The Parkers In London

7

The Parkers In London

    Alfreda had held out for three whole weeks; then her conscience had got the better of her, and she had written to Mamma about their Ogilvie connections. It was some time before Mrs Parker wrote back. Little Daniel had had a croup which was greatly worrying her when Alfreda’s letter arrived, and there was always the fear, though Lucy was a robust little thing, that she might come down with it, too; and then, Tim was being so naughty because he wished to go to school like Egbert and Will, and his papa had said he was sorry, but maybe next year, old man— And there had been a fox in the hen-run, and it was all very well for Simeon to say with a laugh that Sir Ferdinand would have the hunt out before they could say “Jack Robinson”: it was not he who had to suggest an alternative to poor Cook when there were no eggs and three dead hens in the run and another one disappeared entirely, presumably down Master Reynard’s gullet! So what with one thing and another there had been a considerable delay before Mrs Parker was able even to absorb the contents of Alfreda’s letter, let alone contemplate doing anything about it. And by that time not only had Miss Blake’s letter arrived at Lower Beighnham, but also a letter from Delphie, assuring Aunt Venetia that they were very happy in their little cottage.

    “Mamma has replied to my communication about our cousins at last!” reported Alfreda in great relief.

    “Oh, has she?” said Henry vaguely.

    “Dearest, pray put down that newspaper and listen!”

    Henry lowered the Morning Post, sighing. “It’s so pleasant to be able to read an up-to-date paper.”

    “Yes, but this is more important,” said Alfreda firmly.

    “Go on: I suppose Mamma has hailed them off to starve in our garret?”

    “That is not amusing, Henry, dear. No, it appears—um—well, I had best put you in the picture.”

    Henry rolled her eyes but fortunately Alfreda’s own eyes were on her letter. She explained that Delphie had written to describe their cottage and the fact that the girls were living quietly on what they had saved.

    “I see. So when is Mamma to descend on the poor things and—”

    “Nothing of the sort! Papa has decided that it will do them no harm to be thrown on their own resources, at least for a short while. Um... here: Mamma says: ‘Your Papa feels that they have not behaved very sensibly at all over this substitution business, and that here is a chance for them to show us all, and indeed prove to themselves, that they can manage their affairs.’”

    “Good,” said Henry, picking up the paper.

    “I have not finished! Papa thinks that when Mamma leaves for London will be quite time enough to call in and see how they are doing. And if by that time they should prove incapable of looking after themselves, that will be the time to intervene.”

    “Mm.” Henry looked wistful. “I envy them.”

    Alfreda swallowed a sigh. “There are some advantages to London life, Henry.”

    “Aside from having the latest Morning Post to read—I wonder whose it is, by the by? Mr. T.’s? Sir G.’s?—Well, aside from that advantage, name one,” said Henry grimly.

    “The Park is pleasant,” she said weakly.

    “The countryside at home is a thousand times pleasanter.”

    “Well—well, l know you are not interested in such things, my love, but of course the shops are quite wonderful.”

    “You’re right: I’m not interested.” Henry re-buried herself in the paper.

    Alfreda sighed, but did not persist.

    The day was a fine, clear one although it was still only April; Alfreda was about to suggest they take a walk, when Dimity came into the morning-room of the town house and said, pouting: “There is nothing to do! I never dreamed London would be so dull!”

    “Stay abed in the mornings like Lady T. and Miss F.,” said Henry into the Morning Post.

    Dimity pouted. “I cannot make myself sleep, Henry!”

    “No; she is right, Henry, and you are being horrid,” said Alfreda on a firm note, rising to put her arm round her cousin’s shoulders. “Of course you cannot force yourself to sleep, Dimity, and I confess I wonder a little that Lady Tarlington does not insist Felicity rise at a respectable hour, also.”

    “Doesn’t know. In bed herself,” grunted Henry into the Morning Post.

    Dimity gave a startled giggle; Alfreda smiled a little but also sighed and said: “I fear you are in the right of it.”

    “I had thought—” Dimity stopped.

    “What, my dear?” asked Alfreda kindly, since it was obvious that Henry was not about to enquire.

    “Well,” she said in a lowered voice, blushing, “I had thought that Lady T. would be extremely—extremely proper, Alfreda, because she is a grand lady and—and fashionable.”

    “Er—well, I would not say that she is not proper.”

    “But Aunt Venetia says that a true lady knows exactly the state of her linen cupboard and stillroom, and will oversee what is ordered for meals, and will always rise at a reasonable hour, in order that the servants do not get slack!”

    Alfreda looked at her limply. “Well, yes, and Mamma would be very glad to know that you have learned so well what she said, Dimity, dear.”

    “Astonished, more like,” muttered Henry into the Morning Post, but fortunately so low that neither of them caught it.

    “And—and Lady T. sometimes does not rise until—until three in the afternoon!” said Dimity in an awed voice.

    Henry lowered the paper. “Lady T. also launches girls into society for remuneration, and I for one would not say that that is the mark of a true lady, or even a gentlewoman. Though I admit,” she said, eyeing her cousin drily, “that I am not an expert in the field.”

