it is because of something Henry has done!”

    “I haven’t!” she cried.

    “Girls, please!” cried Mrs Parker.

    There was a short silence. Dimity looked resentfully at Henry. Henry looked injured, but also flushed and angry, so that Mrs Parker could not for the life of her tell if it was injured innocence or red-faced guilt. Fliss was wiping her eyes surreptitiously.

    “Dear Felicity, pray do not,” said Mrs Parker eventually. “Whatever it is, it—it does not seem to be directed specifically at you or your mamma, at all events.”

    “No: Mrs Brinsley-Pugh cut me and Alfreda the other day but nodded most graciously at you and Lady Tarlington,” agreed Dimity.

    “Mrs Brinsley-Pugh is the greatest cat in nature and I hate her!” cried Fliss. “And I do not care if all the cats in London cut me, but I thought Cousin Harpingdon was better than that, and I was sure he was going to make dearest Alfreda a viscountess, and now it is all spoiled!” She burst into noisy tears and collapsed onto a sofa.

    Dimity bounced up and ran to sit beside her. “Don’t cry, Fliss. It—it may still happen.”

    “Aunt—Blefford—hates—her!” she sobbed.

    They blenched. This was to all appearances true. Lady Blefford had been present at Gwendolyn Dewesbury’s ball two nights since and had cut Alfreda dead.

    “If he truly loves Alfreda and is even half of a man, he will stand up to his mother!” cried Henry angrily. “Will he not, Mamma?”

    Mrs Parker looked at her in distress. The more so as she had not failed to notice that in the wake of Theo’s marked attentions to Lady May Claveringham at the Gratton-Gordon ball, Lady Hubbel had forbidden her daughters to continue to ride out with the Dewesbury and Parker party. And that shortly after that, Theo had left London to return to his country parish, even though it was well before his vicar expected him back.

    “A—a dutiful son or daughter must take account of their mamma’s wishes, my love.”

    Henry’s lower lip trembled. “What if it is his whole happiness at stake, though, Mamma?”

    Mrs Parker clasped her hands together very tightly. “Dearest, I am sure Alfreda would not wish to be the cause of trouble between Lord Harpingdon and his parents.”

    “But Aunt Venetia,” cried Fliss tearfully, “they are the horridest things!”

    Mrs Parker swallowed. “You must not say that sort of thing, Felicity, my love.”

    “No: even if it is true,” said Dimity with a sigh, kissing her cheek. “Don’t cry, Fliss.”

    Fliss sniffed, and wiped away a tear. “I thought that if she married Cousin Harpingdon she would be fixed in London at least for the Season and—and perhaps I might stay with them. Or at least see something of them. And Cousin Rupert tells me they have splendid times when it is just them down at Harpingdon Manor, only Mamma will not permit me to go, because Harpingdon has not a hostess. And if Alfreda does not marry him, she will go away into the country again and I will never see her, and—and everything will be horrid again! And Aden has told me I am a flighty empty-head, and he will not have me in his house if I live to be an hundred, and—and I hate it with Mamma!”

    “Hush, my dear,” said Mrs Parker with a troubled look.

    “Cousin Aden is in a very bad mood,” said Henry uncertainly.

    Fliss gulped and blew her nose. “Aunt Venetia, if I promise to be very good, might I come back with you to your house this summer?”

    “But you’ll miss all the Brighton parties!” gasped Dimity.

    “It will be all horrid card parties, or musical soirées, because the Prince Regent likes music, and I will have no-one to talk to! Oh, could I not, Aunt Venetia?”

    “I suppose I could bunk in with Lucy and Daniel,” Henry offered helpfully.

    “My dear Felicity,” said Mrs Parker, in some distress: “I fear it is not to be thought of: your mamma wishes you to accompany her to Brighton.”

    “But I cannot like any of the young men she expects me to like, and—and she will desert me all evening, if it is to be cards!” There was undoubtedly some truth in this. Mrs Parker bit her lip. “Or else she will not take me at all,” ended Fliss dolefully. The Parkers could all see that this was not an unlikely scenario, either.

    After a moment Dimity said hopefully: “I suppose Mr George Quayle-Sturt is not wholly unlikable, Fliss.”

    “But I don’t want to marry him! And I am sure he does not wish to marry me: he admires Henry!”

    There was a short silence. The girls were looking at Henry. Henry’s cheeks were very red.

    “Go on,” prompted Dimity.

    “He said to me that he did not care what people were saying, and I might rest assured it would not count with him, Mamma,” Henry admitted.

    “Yes, but he didn’t say what,” explained Dimity.

    Mrs Parker took a deep breath. “Henrietta, if it is something you have done, you had best tell me now.”

    “No! Truly I have not done anything, Mamma! Um—well, I said to Ensign Claud Quayle-Sturt he had best consult Lord Rupert Narrowmine if he wished to know about ordnance, but… Um, and I said to Captain Sir Peter Wainwright that his pair was not half so fine as Mr Bobby Amory’s and I would wager a sixpence that he could not drive tandem to save his life, but he only laughed! I am sure he understood it was a joke! Um... I can’t think of anything else. Um, well, Gwendolyn and I designed to pin a notice saying ‘TEA’ to Mr Tobias Vane’s coat, only we could not see how to manage it, so it came to naught. And—and Captain Dewesbury knew, but... Do you think he has spread it about?” she said in a small voice.

    Ignoring the fact that Dimity and Fliss were now choking ecstatically, Mrs Parker said on a majestic note: “Nonsense, my love! If anyone had come to hear of it they would have thought it nothing but a silly little girl’s trick! That would not have caused... Henry, my love, if you walked—or drove, or caused a gentleman to drive you—down St James’s, you had best make a clean breast of it!”

    “Ugh: past the clubs? I would not care to be quizzed by all those horrid old men in their silly bow-windows! No, of course I did not, Mamma!”

    Mrs Parker sighed deeply. She had not really thought so.

    “You didn’t sit out aside with an ineligible gentleman, did you?” ventured Fliss cautiously.

    “No! I have never sat out with anybody, aside! And when Lord Curwellion tried to talk to me, Cousin Aden came and— Help! Was it that?” she gasped.

    There was a short silence.

    “It cannot have been: you were in full view of the room, and you were not with him for more than five minutes,” said Mrs Parker.

    “No,” they agreed in relief.

    “No. Are—are you sure it’s me, Mamma?” said Henry on a doleful note.

    “Yes,” said Dimity simply.

    “Hush, my dear! I— Well, all I can say is, Henry, that though they are cutting all of us, and even poor little Fliss and Lady Tarlington, they—they—”

    “Are cutting me most,” said Henry grimly. “I see.” She got up and walked out.

    “Oh, dear!” cried Mrs Parker.

    The two girls looked at each other uncertainly.

    “We-ell... Perhaps she will take Mr George Quayle-Sturt, after this,” ventured Dimity.

    “Dimity,” objected Fliss, “she said he was a bore with a head filled with a vast  space in which there floated a little notice saying: ‘Dreadful squeaze, Miss—Blank—ain’t it?’”

    Mrs Parker coughed. “I am sure he is a very worthy young man.”

    “Ensign Claud is ignoring us,” noted Fliss.

    “He is a stupid white mouse like the brothers Lilywhite!” cried Dimity loudly.

    Fliss’s mouth tightened. “Yes. Well, they are certainly ignoring us. We did not tell you, Aunt Venetia, but Lilywhite Minimus came round a corner when we were in the Park yesterday with Cousin Ludo, and he turned on his heel the minute he saw us and hurried away!”

    “Ran away,” corrected Dimity grimly.

    “And as for Porky and Pooter Potter—!” said Fliss in vengeful tones.

    “Now, girls—”

    “Aunt Venetia, Porky Potter sits out aside with horrid young men like Mr Edward Claveringham and she is not shunned, and so why is poor Henry?” cried Fliss.

    “Exactly!” said Dimity.

    Mrs Parker was driven to blow her nose. “I am sure I do not know. Alfreda tells me she has been so good, in London!”

    “She has!” declared Dimity fervently.

    “Yes, indeed!” cried Fliss.

    A tear trickled down Mrs Parker’s cheek. “Yester morning I was riding in the barouche with dear Lettice, and another carriage came towards us, and we saw it was Lady Hubbel with Lady Jane Claveringham, and—and— I have never been so deliberately cut! And poor Lady Jane looked as if she could sink!”

    “Mamma has never liked Lady Hubbel: she will not care for that!” said Fliss sturdily. “And besides, Lady Hubbel is jealous because Alfreda has taken Cousin Harpingdon away from Lady Jane!”

    Mrs Parker blew her nose, and nodded.

    “And I am sure dearest Cousin Theo is good enough for anyone, even a stupid Claveringham!” added Dimity, very loudly.

    “Oh, dear! I cannot bear it!” cried Mrs Parker loudly, bursting into sobs. “What—have we—done—to deserve—it?”

    The girls looked at each other in horror and did their best to comfort her, but finally had to have recourse to Lady Tarlington’s maid, and the smelling-salts.

    Not quite all of London Society was shunning the Parkers. However, if opinion was divided, it was true it was divided unequally. Whether it was the portionless Miss Parker’s having attracted a viscount to her train, not to mention having monopolized the popular Mr Bobby Amory for weeks on end, not to mention having then cruelly dropped Mr Bobby the moment Lord Harpingdon appeared on her horizon, or whether it was the fact of the twin stars’, portionless though one of them was, having very much outshone all the other débutantes this Season, or whether it was that Society felt itself to have been taken in by a family of hoydenish Misses—for the story had got muddled in the telling and besides, if one of the Parkers could behave like that, it must be indicative— Or whether it was a combination of all these factors... Suffice it to say, many mammas and disgruntled daughters had sufficient reason to feel a grudge against Miss Parker and the twin stars. And sufficient gentlemen, young and not so young, had reason to feel slighted. Or deceived as to the Parker girls’ true nature. Or just plain foolish. Ensign Claud had not needed his mamma’s inevitable harangue to make him regret he had ever paid so much attention to the Miss Parkers: he had gone home and glumly totted up the sum total spent on flowers these last months, not to say on new gloves for dashed Almack’s, and such similar items. Thrown away!

    Then, sufficient ladies disliked Lady Tarlington sufficiently to be not displeased at being able to throw a rub in the way of her plans for marrying off all four girls from under her roof this Season. Since her Ladyship had not mentioned to above two or three very close friends that she designed such a signal triumph, how that story had got about was a mystery. And certainly she had not boasted to above four or at the most five very close connections of the little twin stars’ having taken the town by storm.

    And there were, of course, other persons—or perhaps the same persons—who for various reasons desired either to continue to bask in the bleak sun of Lady Blefford’s august approval, or to keep very much in Lady Hubbel’s good books; or, indeed, both.

    The fact that certain quite other persons, all of the male sex, loudly applauded the little Dark Star’s shocking conduct and went round telling it all over London, quizzing her whenever she appeared in public, and flocking to stand in line for her hand at balls had, of course, only the effect of making the matrons more determined to shun her.

    Persons of good sense and kind hearts did not take this attitude, but they were, alas, in the minority.

    Lady Lavinia Dewesbury, who had very much good sense and, under considerable starch, a kind heart also, ranged herself with the minority. As also did Sir Lionel. Or, more accurately, Sir Lionel said over the breakfast table: “I say, I heard a dashed amusin’ story about the little twin stars at White’s last ni— Er, sorry, old girl,” as her majestic blue eye encountered his. “Heard it already, has you? Dare sav it is all a hum.”

    Lady Lavinia took a deep breath. “I believe I have asked you before, Sir Lionel, not to address me by that absurd appellation.”

    The baronet looked abashed.

    “I have, indeed, already heard the story to which I collect you must refer.”—Lady Lavinia took a bread roll.—“Once from Lady Hubbel at the Gratton-Gordon ball.”—Sir Lionel winced.—“And a second time from Lady Blefford, two days since.”—The genial baronet gulped.—“Perhaps I do not need to add, that schoolgirlish pranks do not amuse me.”

    “No,” he said glumly.