    “I for one would agree with you,” said a man’s voice from the door. “On both counts.”

    Alfreda and Dimity shrieked, and spun round. Henry looked up, gasped, and was turned to stone.

    Mr Tarlington was not in quite such a state of shock as she, for he had had a couple of minutes to realize whose the enchanting straight-nosed profile in the big chair next the fireplace must be.

    “Good morning, young ladies,” he said on a distinctly sardonic note, strolling forward to the fire.

    “What are you doing here?” demanded Henry fiercely, having recovered herself. “And why did Taunton not— Oh.”

    “Taunton did not announce me, as it is not usual for the butler to announce the son of the house,” he said smoothly. “In polite society, at all events.”

    Henry scowled horribly and did not reply.

    “Mr Tarlington,” faltered Alfreda: “how—how very pleasant to meet you.”

    “Pooh, you looked as if you could sink through the floor,” he retorted.

    Alfreda gulped.

    “There is no need to be gratuitously insulting to my sister,” said Henry in a hard voice. “Or had you never heard that that is not usually done—in polite society, at all events?”

    Both Alfreda and Dimity gasped, and looked at her in dismay.

    Mr Tarlington merely gave Alfreda a searching look and said: “Aye, she has a great look of you. And who is the yaller-haired one? Don’t she speak in company?”

    “Yes!” cried Dimity angrily.

    “This is our cousin—and yours, sir: Dimity Parker,” said poor Alfreda in a weak voice.

    “Don’t bother to curtsey, Dimity,” advised Henry. “He won’t appreciate it, even if you don’t wobble.”

    “Henry!” gasped Miss Parker in dismay. “Mr Tarlington, I must apologize—”

    “Oh, don’t apologize for her, ma’am: we are old enemies,” he said cheerfully. “Call her Henry, do you? I would say that is a bad thing, on the whole. Don’t it tend to encourage precisely those tendencies in her which I should imagine a right-thinking mamma like yours must wish to discourage?”

    Alfreda was about to agree. She opened her mouth. Then she went very red indeed and closed it again.

    “How long were you listening?” asked Henry crossly.

    “Oh, long enough. Your sister was wondering that Mamma don’t insist Felicity rise at a respectable hour.”

    “Then you are a horrid eavesdropper!” cried Dimity, very red.

    “That is the usual definition, yes,” agreed Henry.

    “My dear girls: please!” gasped Alfreda.

    “You know,” he said to her with narrowed eyes: “they’re dashed alike, when you look at ’em.”

    “We are NOT!” cried Dimity furiously.

    Mr Tarlington continued as if she had not spoken: “Same straight nose; oval faces; and the eyes are set in the same way. The hair is misleading. But think of ’em as, say, an engraving—or two copies of one, rather; and then reverse the tint of one.”

    Miss Parker just goggled at him.

    “Neither of us has a black face, I believe,” said Henry politely.

    Mr Tarlington saw she had entirely grasped his point: his hard grey eyes sparkled and he said: “True. My image falls down, there.”

    “In any case we are not alike,” said Dimity, pouting horribly.

    “Well, your cousin don’t pout, that’s true, and her eyes are a deeper blue. And her chin’s somewhat firmer,” he added on a very dry note. “But otherwise, you are exact. –Will this be found to be intriguing, in polite society?” he wondered.

    Henry rolled her lips very tightly together.

    Miss Parker had to admit: “I must admit, Dimity, that he has a point. Do you not remember, when your papa asked for those silhouettes to be taken, that we had yours and Henry’s hopelessly confused at one point?”

    “See?” said Mr Tarlington unemotionally.

    “You did not even see them!” flashed Dimity.

    “True,” he replied on a bored note.

    “Actually, Alfreda’s right,” said Henry detachedly. “You remember, Dimity: it was only when Egg said that mine must be the silhouette with the untidier curls that we perceived a difference.”

    Dimity pouted. “I was wearing my very best dress with my new locket!”

    “That would have shown up in a silhouette,” noted Mr Tarlington cordially.

    “Be quiet!” said Henry crossly. “As a matter of fact she is correct, and it did show, the artist made a point of it!”

    “Nagged him into it: I see,” he agreed, nodding.

    “I did NOT!” shouted Dimity.

    “Hush, dearest,” said Miss Parker hastily, putting an arm round her. “Er—” It was impossible to say to Mr Tarlington, should his mamma be advised of his presence, it being blindingly clear that they were all aware she was still in her bed. So she said feebly: “Won’t you sit down, Mr Tarlington?”

    “Thank you,” he said, sinking into the big chair opposite Henry’s. “—Alfreda, is it?”

    “Oh—yes,” she said limply.

    “Don’t call you Alfred, do they?”

    “No, sir,” said Alfreda feebly.

    “She was named for my dear papa,” said Dimity aggressively.

    “For Papa’s dear brother: yes,” agreed Alfreda faintly.

    “I see. Well, it don’t suit you.”

    “Is this the sort of conversation we may expect in London—in polite society, at all events?” enquired Henry grimly.

    “Shouldn’t think so. Though I tend to avoid it, myself,” replied Mr Tarlington, unmoved. “Dragged you off to Almack’s yet, have they?