    Lady Lavinia helped herself to butter. “On the other hand, I am sure I do not need to remind you that many girls will get up to silly but harmless pranks before they are brought out; I dare say Miss Henrietta Parker is no exception.”—Sir Lionel looked at her hopefully.—“As I told Lady Hubbel.”—Lady Lavinia took a bite of her roll, and chewed it slowly.—“And Lady Blefford,” she said, swallowing.

    “By George, did you?” he said dazedly. “Well done, me dear!”

    “Thank you,” she said majestically.

    “So—uh—so Gwennie may still ride out with them?”

    Lady Lavinia had taken another bite of her roll. She chewed without hurry and then announced: “I have not observed the slightest sign of hoydenish conduct in any of the Parker girls since they came to town. Miss Parker herself is all that is proper. And if she should have decided that she prefers Harpingdon to Bobby Amory or Wilfred Rowbotham, I for one do not consider such a choice to indicate any ambition other than that of allying herself with a man of excellent sense and true probity.”

    “Uh—quite!” he gulped. “Oh, absolutely: mm!”

    “The little twin stars are but children, still, but they conduct themselves in a pleasing enough manner. And if Miss Dimity and her friend Miss Tarlington are apt to giggle in the presence of gentlemen, Miss Henrietta is not. And none of the three either flirts unbecomingly or indulges in such practices as I have observed in, to name but one, Miss Potter.”—That was it for Porky Potter, then, concluded Sir Lionel. Though he had more sense than to say it.—“Certainly I shall permit Gwendolyn to ride out with them,” her Ladyship concluded. “You may carve me a little ham, if you would, Lionel.”

    Beaming, the baronet carved her a generous portion of ham.

    So Lady Lavinia did not cut the Parkers and their hostess, and nor did the kind-hearted Lady Sefton. But as the summer approached, many doors were closed to them, and the Parker girls’ usual train of admirers dwindled to a number that could have been counted on the fingers of one hand. Mr George-Quayle-Sturt remained gloomily faithful to Henry. Captain Lord Vyvyan Gratton-Gordon was paying a wistful sort of court to Dimity, which indicated as clearly as if he had had it written on his forehead that his family, in spite of her fortune, had forbidden him to do any such thing. Captain Lord Rupert Narrowmine was constantly in attendance either on Henry or Dimity, he did not seem to care which, the which was rather sad, for the cousins had now perceived that of all their gentlemen acquaintances it was Lord Rupert whom Fliss seemed to prefer. And Mr Rowbotham was continuing to pay court to Alfreda, though in a mournful way which indicated that he was not very hopeful of success. Mr Tobias Vane also remained faithful, regularly calling on the afternoon which had become his. He sighed rather often and looked sadly, but apart from that his demeanour was unchanged, and he talked as much of dishes he had enjoyed and of the merits of various teas as ever, so the girls could not decide, really, if the sighs were for his waning hopes of Alfreda’s hand or their supposed crimes against London Society.

    Had it not been for their rides with Gwendolyn, the girls would have found it very difficult indeed to support their time of trial, the more so as nobody would tell them what they had done! Unfortunately Ludo was no longer in town, his papa having insisted he return home to pursue his studies, or they might have interrogated him, though Dimity did note bitterly that as he went about with his eyes closed to anything that was not a horse, he probably knew nothing in any case. Fliss endeavoured to interrogate Aden but met with a curt refusal to discuss the matter. All they could do, really, was to take the older ladies’ advice and behave as if nothing was wrong.

    Sir Lionel Dewesbury’s first musical soirée had been a great success, though it had not been a very large party, and it had rather gone to his head, and he had scattered invitations very liberally for the second. Lady Lavinia was quite a notable Tory hostess—though the Hammonds themselves were Whigs, the Dewesburys had long been prominent in Tory circles—and had besides a sufficiently large acquaintance amongst the diplomatic crowd, and as most of these people did not consider her continued patronage of the Parkers particularly worthy of note, let alone condemnation, there was a good scattering of foreign and English orders to be seen. Even Countess Lieven had not cared to alienate the Dewesburys. Lady Hubbel had hesitated: but there was the chance that Harpingdon might be there, and there was always the thought of Captain Dewesbury for May, so in the end she attended. Lady Blefford and her set, however, stayed away.

    When the evening began Gwendolyn was with her mamma and papa receiving guests but after a little escaped to her friends’ side. “So there you are!”

    “Yes,” said Henry dully.

    “Move up and make room for Miss Dewesbury, my dears,” said Mrs Parker.

    Henry and Dimity moved up on their sofa and Gwendolyn sat down next to Henry.

    “Have you heard anything?” said Henry in a lowered voice as Mrs Parker began discussing the ladies’ gowns with Lady Tarlington.

    “No. I am positive Quentin knows, however. He says it will all blow over,” she said, squeezing Henry’s hand.

    Henry sighed. “I am sure it will. But by that time, I have the melancholy conviction that I will be either dead of old age or married to Mr G. Q.-S.”

    Dimity leaned forward, making a face. “He sent her that posy and my aunt forced her to carry it!”

    “Yes,” said Henry, glaring at it. “If it were not so pretty, I would drop it accidentally!”

    It was very pretty indeed, being composed of velvety purple-blue pansies and a feathery little fern, tied up with deep blue ribbons. Gwendolyn gave a stifled giggle, but agreed she could not possibly do that: the pansies had such dear little faces!

    Fliss leaned forward: “There is quite a crush tonight, Gwennie.”

    “Yes; Mamma is quite pleased. Though Papa is disappointed that he could not get the Prince Regent.”

    The girls gulped.

    “Has he not mentioned it? His Royal Highness will come to Papa’s next evening.”

    They gulped again.

    “Countess Lieven is still cutting us!” hissed Fliss, after a moment.

    Gwendolyn made an awful face, and nodded.

    “I have tried to persuade Mamma to let me go home,” admitted Henry, “but she says there is more reason than ever to remain in London now.”

    The girls looked dubious.

    After the first set of pieces, played by a professional quartet, had been greeted with much acclaim, Gwendolyn murmured: “Is Mr G. Q.-S. becoming serious in his attentions, then, Henry?”