    “Not yet,” said Henry shortly.

    “Oh. Pity: Almack’s is known as the Marriage Mart—though actually,” he added thoughtfully, “the entire London Season is a dashed auction mart. No, well, Almack’s is the most boring place in London, but it would have taught you how they go on in polite society, at all events.”

    “Check,” conceded Henry grimly.

    “Aye: and be warned, mate in two.”

    Dimity looked at Alfreda in bewilderment. “It is a reference to chess, my dear,” she murmured.

    “Do you play?” said Mr Tarlington to Henry.

    “Yes. Papa taught me.”

    “Gives you a pawn, does he?”

    “Not any more,” returned Henry, glaring.

    “Papa says she plays as well as any man he knows, sir,” said Miss Parker weakly. Wishing that Henry would at least, if she could not refrain from insulting the gentleman every time she opened her mouth, smile! Or something! Oh, dear, this was frightful!

    “Good. You might be able to give me a game, then.” Before Henry could reply, he added: “Ring the bell for Taunton, there’s a good girl, and he can bring in the set from the study. –It’s quite the done thing for a son of the house to ask the butler to perform such a service, you know,” he noted.

    Henry took a deep breath, and got up. “I cannot give you a game of chess, sir, for I am about to walk out with my sister.”

    “Ye— Well, I was about to suggest— Oh, dear!” gasped Alfreda.

    “In that case,” said Mr Tarlington, rising, “I’ll accompany you. Nothing else to do. Should have guessed Mamma and Fliss would still be abed. I don’t know how it is, but I had momentarily forgot they were not rational human beings.”

    “Sir!” gasped Miss Parker, truly outraged.

    “He’s right,” said Henry, narrowing her eyes. “Though far too old to be saying so of his own mother and sister—in polite society, at all events.”—Here Mr Tarlington’s shoulders shook but he managed not to choke.—“I tell you what, Alfreda, you will be much more comfortable with him if you think of him as Tim’s age.”

    Alfreda merely goggled at her in horror.

    “And how old is Tim?” asked Mr Tarlington cordially.

    “Ten,” said Henry drily.

    Dimity, who was thoroughly off-balance, burst out: “He is nearly eleven and wishes to go to school, only Uncle Simeon cannot meet the expense of his fees, with Ludo at Oxford!”

    “Why don’t you pay his school fees, then? Aren’t you the nabob’s heiress?”

    “Yes, but they do not let me touch the money!” she gasped.

    “Of course they don’t, she is but nineteen,” said Henry, scowling at him. “And we do not need an escort on our walk, thank you.”

    “I wasn’t proposing to escort you in order to play propriety, I was proposing to accompany you in the hope it might afford me some mild amusement.”

    Henry and Dimity both scowled at him. Alfreda managed to say: “We should be glad of your company, of course, Cousin.” Though she did not manage to say it convincingly.

    “Did you drive here?” asked Henry, suddenly looking eager.

    “No. I walked,” said Mr Tarlington blightingly. “And believe you me, nothing on God’s earth would persuade me to let a harum-scarum half-boy like yourself drive my teams!”

    At this Alfreda, forgetting that in polite society, at all events, it was not at all the done thing, burst out with: “I don’t understand! Sir, do you— You cannot have met Henry before, surely!”

    “What, didn’t you confess all?” he said to Henry with a grin. “Cousin Henry and I have met, yes, Cousin Alfreda. My carriage had a slight accident when I—er—had gone astray in the wilds of Lower Beighnham, and—er—I encountered her upon the road.”

    “I didn’t know who he was,” said Henry, scowling.

    “No, but doing so would not have altered the course of your conduct one jot, would it?” he noted cordially.

    “Nor yours, I suppose!” she flashed.

    Grinning, Mr Tarlington agreed: “Nor mine.”

    Poor Alfreda was looking from one to the other in dismay, when the door opened quietly and the butler entered. “Good morning, Mr Tarlington: I am afraid Thomas has only just apprised me of your arrival.”

    “Oh!” cried Henry furiously. “So he never even knew you were here!”

    Mr Tarlington looked at her mockingly.

    Taunton pursued, apparently unmoved: “Should you care for a little refreshment, sir?”

    “Butlers may suggest such things in mid-morning to the son of the house,” said Mr Tarlington cordially to Henry.

    “Or you may care for me to send for the barouche, sir: her Ladyship has asked me to assure Miss Parker that it is entirely at her disposal.”

    “Some butlers will also settle the entire morning occupation of the son of the house,” explained Mr Tarlington cordially to his scowling cousin, “only this is less usual in polite society. But then, you see, Taunton has known me all my life. –Well, should you care to drive, Cousin Alfreda, or shall we walk?”

    Alfreda was not yet capable of speech; Dimity said on a pleading note: “We went for such a very long walk yester morning, Alfreda: do you not think that this morning we might drive?”

    “Yes, and we never found the Tower at all: I think that horrid map was wrong,” said Henry, scowling.

    “Miss Henrietta, you did not attempt to go from here to the Tower of London on foot?” gasped the butler, even though in polite society it was not perhaps the usual thing.