    “No! Ssh!” replied Henry angrily.

    “Then why is your Mamma so insistent that you must stay in town?”

    “I know not!”

    The next performer was a lady of very elegant appearance: she played beautifully on the harpsichord, and Miss Parker, who was very fond of music, quietly wiped her eyes afterwards. Mrs Parker, who was not so musical, was very struck by the lady’s appearance, and inquired of Lady Tarlington: “Who is that, my dear Lettice?”

    “Why, that is Lady Naseby, my dear; have you not met her?”

    “No, indeed. Lady Naseby? Where have I heard that name?”

    Miss Parker put her handkerchief away. “Theo mentioned her, Mamma. She is much involved in charitable works.”

    Mrs Parker looked dubiously at Lady Naseby’s beautiful silver-blue silk gown and the fine spray of diamonds in her elegantly arranged silvered fair hair. Well, it could be so, but— “No, stay! Why, she is the lady who so very kindly took an interest in your young Ogilvie cousins!”

    “Why yes, I believe that was the name,” agreed Miss Parker.

    “You will wish for an introduction, then!” decided Lady Tarlington.

    Too late, Miss Parker recollected that Lady Naseby’s kindly intervention in their Ogilvie cousins’ affairs had not turned out entirely well. “Mamma—”

    But Lady Tarlington’s bronze and gold stripes and Mrs Parker’s best lilac silk had swished off.

    “Horrors, Alfreda, did Lady Tarlington say that was Lady Naseby?” hissed Henry, leaning forward.

    Miss Parker nodded numbly.

    They watched in frozen horror…

    But all seemed to be well: Lady Naseby appeared to speak graciously to Mrs Parker.

    “Oof!” said Henry, sagging.

    Lady Tarlington and Mrs Parker returned to their seats looking very pleased with themselves, reporting that they might confidently expect to see Lady Naseby at the opera this week. The girls were silent: they had very much hoped their chaperones would think better of attending the opera.

    “Who is that very striking-looking gentleman?” asked Mrs Parker with interest as a very dark, broad-shouldered gentleman, with something of a careless, untidy appearance, though he wore merely conventional dark evening clothes, then went to the pianoforte.

    “My dear! That is Rockingham! He is Lady Lavinia’s nephew, of course. Now, where—? Ah!” She pointed out the Marchioness of Rockingham, sitting at the front of the room, but rather to the side.

    Mrs Parker frankly stared. The pretty little lady with the dark auburn curls could scarcely be half the Marquis’s age!

    “I know what you must be thinking, my love!” said Lady Tarlington with a titter: “but it isn’t so! The whole of London knows it was a love match!”

    The Marquis of Rockingham played Beethoven. Mrs Parker, frankly, would rather have been elsewhere, and from the forced smile on her face, so would Lady Tarlington. Fliss and Dimity had much ado not to fidget; so, on Henry’s far side, had Miss Dewesbury.

    “Henry, what is it?” gasped Gwennie at the conclusion of the piece.

    “Nothing,” said Henry, as the tears rolled down her cheeks. “Oh, what was it? Was it not... inexpressible?”

    Gwennie gave her her handkerchief, looking bewildered. “Papa says Cousin Rockingham is the finest exponent of Beethoven he has ever heard,” she offered feebly.

    “So that was Beethoven?” said Henry, sniffing. “I see.”

    Mrs Parker at the same time was forcing a handkerchief upon Miss Parker. Alfreda blew her nose. “Oh, Mamma, was it not wonderful!”

    “Excellent, I am sure, my love,” she quavered.

    At the front of the room Sir Lionel could be seen clapping his relative-by-marriage heartily upon the back and wringing his hand, so evidently he was of that opinion, too.

    “Only see!” said Dimity, craning her neck. “The Marchioness cried, too! And she must be used to it!”

    There was now a break in the entertainment, and conversation became general; people began to circulate and footmen began to offer trays of refreshment. Lady Lavinia did not fail to notice that Lady Tarlington deserted Mrs Parker and the girls in favour of joining some friends. She went over to them.

    “Mamma, Alfreda and Henry were positively in raptures over Cousin Giles’s performance of Beethoven!” said Gwennie immediately.

    “Indeed? I am very glad to hear it. Sir Lionel is very fond of Beethoven.”

    “It was wonderful, Lady Lavinia!” cried Henry.

    “Oh, yes! So powerful and—and yet so tender!” said Alfreda.

    “Well, my dears, if you enjoyed it so much I think you must tell Sir Lionel so: he will be very pleased. He is just over there,” she said casually.

    Well, yes, he was just over there with one of the greatest gentlemen in English Society, who had just, incidentally, been joined by his wife. However, since their hostess had bidden them to, Alfreda and Henry rose obediently.

    “I suppose it would not be the done thing for me to hold your hand?” said Henry in a hollow voice as they made their way between the chairs and groups of chattering guests towards the front of the salon. “Or am I so damned in the eyes of polite society already that it will make no difference?”

    “Ssh, my love.”

    Henry gave her an anguished look.

    Suddenly Alfreda smiled and put her arm around her sister’s waist. “Well, Sir Lionel at all events will be kind, we know! Come along, my love: ‘Once more into the breach’!”

    Muttering under her breath about preferring to make one of the English dead, Henry allowed herself to be led up to their host and the Marquis and Marchioness of Rockingham.

    When they returned to their party Mrs Parker and Lady Tarlington were chatting at a little distance with Lady Naseby, and Gwendolyn had gone off to talk to friends.

    “What is the Marquis like?” said Dimity eagerly.

    Alfreda and Henry looked at each other limply.

    “Could you talk to him at all?” shivered Fliss.

    “I am sure I could not have!” said Dimity, also shivering.

    The sisters sat down limply. “If anything, he is like Sir Lionel,” said Alfreda weakly. “That—that hearty manner.”

    “Um—yes,” gulped Henry.

    The girls stared.

    “This is a joke!” decided Dimity indignantly.

    “N— Well, he is obviously very, very intelligent: I do not think someone who was not could possibly play Beethoven like that,” said Henry. “But in manner he is—um...”

    “Hail-fellow-well-met, I think is the only way to describe it,” said Alfreda limply.

    “You mean he is sans façon?” suggested Fliss after some brow-wrinkling

    “It—it is more than that,” said Alfreda feebly.

    “Yes. He—he said he hates town life and only comes up to London to take his seat in the House of Lords or to get some decent music,” said Henry.

    After some puzzled staring the girls gave up on that. “Well, what is she like?” asked Dimity eagerly.

    “We could see she is very pretty,” said Fliss.

    “Yes. That skin...” said Alfreda. “So many red-haired persons have horrid reddish complexions, do they not? But hers is... pearl-like!”

    “Yes: like pink pearls must be, I think,” added Henry.

    “She must have greenish eyes, though?” ventured Fliss.

    “No: very dark,” said Alfreda.

    “Oh. Oh: their mother is Spanish, of course: that will be it!”

    It was Henry’s and Alfreda’s turn to stare.

    “Why, did you not know? It is she who is Bunch Ainsley’s sister!” Fliss revealed.

    “Oh,” they said weakly.

     “It is true, you see,” said Fliss on a regretful note.

    “The Marchioness must have wondered that you did not ask after her sisters. Henry,” Fliss pointed out.

    “Pooh! I am sure she did not know me from Adam!” said Henry crossly.

    “Never mind,” said Dimity quickly. “Tell us about her gown.”

    “You could see it from here,” Henry objected feebly.

    “We could, sort of, until all those people came between us,” admitted Dimity: “but not the details!”

    “It is a green gauze, I think? A very delicate shade,” said Fliss.

    “Mm. Actually, apart from the fact that hers is green, not blue, it is exactly like Alfreda’s: very simple, with but a satin sash and a plain satin underdress,” said Henry drily.

    The girls looked disbelievingly towards Alfreda.

    “Well. yes. Though I am not wearing family jewels worth a king’s ransom.”

    “Emeralds,” elaborated Henry, very dry indeed.

    “Go on!” gasped Dimity.

    “Emeralds as large as plovers’ eggs,” said Henry.

    “Henry Parker! You—you miserable teaze!” she cried.

    “Um—well, no. Not plovers’ eggs. It must be the sight of those trays circulating but not near us that has made me think of them. Really big, at all events. Surrounded by diamonds.”

    “It is a magnificent necklace. Very heavy, however, I should think,” murmured Alfreda

    “Yes. She is wearing only the necklace, not a full set. –I think the ring would be her engagement ring?”—Alfreda nodded.—“Yes. It’s an emerald, too,” said Henry with some enjoyment.

    “As big as a hen’s egg, no doubt!” cried Dimity crossly.

    “What is?” said an interested voice from behind them. Dimity leapt, and gasped.

    “Aden, you are too horrid!” cried Fliss. “And you are so late! Where have you been?”

    “Dining with Harpy. He got back to town later than he thought he might.”

    Harpingdon was quietly greeting Miss Parker, who had flushed up very much, and Fliss, who had flushed up almost as much and was looking very excited.

    “What is as big as a hen’s egg, Cousin Dimity?” pursued Mr Tarlington.

   “The Marchioness of Rockingham’s engagement ring,” she gulped.

    “Eh? Well, yes: dare say it might be!” he owned with a laugh.

    Lord Harpingdon greeted Henry and Dimity and added kindly to the latter: “It is a great emerald, is it not?”

    “Well, so Henry was saying, sir, but I have not met her Ladyship.”

    Alfreda explained: “We expressed appreciation for the Beethoven and Lady Lavinia urged us to speak to Sir Lionel of it, and, um—”

    “In short, she was so kind as to demonstrate to the whole room,” said Henry in a hard voice, “that though most of London might be cutting us, her august Hammond connexions will not.”

    “That’ll do,” said Mr Tarlington instantly. “You may come and take a turn on my arm: come along.”

    Henry was now very red. She bit her lip and nodded silently, allowing him to give her his arm. “I do not care!” she said crossly, when they had walked away a few yards. “Lord Harpingdon’s mother has cut Alfreda publicly!”

    “That meant you had to embarrass the pair of ’em, did it?” he drawled.

    After a moment Henry said in a low voice: “No. I’m sorry.”

    “So am I,” he said with a sigh. “Christian don’t need telling, you know.”

    “Does he not?” said Henry grimly. “Then what has he been at, leaving London at such a point?”

    He stared at her. “My God, you cannot have thought Christian would lie to you? Old Blefford really is ill: caught a bad dose of pleurisy last winter and it seems to have lingered. Harpy had to go down to him.”

    “Well, his wife didn’t,” said Henry grimly.

    “Don’t think she cares,” said Mr Tarlington, shrugging.

    After a horrified moment Henry said: “Persons in London Society are—are—”

    “Mm. Ain’t they?” His voice was casual but he pressed his arm into his side so that Henry’s hand was close against him. “Don’t regard them.”

    “One cannot ignore it, Cousin!” she said, now very flushed. “It—it is the result, I am persuaded, of this terrible practice of forcing young persons to marry merely for family reasons.”

    “Yes.”

    Henry looked up at him. “Cousin Aden, surely you cannot approve of the practice? Not after speaking to me so feelingly on the subject of Cousin Christian’s sad story!”

    “Did I? Er—no, I don’t approve. Though one can understand a man’s not wantin’ to see his line die out.”

    After a moment Henry, scowling ferociously, attempted to pull her hand away from his arm. Mr Tarlington, with no apparent effort, held it tight. “You will make us remarked,” he murmured.

    “I will?” she cried indignantly.

    “Hush.”

    “In any case it cannot signify, we are being shunned for no discernible reason.”

    “Mm. You—er—haven’t heard of any reason, then?”

    “No.” Henry looked up at him sharply. “You know it, though, don’t you?”

    “I think I have guessed it, yes. But oddly enough no-one has quite dared to repeat it to my face,” he said grimly.

    “But— How bad is it?” she said dazedly.

    He shrugged. “It’s nothing. It will blow over.” He glanced down at her distressed face. “Don’t look like that, Cousin. You and Miss Dimity have made the mistake of—er—taking the town by storm with nothing much to recommend you except your pretty faces. And her fortune, of course: only that hasn’t made her popular with the matchmaking mammas with daughters to get off.”