    Henry sighed. “We tried, Taunton, but failed miserably.”

    “Order up the barouche and tell Field, it is the Tower of London!” said Mr Tarlington fatalistically to his mamma’s butler.

    “No—really!” protested Alfreda faintly.

    “Why not?” he said. “Look at their two faces, ma’am, can you possibly refuse ’em?” he added with a laugh.

    “I own I should so like to see the place where the poor queen walked, that had her head cut off,” said Dimity wistfully.

    “Walked or walks?” returned Henry immediately. “Um—well, so should I. And the place where poor Sir Walter Raleigh was incarcerated.”

    Alfreda glanced uncertainly at Mr Tarlington. “Well—er—”

    “Yes: let it be the barouche, please, Taunton,” he said firmly. “And how is the lumbago?”

    The butler returned with the utmost composure: “I am glad to report. sir, that with the return of the warmer weather it has ceased to trouble me. I shall have the barouche sent round immediately. And should you care for a glass of Madeira whilst you wait?”

    “Very well, a glass of Madeira. And young ladies may hereby take note,” said Mr Tarlington with a glint in his eye, “that I am not accustomed to wait above ten minutes for any young lady to get her bonnet on!”

    “Bonnets and pelisses, I think: the weather is still cool,” said Miss Parker, smiling at him. “Very well, sir, we shall go up directly. Come along, girls!” She shepherded them out.

    “Pretty trio, are they not?” said Mr Tarlington carelessly to his mamma’s butler.

    “Indeed, Master Aden. And Miss Parker, if I may so, is greatly admired by the household for her quiet good sense,” he said with a slight cough.

    “No, you may not, damn your eyes, and get me that Madeira!” returned Mr Tarlington. “Though I grant you that quiet good sense in a young woman must be a novel event, for this household!”

    The butler merely bowed slightly, and withdrew.

    Mr Tarlington threw himself onto his chair again with a groan. It was bad enough having Mamma endeavouring to promote a match between him and the brainless yaller-haired one, without damned Taunton and the household determining on Miss Parker as a suitable helpmate for the son of the house! But groan though he might, a smile hovered on his dark face.

    To Alfreda’s great surprize, not to say relief, Mr Tarlington maintained throughout the visit to the Tower of London the amused, avuncular tone he had adopted when offering the treat. He and Henry only had three mild run-ins. Two of which, it must be conceded, Mr Tarlington most definitely provoked deliberately. The rest of the time Henry behaved with propriety—being too absorbed in the visit to do anything else—and at the end of it actually thanked their cousin very properly. Dimity, though becoming slightly bored with the more historical notes which Henry read aloud from her guidebook, also enjoyed the treat, and did not pout or sulk. It was apparent to Miss Parker that she was, in fact, more than slightly in awe of their strange-mannered new cousin, and Alfreda could not but reflect that this was a good thing. She herself, though deploring Mr Tarlington’s manners and the way he encouraged Henry to show her most unfortunate side, found him oddly likeable. There was something straightforward about him, was there not?

    “Do you know, I rather liked him,” she said, coming into Henry’s bedroom after having removed her bonnet and pelisse.

    “Did you?” said Henry without interest. “I don’t think Dimity did, so you had best have him instead of her.”

    “Henry, that is not delicate. And please, do not sprawl on the bed in your good pelisse: get up and hang it up!”

    Henry sighed, abandoned the book she had picked up and rose to remove her pelisse. “Now may I sprawl on the bed?’

    “Silly one,” returned Miss Parker. “Come here.” She picked up a comb and endeavoured to straighten Henry’s tangled locks. They had received severe treatment from Lady Tarlington’s own maid and, had Henry bothered about them at all, would now have looked very stylish indeed.

    “Ow!” she cried.

    “It serves you right: you have been neglecting to brush,” said Miss Parker breathlessly. “And keep still!”

    “If you are determined to torture me, may I not sit down?” said Henry meekly.

    Her sister permitted her to sit at her dressing-table and said, dragging the comb ruthlessly through the tangles: “How did it come about that you met Mr Tarlington, Henry?”

    “Ow! Um—it was as he said,” she muttered.

    “But why did you not tell us all at home?”

    “Um... Well, I didn’t know it was him,” said Henry.

    “Er—no...”

    “We told Theo,” she said quickly.

    “‘We’?”

    “Um—Egg was there,” she gulped. “It was nothing!”

    Miss Parker reflected that if Theo knew and had not found the episode worth passing on to his parents and eldest sister, it must indeed have been nothing, so she said comfortably: “I see, dear.”

    Henry breathed a sigh of relief.

    “I wish I had a silk gown!” said Dimity, pouting, several days later.

    She had said this five hundred times in the past day alone, so Henry gave an unencouraging grunt in reply.

    “Well, do not you?”

    “On the whole, no. I cannot see that silk is intrinsically more desirable than muslin. Though the way it is produced is, of course, fascinating.”

    Dimity sat on the edge of Henry’s bed, pouting.

    “Lady T. said you might wear your pearls,” Henry offered consolingly.