    “Balderdash,” she said, scowling. “We have not taken the town by storm!”

    “Oh? Well, something like that.” said Mr Tarlington, sounding bored. “So I have missed the Beethoven, have I?”

    “What? Oh! Yes. Lord Rockingham played. It was wonderful.”

    “Mm. I’ve heard him before.”

    “That means you do not mind missing him this time, of course!”

    “No: I very much regret having missed him this time. I am fond of music, did you not know?” He looked at her uncertainly. “There is to be a concert soon which I think you would enjoy. Shall I make up a party?”

    Henry swallowed.

    “Lost your bottle?” he said mockingly.

    “No. But I—I am afraid that although Alfreda and I would enjoy it, the others might not, sir.”

    “I see: they would drive you mad by fidgetin’ all through.”

    “Um—well, yes!” Henry admitted with a smothered laugh.

    “Mm,” he said, smiling at her. “Most unfortunately I cannot take you without a chaperone, Miss Henrietta.

    “You said you would not call me that!” she hissed.

    “Did I? Not in public, I think. But at all events, I have decided I rather like it, Miss Henrietta.”

    “You wouldn’t if you’d had to live with it all your life,” she said glumly. “Though ‘Aden’ is pretty bad, too, I have to admit.”

    Mr Tarlington’s shoulders shook silently. “Mm.”

    Henry sighed. “I do so wish it could be just us!”

    “What, at the concert?” he said. His voice trembled very slightly, but Henry did not remark it.

    “Yes,” she said glumly. “Oh, well, let’s forget it. –I hate London so much: if only I could go home!”

    Mr Tarlington’s lips tightened.

    “I miss Katy-Ann Higgins dreadfully,” she confided.

    “Oh? Some friend in the neighbourhood, is she?”

    “No!” cried Henry in amazement. “She’s my cat!”

    Mr Tarlington had to swallow. “I see. Er—I will procure you a kitten, Cousin.”

    “No! I wasn’t hinting!” she gasped.

    “I didn’t think you were.”

    Henry smiled weakly. “Well, it’s very kind of you, but I really don’t wish for a kitten. Katy-Ann Higgins is—um...”

    “Go on.”

    “I can see you want to laugh,” said Henry defiantly: “but I do not care! Very well, I will say it! Katy-Ann Higgins is a personality in her own right, and it is she whom I miss, not the fact of her—her—”

    “Catliness?”

    “Felinity!” snapped Henry.

    Mr Tarlington laughed so much he had to blow his nose after it.

    “I knew you would not understand,” said Henry without apparent animus. “Please may I have something to eat?”

    “Oh—I’m sorry: yes. I think they are handing little savouries, or some such. The supper is to be a little later. Come along, then.”

    He duly procured her a savoury and a glass of lemonade, concealing the fact that he felt a little dashed: he had understood. really. Well, more or less. And rather wishing that he hadn’t laughed. The fact that Henry seemed indifferent to this made him wish it, on the whole, more rather than less. He took her back to her mamma in silence.

    On the morrow Mrs Parker waited until she thought her hostess might be awake and then sent a message up asking if she might see her.

    Lady Tarlington was sitting up in bed in a flurry of ruffled lace and pale yellow ribbons when Mrs Parker entered her room. Mrs Parker could not repress a tiny sigh: envy, of course, was a sin, and besides, it was absurd and—and unworthy to envy the fact of another lady’s having the most beautiful of wrappers to wear of a morning... She herself would choose blue ribbons, of course, with her eyes and hair, or perhaps pink: she flattered herself her complexion could still support— Yes, well.

    “What is it, my dear Venetia?” said Lady Tarlington graciously.

    Mrs Parker sighed and sat down on a little brocade-covered chair. “I thought we had best have a talk.”

    “Have you discovered what it is?” she asked eagerly.

    “No, alas.”

    Lady Tarlington sighed heavily. The two ladies had discussed every possible peccadillo any of their girls had ever committed in London, and were agreed that none of these petty sins were even worth considering! And none of them had got up to anything particularly shocking at school, so it could not be something of that sort, either. She did not, therefore. raise these matters again, but said: “Elvira Quayle-Sturt has hinted—in the nastiest fashion: I need not say I shall drop her acquaintance entirely, my dear Venetia!—that it was something that happened before the girls came to town. And I do not see how,” she said, frowning, “but she seemed to imply that Aden had something to do with it.”

    “But we had never met him!” quavered Mrs Parker.

    “Exactly. Possibly that was mere spite. The which,” she said grimly, “would not surprize me.”

    “No,” Mrs Parker conceded limply. “Perhaps I should take the girls home.”

    “No,” she said grimly: “we must face it out. To take them home would be to admit the fault.”

    Mrs Parker swallowed. “My dear Lettice: are you quite sure? I feel it is beginning to reflect on you and dear little Felicity.”

    Lady Tarlington replied grimly: “I assure you my consequence is sufficient to support my being cut by a Claveringham!”

    Mrs Parker nodded mutely.

    There was a pause. Lady Tarlington took a deep breath. “I shall speak to Celia!”

    This was Lady Blefford: Mrs Parker winced. “No, pray—”

    “It is absurd!” she cried. “Harpingdon followed his parents’ wishes once in the matter of a suitable match, and look what an appalling scandal that led to!”

    “Wh-what?” faltered Mrs Parker. “I—I had understood he was a widower?”

    “Oh, good gracious. my love!” she cried vivaciously. “Do you not know? Well—”

    Mrs Parker listened in appalled silence.

    Lady Tarlington was a trifle disconcerted. It was not that her story had fallen flat, exactly… Well, after all, she reminded herself, Venetia was a parson’s wife! “So what good they imagine it will do, forcing him into another loveless match, I know not!” she finished energetically.

    Mrs Parker nodded silently and blew her nose.

    “And besides, even if your Alfreda has no fortune, she is a perfectly respectable young woman, and will make him an admirable wife!”

    “My dear,” she faltered, “it is a little too early to speak of—”

    “Nonsense, my dear Venetia! The way he came straight up to her last night was so very marked!”

    Mrs Parker had thought so, too. She looked at her hopefully.

    “Well!” said Lady Tarlington with a little conscious laugh. “I own I had held out hopes for Felicity, there! But if she is my own child, I can see perfectly well that she is an empty-headed Miss who would not do for Harpingdon, at all!”

    Mrs Parker did not know whether to nod or— So she just looked at her mutely.

    “I am sure that there is no reason that your Alfreda should not have him! –No: wait!” she gasped.

    Mrs Parker looked at her fearfully.

    A scowl gathered on Lady Tarlington’s brow so that for a moment she looked incredibly like Aden. “I hesitate to think it of my own cousin, but— Well, my dear, we were as close as sisters when we were girls, but I have to admit that Celia has became very cold and hard. She was insufferable when she caught Blefford, you know: I suppose one should have been warned… Could it be that she has created some malicious story about your family in—in order to discredit them in Christian’s eyes?”

    Mrs Parker’s jaw dropped.

    “I shall speak to her this very morning!” she cried fiercely. “And if her door is closed to me, then I suppose we may know what to think!”

    “No—my dear—pray!” she gasped.

    But Lady Tarlington was ringing fiercely for Needham.

    “Goddammit, Wilf!” shouted Mr Tarlington. “You blabbermouth!”

    Mr Tarlington also had decided on this morning for some determined investigation of the scandal that was making Miss Henrietta wish so very much to return to her home. And had buttonholed poor Mr Rowbotham in his own chambers in his own dressing-gown before he was scarcely awake. Let alone shaved.

    “I did not mention it to anyone!” cried Mr Rowbotham in tones of injured innocence. “Only Shirley!”

    Mr Tarlington swung round and glared ferociously at Mr Shirley.

    Mr Shirley’s dressing was more advanced. Well, his dressing-gown was over his shirt and pantaloons rather than his night-shirt.

    “I have not mentioned it to a soul!”—At this point Mr Valentine, who had not so far uttered a word, went very red.—“Um, well, Val, only he thinks it a famous... joke,” Mr Shirley ended miserably.

    “You worthless little turd!” shouted Mr Tarlington.

    “Here—no—I say, Aden!” bleated Wilfred.

    Mr Tarlington ignored this and turned his attention to Mr Valentine. “I suppose it is pointless asking you how many empty-headed young idiots you have repeated it to?” he said bitterly.

    Mr Valentine at this went even redder. “Only one or two, sir! And they swore absolutely they would not tell a soul! And—and if it is all over White’s, sir, as you was sayin’, then it can’t be from anything I said, because I have never been there in my life! And I do not even know any members of it!”

    “WHAT?” he shouted.

    Mr Rowbotham gave a strangled cough. “Aden and me is both members, y’fool.”

    “Imbecile!” added Mr Tarlington witheringly.

    There was a short and uncomfortable pause.

    “By God, what persuaded you to speak of it in the first place, Wilf?” he asked bitterly.

    “Well, I— Uh—well, it—it was not only me, y’know!” he stuttered. “Um—Rupert recognized her, y’see, when we saw her sittin’ with the brother, and—uh—then I sort of... But there was only Noël with us at the time, old man!”

    Mr Tarlington took an amazed and furious breath.

    “Well, I’m damned sorry, Aden! Never dreamed Noël might spread it about! And, well, Rupert must be as nearly connected to the girl as you!”

    “Rupert is an imbecile!” he shouted.

    “That’s true,” he muttered.

    “Get dressed,” said Mr Tarlington tightly.

    “Whuh-what?”

    “Get DRESSED!”

    “Very well, old man. But why?” he said plaintively.

    “We are going to Jackson’s,” he said grimly.

    “Er—well, if you say so, old fellow. Only I was not planning—”

    “We are going to JACKSON’S!” shouted Mr Tarlington, “and there I am going to knock your face down your THROAT!”

    Mr Rowbotham gulped. “No—I say, Aden!”

    “Though I’ll do it here if you prefer,” he said grimly.

    “Very well, I’m gettin’ dressed!” said Mr Rowbotham, vanishing precipitately.

    “You, too,” said Mr Tarlington nastily to Shirley and Val. “Both of you!” he shouted.

    Mr Shirley scrambled up with shining eyes. “You do not mean— By Jove! It will be an absolute honour, sir! –Come on, y’fool: he means to give us a bout!” he said eagerly.

    Mr Valentine gulped, and went off to find his coat.

    At Jackson’s Boxing Salon Mr Tarlington in short order knocked flat Mr Rowbotham, Mr Shirley Rowbotham, and Mr Lucius Valentine.

    The Marquis of Rockingham came strolling over to him, grinning. “Fancy a real fight, Tarlington?”

    Mr Tarlington consenting grimly to the proposition, the Marquis, though not until Mr Tarlington had got in some wisty ones of his own, duly knocked him flat.

    “Feel better?” he said, standing over him, his chest heaving.

    “Aye!” gasped Mr Tarlington. “A trifle! Thank you, Marquis!”

    “Any time,” said the Marquis, grinning, and strolling off again.

    Mr Rowbotham had almost recovered from his. “Dare say Rupert might not be on duty this afternoon,” he said on a hopeful note.

    “Aye!” said Mr Val eagerly. “By Jove, sir, that was somethin’ like!” he added, holding out his hand to assist Mr Tarlington to rise. “The Marquis cannot half box!”

    “Yes,” said Mr Shirley dazedly. “I’ve never seen anything like it! Our sisters would have it he was some sort of damned aesthete. Said he plays the piano!”

    Mr Tarlington, despite his best intentions, at this went into a helpless wheezing fit. “May—not—a man—do both?” he gasped eventually.

    Brightening very much, Mr Shirley offered vaingloriously to fight Lord Rupert for him.

    “I hate to say it, dear lad,” said Mr Tarlington, now grinning from ear to ear, “but he’s twice your weight and has twice your reach. No, I shall reserve that pleasure for myself. But thank you for the offer!”

    Lady Blefford sipped tea slowly and studied her cousin coldly over the rim of the cup.