    “Yes,” she agreed, sighing. “Henry, I’m awfully nervous,” she confessed.

    So was Henry: it was to be a very grown-up dinner indeed, with several of Lady T.’s fashionable friends invited. For although London was as yet very thin of company, one had a few acquaintances in town, as she had informed the awed Parker girls, briskly writing out gilt-edged invitations.

    “Don’t worry, Dimity,” she said heavily: “we shall be at the bottom of the table: at least we won’t have to talk to the nobs.”

    “No, that’s true... Ail the ladies will be in silk gowns, mark my words!”

    “And on a chilly evening like this, fur wraps as well, if they have any sense at all. Which, however, I do not maintain,” said Henry with a glint in her eye.

    Dimity sighed enviously. “Fur wraps...”

    There was a short pause. Henry struggled to fix her little gold locket round her slender neck but Dimity did not notice that her cousin was having difficulty.

    “Henry, do you suppose we shall have to talk to the gentlemen?” she faltered eventually.

    “Not the nobs, no. Possibly there will be some fresh-faced young imbeciles to whom we shall have to endeavour to utter polite nothings.”

    Dimity swallowed loudly. “I can’t!” she gulped.

    “Nor can I. And I’m much worse than you, I’m always at a loss in company,” she reminded her.

    “But I haven’t been into company as—as a grown-up young lady before: not really!” she wailed. “Oh, Henry, I’m so nervous!”

    Henry got up, sighing. “Yes. So am I.” She sat down beside her and put an arm round her. “Reflect that in a few hours’ time it will all be over,” she advised glumly.

    “That is no consolation whatsoever!”

    “No. It’s what people say in these circumstances; but I must admit that I have never found it a consolation, either.”

    “No,” she gulped.

    A glum silence fell.

    The cousins’ gloomy prognostications were not to be unfulfilled. It was not the most sparkling dinner table London had ever witnessed; not at their end of the table, at all events.

    Young Mr Lilywhite passed a dish of fricasseed kidneys. “You will care for these, Miss Henrietta. They are not half good.”

    “Thank you, but I dislike kidneys,” said Henry faintly.

    “Oh.” He stared glumly at the dish of kidneys.

    That dashing hussar, young Captain Lord Vyvyan Gratton-Gordon, a distant cousin of Lady Tarlington’s, was endeavouring to talk to Dimity. “Fine weather we have been havin’ lately, don’t you find, Miss Parker?”

    “Yes, indeed, sir.”

    Silence. Dimity looked fixedly at her plate. Captain Lord Vyvyan looked despairingly at her enchanting profile and wished she would—well, indicate she had noticed a fellow was alive, at the least!

   … “Appalling,” pronounced Henry deeply, as the two young cousins joined Miss Parker on a sofa in Lady T.’s smaller withdrawing-room.

    “Ssh,” murmured Alfreda. “It cannot have been that bad, my dears. You had some pleasant-looking young gentlemen next you, did you not?”

    “Mine kept offering me dishes,” said Henry glumly.

    “And Captain Lord Vyvyan only talked about the weather,” said Dimity, “and what can one say in reply to that, except to—to agree!”

    “Exactly,” agreed Henry.

    “And Henry had a fat man on her other side who did not speak at all,” added Dimity.

    “On the contrary: he said to me: ‘Care for pears in porto?’ and I said ‘No.’”

    “But we did not have pears!” protested Alfreda in bewilderment.

    “Exactly,” agreed Henry drily.

    Swallowing, Alfreda continued gamely: “And the young military gentleman on your other side, Dimity, dear?”

    “A dead loss, too,” pronounced Henry.

    “Yes. He—he kept saying military things and I did not understand!”

    “He used words like ‘manoeuvres’ and ‘strategy,’” explained Henry, “though from the look of him I would say he is too young to have been involved in either.”

    Miss Parker had to concede this. Ensign Claud Quayle-Sturt was a very unfledged officer indeed.

    “You appeared to be enjoying yourself,” noted Henry sourly.

    “Yes: who is the gentleman with the laughing eyes?” asked Dimity jealously.

    “Oh!” said Miss Parker with a conscious little laugh. “My dear, that describes him so exactly! He is Mr Bobby Amory—I am assured the whole of polite society calls him so! And he is indeed a most pleasant gentleman.”

    Dimity pouted. “Yes. Old, though.”

    “Er—well, I suppose he is may be nigh on forty, yes,” she murmured.

    Dimity pouted even more. “Well, there you are, Alfreda: if he is pleasant, and—and amusing, he is too old! And ours were impossible!”

    “Hush, dearest. Here comes Fliss,” she murmured.

    Miss Felicity Tarlington, who like her two younger relatives was in boring white muslin, not silks and furs, came up to them pouting. “Is it not a bore?”

    Dimity and Henry nodded eagerly.

    Fliss pulled up a chair and sat down, sighing. “Mamma says I am to make a push to engage the interest of Mr George Quayle-Sturt, for he will have his uncle’s fortune, but indeed, I cannot: he is the most boring young man ever born, and all he will say is: ‘Fine weather we are having, is it not?’ Or ‘Town is still quite thin of company, is it not?’”