    “Well, where had you the rumour, then?” pursued Lady Tarlington, pouting.

    “I would not say it was a rumour, at all. Lady Hubbel overheard those fools, Wilfred Rowbotham and Noël Amory, speaking of it with Rupert. I have spoken to Rupert and he assures me that he and Rowbotham were eye-witnesses.”

    Lady Tarlington swallowed uncomfortably. “I see.”

    “I suppose you will say there is nothing very much in it.”

    “Well, exactly!” she cried. “A mere childish prank when Henrietta was still in the schoolroom!”

    “If it were only that it would be of little moment, perhaps. But allow me to say, my dear Lettice, that whatever Lady Hubbel’s opinion may be in the matter, the wholly shocking conduct seems to me to have been on Aden’s part rather than Miss Henrietta’s.”

    Lady Tarlington went very red.

    “Rupert, of course, is a fool,” said Rupert Narrowmine’s mother detachedly. “He assures me, however, that there is no doubt whatsoever that Aden was quite aware all the time that it was a girl. And I think there can be no doubt that all three of them had seized the point that she was, besides, a girl of gentle birth.”

    “How do you know that?” she said limply.

    Lady Blefford had not failed to get the full story of the cockfighting out of Rupert. She retailed this shortly. Stressing the point, though there was little need to do so. that if Rupert had remarked that the three “lads” must belong to the local gentry then Aden could not have failed to do so.

    “But— But Aden treated her merely as he might his own sister!” cried Lady Tarlington with angry tears in her eves.

    The Countess sipped, and put down her cup. “Yes. But Miss Henrietta Parker is not his own sister. Of course it is hardly my business: I am not his mamma. But if you truly wish this scandal to be scotched, Lettice, you should insist Aden take the only course that is open to a gentleman.”

    Lady Tarlington’s jaw sagged.

    “Though it is true, of course,” Lady Blefford added, “that Society is not condemning him, but her. Well, that is the way of the world, is it not?” she said, shrugging.

    “You—you are saying that for spite, Celia, and it is of all things the most unkind! Just because Christian has shown a marked preference for Miss Parker!” she cried angrily.

    “I do not think that is why am saying so,” said Lady Blefford majestically. “Though I cannot deny that I do not wish to see Christian ally himself with the family of a hoyden.”

    “She is not a hoyden! She is a silly child, no more!” shouted Lady Tarlington.

    Lady Blefford winced. “There is no need to bellow in my sitting-room, thank you, Lettice. I am inclined, on the whole, to agree with you. Unfortunately it seems London is not. You had best advise the mamma that a repairing lease to the country would be in order, if you do not wish to take the alternative I have suggested. Possibly by next Season it will all have blown over.”

    Lady Tarlington rose and said through trembling lips: “Yes, and possibly you and Lady Hubbel together will rake it all up again! And I shall never agree to Aden’s offering for a portionless Miss from a country parsonage! Never!”

    “That is precisely how I feel about Christian,” replied Lady Blefford coldly. “If you are going, Lettice, I should prefer you not to storm out. I shall ring.”

    Lady Tarlington waited in silence, her thin chest heaving, while her cousin rang.

    “I do not care, of course, whether you repeat what I have said to your guest,” said Lady Blefford calmly as the butler came in. “But certainly you may do so, if you wish. There would seem no point in encouraging her in false hopes, would there? Good-day, my dear.”

    “How DARE she speak to me like that!” shouted Lady Tarlington. She hurled an ornament furiously into the grate, where it crashed to smithereens. “My own cousin! Why, she spent more time in our house than in her father’s, when we were girls!”

    “My dear, pray—” quavered Mrs Parker.

    Lady Tarlington took a trembling breath. “I knew she had become hard and—and unfeeling—and the amount she insisted her poor father spend on her bride-clothes when she caught Blefford! I recall her poor mamma was in tears over it and said Celia was nigh to ruining them! But I would never have believed— She is the most unfeeling brute in Nature! Just wait until I tell Sir Gerry!” She gave a loud, scornful laugh. “He always swore she and Blefford deserved each other, and by Heavens, he was right! We shall never darken the doors of Blefford Park again as long as we live!” An angry tear ran down her thin, rouged cheek.

    “But—but what exactly did she say?” faltered Mrs Parker, now almost in tears herself.

    Lady Tarlington took another trembling breath. “Never mind precisely what she said, Venetia: it was all spite! Spite and—and cold, hard unfeelingness! And I am determined, no matter what she may say, that dearest Alfreda shall have Christian Narrowmine!”

    Mrs Parker looked at her in horror.

    “It is all nothing! A stupid childish prank—and Aden did nothing that any man of sense would not have done, and I am sure her own papa would have put her over his knee, just the same—and he is nuh-near old enough to be her papa!” wailed Lady Tarlington, suddenly throwing herself on her guest’s bosom.

    She then proceeded to sob out—not the whole, for she was determined, however upset she might be, not to breathe a word of Celia’s suggestion that Aden should scotch the scandal by offering for Henrietta—but very nearly the whole. With much bitter emphasis placed, not on either Aden’s or Henry’s behaviour, but on Lady Blefford’s intransigent attitude towards an alliance with the Parker family.

    “I see,” said Mrs Parker at the end of it, very pale.

    Lady Tarlington looked at her hopefully. “We shall see Alfreda with Harpingdon’s ring on her finger before the Season is out!”

    “No,” she said faintly. “I— My dear, it is not to be thought of.”

    “But Venetia, I am sure he affects her, and—and she him, I think, for last night she had a look about her that one cannot mistake, even though she is so proper-behaved; and he is his own master, and—and they need not even see Blefford and Celia until the horrid man dies!”

    “No. Simeon would never hear of such a thing. I—I shall take Alfreda home. Immediately, I think,” she said, swallowing.

    Lady Tarlington tried everything she knew to persuade her, but Mrs Parker remained adamant.

    Alfreda went chalk-white when advised of her mamma’s decision and the reason for it, but said quietly: “Very well, Mamma. I shall go and pack immediately.” And went to do so.

Next chapter:

https://theogilvieconnection.blogspot.com/2022/09/an-expedition-to-oxford.html