    Henry and Dimity both gave explosive giggles and Dimity hissed: “That isn’t as bad as Ensign Claud, for all he will talk about is manoeuvres and stuff!”

    “Manoeuvres? It is scarce two months since his commission was bought for him!” said Fliss in astonishment.

    Dimity and Henry collapsed in giggles; Miss Parker had to whisk her handkerchief over her mouth.

    “You think that you were badly off, Fliss, but we were in positive agony on the other side of the table!” said Henry, recovering.

    “I am not surprized: that stout man to your right, Henry, was Mr Tobias Vane. Mamma said we must have him, for he is a Gratton-Gordon connexion, and if we have him now, we need not have him later. He is not interested in anything except food. Did he speak at all?”

    Henry reported the remark about the pears.

    Fliss giggled. “I see you have made a great hit with him!”

    “Very funny,” she said, grinning. “Well, I am relieved to know the problem lay with him, and not with me.”

    “Oh, very definitely! He never speaks to young ladies! But Mamma said it would not signify if he was seated by you, for you have no por—” Fliss broke off in dismay.

    “No portion. Very true. Well, I may expect the Mr Tobias Vanes of the world to be my lot, I see,” said Henry, grinning. “At least I know what to expect: indeed, you might say it was a baptism by fire.”

    The two other girls gave smothered giggles. Alfreda smiled. “I am glad that you can be merry about it. And—and things will improve, my dears.”

    Fliss lapsed into a pout. “Not if Mamma is determined to push me onto Mr George Quayle-Sturt!”

    “Fliss, my dear, that is not a very pleasant choice of phrase.”

    “No, but it is true, Alfreda! And I cannot like him!”

    “Then of course you must not encourage him, Fliss, it would be very wrong in you to do so. And—well, perhaps I should not say so. but I am sure your brother would support you, if you were to appeal to him, if—if you found your mamma was a little obdurate in such a matter.”

    “Yes,” Henry agreed gruffly.

    Fliss sniffed resentfully. “I do not think Aden cares who she makes me marry! And—and—well, it is not that I affect Sir Noël Amory, either, for he is Aden’s friend and quite old, and besides, he treats me like a little girl! Only I do think it so unfair that Mamma should have put him up at the other end of the table!”

    “Is he a relation of Mr Bobby Amory’s?” asked Dimity.

    “Yes. His nephew. –Oh, and that reminds me, Alfreda: Mr Bobby is only a younger brother with very little, as is well known in polite circles, and besides is the most terrible flirt ever born, so I would not hold out any hopes in that direction!”

    Alfreda went very red and opened her mouth to say she was very far indeed from doing any such thing but Fliss got up, saying crossly: “And now she is glaring at me, and so I shall go and speak to Clarissa and Rosalind Gratton-Gordon, and I do not care if they are near connections, they are the most boringly proper Misses ever born!”

    “Oh, dear,” said Alfreda faintly as she flounced off.

    Dimity squeezed her hand consolingly. “Do not regard a thing she says, dear Alfreda, for we know very well that you had no such thoughts! And Fliss Tarlington may be our hostess’s daughter, but I will say it: she has a head filled with nothing but beaux, and in my opinion is little better than a vulgar Miss!”

    “Yes. She was just the same at school,” agreed Henry.

    Alfreda was now very flushed indeed: she did not like to reprove Dimity for so gallantly taking her part, but then on the other hand, it was certainly most improper to say such a thing of their hostess’s daughter.

    “But then, with a mother like Lady T., she has not had much of a chance to be otherwise,” added Henry dispassionately.

    “Henry!” protested Miss Parker faintly.

    “You must admit it is so, Alfreda!” said Dimity.

    Alfreda, to say truth, was very pleased indeed to see that their totty-headed young cousin was capable of perceiving the true worth of persons such as Lady T. and her daughter—far from, as she had feared, wishing to emulate them. So she murmured: “Hush, my dears. Yes, I agree—I agree with all you have both said: but this is not the time nor place.”

    The two young cousins looked very pleased with themselves. Alfreda swallowed a sigh. That had not been precisely the effect that she had wished to have...

    On the other side of the room Mr Tarlington said drily to his friend: “Well, you have a choice, Noël. Lottery tickets with the babes, or lay yourself open to being fleeced at the whist table by Mamma’s set.”

    Naturally Lady Tarlington had decided upon cards. There would be enough persons present to make up several tables. It was not until Fliss had cried out in protest that there was to be no dancing that she had recollected that cards were not entirely suitable for the young ladies in her charge. Well, they had best play at lottery tickets. And Miss Parker might chaperon them at them. And—crossly—she had no notion where the lottery tickets fish were, Fliss, pray do not bother her with trivialities!

    “Well,” said Sir Noël Amory with a twinkle in his eye, “since there is to be such a bevy of beauty at the lottery tickets table, whilst the whist would lay me open to bein’ fleeced by such persons as these,”—he looked hard at his Uncle Bobby and Mr Wilfred Rowbotham, who were standing with them—“it is lottery tickets for me!”

    “Me, too,” said Mr Bobby Amory frankly, his eyes on the older Miss Parker’s thick black locks and graceful figure.

    “Well, it’s better than bein’ fleeced by old Tobias Vane while he goes on about the splendid rump he ate ten years past and more,” conceded Mr Rowbotham.

    “What: never tell me you are passin’ up the chance of being placed at a table with my Aunt Gratton-Gordon or the Quayle-Sturt female?” said Mr Tarlington in astonishment.

    Shuddering, Mr Rowbotham replied frankly: “Damn’ right I am! Lead on, Noël, old boy: let it be lottery tickets!”

    Grinning, Sir Noël said: “Coming, Aden?”

    “Not I: I cannot abide lottery tickets. Or babes in the wood,” he added drily.

    Sir Noël shrugged. “All the more for us, then. Come along, we goin’?”

    Grinning, the two Amorys and Mr Wilfred Rowbotham basely deserted their host.

    “Dare say,” said Mr Rowbotham cautiously once they were out of Aden’s hearing, “he is a trifle fed up with his mamma tryin’ to stuff the yaller-haired little cousin down his throat.”

    “Oh?” said Bobby Amory with interest. “Pretty little chit, though, Wilf.”

    “Aye, but he don’t like ’em brainless. Added to which,” he noted sapiently, “he don’t like bein’ told what to do.”

    “Mm. What about the funny little dark creature?” said Sir Noël.

    “Funny?” objected his uncle. “Say, rather, delicious! Those curls—and the eyes are like dark sapphires!”

    “You take her, then, Bobby!” said his nephew with a laugh. “No, but she is a funny little thing—though I agree she’s pretty. Asked me if I thought the difference in stations between myself and my estate-workers was a natural one.”

    There was an awed silence.

    Sir Noël’s intelligence was of a higher order than that of either his amiable uncle or his old friend Wilf: his eyes twinkled but he murmured: “That was after she had ascertained I was a baronet and had estates.”

    “Asked you that straight out, did she, Noël?” said Bobby, his shoulders shaking.

    “Mm.”

    “At least she didn’t beat about the bush!” he gasped.

    “You mistake, Nunky, dear: it was not a personal enquiry at all, but purely in the spirit of—er—scientific enquiry.” Sir Noël walked off and placed his tall, elegant person between Miss Henrietta and Miss Dimity, deftly ousting the bold Ensign Claud Quayle-Sturt from that position.

    “Force majeure, was that?” murmured Mr Bobby in admiration of this manoeuvre.

    Noël had had an Army career, rising to the rank of Captain before he sold out in order to manage the family estates. “No: he came the superior officer, I think,” replied the sapient Wilfred.

    “Masterly,” approved Bobby, grinning. “Come along, old chap: which of ’em do you fancy?”

    “Oh, I’m not particular. Only don’t expect me to go anywhere near that sister of Aden’s. Shall we join Miss Parker? Noticed you was not averse to her company,” he said slily.

    Smiling, Mr Bobby led the way to Alfreda’s side.

    Miss Parker, at twenty-six years of age, was not so silly as to read anything at all into his subsequent marked attentions to her. He was undeniably an attractive gentleman, but she could see for herself, even without Fliss’s kind offices, that he was the sort of gentleman who very much enjoyed a light flirtation, without at the same time meaning a thing by it. Alfreda did not flirt with Mr Amory: she did not feel, as the girls’ chaperone, that it would be suitable conduct in her to encourage his teasing advances. On the other hand, he was so very pleasant, and had such smiling sherry-coloured eyes, that it was very difficult actively to discourage him! Miss Parker smiled her shy smile into Mr Bobby’s dancing sherry-coloured eyes, lowering her heavy, creamy lids rather often over her own deep lapis ones, and did her best to respond to his bantering flattery with quiet propriety.

    Although Bobby Amory, it must be admitted, was used to ladies—young and not s young—who would more typically flutter the lashes, whisk the fan half over the face, giggle a lot and even, shocking to say, exchange meaning glances with him, he was undeniably intrigued by Alfreda’s combination of striking good looks, self-possessed but modest demeanour, and unmistakable sense of humour. Once or twice this last betrayed itself by a sudden gurgle or smothered choke of laughter: Mr Amory remained firmly welded to her side for the rest of the evening.

    For his part, Sir Noël enjoyed himself well enough with the two younger ladies; they were certainly pretty enough, and Miss Dimity was inclined enough to giggle and encourage him; though it was a pity that the funny little one, whose dark looks he rather preferred, was not. He attempted to draw Henry out, but with little success: she did not respond to his most charming manner, or even to his light teasing. Gracefully he let it be known that affairs such as this were generally considered fairly tedious—he rather thought Miss Henrietta might be glad to know she was not alone, if she was feeling this.

    She merely returned seriously: “Yes. So why do you attend them?”

    Sir Noël was rather dashed, but on the whole still prepared to be amused.

    The other gentlemen present at the lottery table viewed the encirclement and subsequent easy taking of the table by the experienced Amorys with a certain jaundice. Ensign Claud did his best to cut Sir Noël out with Dimity, but to no avail. His brother, Mr George Quayle-Sturt, far from encouraging the hopes which Felicity’s mamma had allowed to burgeon in her breast, had been immediately taken by Miss Henrietta’s huge lapis eyes and riotous black curls: he attached himself firmly to her other, or Sir Noël-less side. But as he was unable to utter more than: “Fine weather we are havin’ for the time of year, is it not, Miss Henrietta?” and: “Quite a squeaze tonight, ain’t it? Though town is quite thin of company as yet,” it was to be feared that he did not create a great impression upon her.

    … “Had enough of the infantry?” said Mr Tarlington mockingly as Noël strolled over to his side.

    “Well, yes. The yaller-haired one is brainless, and the luscious little dark piece don’t affect yours truly!” he said with a rueful laugh.

    Mr Tarlington raised his eyebrows very high. “Luscious?”

    Mr Rowbotham, having tried without success to ingratiate himself with Miss Parker, whose quiet beauty he rather admired, but having found himself completely cut out by Noël’s pest of an uncle, had rejoined Mr Tarlington some time since. Now he said on a grumpy note: “Aye, luscious, where is your eyes, Aden?”

    “Mm,” said Sir Noël with a naughty look. “But it’s not merely that: it’s the fact that there’s two of ‘em!”

    “Eh?” said Mr Rowbotham.

    “Mirror-images,” said Sir Noël, smirking.

    “Not quite. Complementary images?” said Mr Tarlington.

    “Aye: fascinating, is it not?”

    “I can’t see it,” said Mr Rowbotham, screwing up his face horribly in an effort to assist perception.

    “One fair and one dark version of the same beauty,” explained Sir Noël laboriously.

    “I’ve got that, thanks! Uh... Oh, by Jove!”

    “I think he has got it,” noted Mr Tarlington. “And it may be said to be fascinating. At all events, polite society appears to be finding it so,” he murmured to himself.

    “What?” said Sir Noël.

    Mr Rowbotham ignored the obscure reference and said: “Well, lends interest, do it not? Would you say they was exact likenesses? The darker one is prettier, for my money. The older sister favours her, don’t she? More dignified, though.”

    His friends goggled at him.

    “Dignified but striking, I would say,” he said defiantly.

    Mr Tarlington choked.

    “Good Gad!” said Sir Noel. “You, Wilf? Dignified?”

    Mr Tarlington murmured something about dancing, and Sir Noël then also choked.

    “And you may drop that!” said Mr Rowbotham, flushing up. “My little dancer was the most innocent thing in the world!”

    “And so he will always maintain,” noted Mr Tarlington.

    “Aye, well, she was innocent enough until she decided to leave his protection for that of the fat cit with the deep purse,” conceded Sir Noël.

    “I will always maintain that that was her mother’s doing,” said Mr Rowbotham crossly.

    “Undoubtedly. Sold her to the highest bidder. Dashed bad luck, Wilf,” drawled Mr Tarlington.

    “Absolutely,” agreed Sir Noël, grinning. “But I dare swear Bobby isn’t serious: never is, y’know. Get on back in the other room and cut him out with Miss Parker, dear boy.”

    “I would like to see him try,” said Mr Tarlington dreamily.

    “I tell you what it is,” said Mr Rowbotham wrathfully to Sir Noël: “he is a dog-in-the-manger!”

    “Eh?”

    “I apprehend he does not refer to myself,” drawled Mr Tarlington, “but to your uncle, old fellow!”

    “Oh! Oh, well: yes!” he said, laughing. “I am very much afraid you are right, Wilf!”

    “Look, it ain’t funny! And you was hangin’ on the little dark one’s sleeve!” said Mr Rowbotham crossly.

    “‘Luscious’ little dark one, you mean, Wilf,” corrected Mr Tarlington drily.

    “Oh, aye,” he recollected: “so I do! -Here, Aden, don’t she remind you of someone, in a funny sort of way?”

    Mr Tarlington eyed him sardonically. “Of whom?”

    Mr Rowbotham shook his head. “Can’t tell. But someone! –Here, there is three of us,” he noticed.

    “Sad, is it not? For if Noël is laying claim to the twin reflections, and Bobby has cut you out with the dignified Alfreda, that don’t leave—”

    “Fool! Hand of écarté!” said Mr Rowbotham tersely.

    Mr Tarlington winced. “With you?”

    “That is not quite fair, Aden,” said Sir Noël, trying not to laugh.

    Mr Rowbotham was looking very injured. “No, it ain’t! Just because I can’t give him a game of chess—which by the way is the most borin’—”

    “We know, old fellow,” said Sir Noël soothingly, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Well, écarté, then?”

    “Very well,” conceded Mr Tarlington. “But we had best make it penny points: I refuse to be responsible for Wilf’s ending in the Fleet!”

    Later, as Aden’s two friends strolled homewards together through the quiet streets, Mr Rowbotham remarked: “Aden was in a cheerful mood tonight, was he not?”

    “Was he?” said Sir Noël thoughtfully. “I grant you he was not as damned irritating as he can be. But I wouldn’t have said he was cheerful. It seemed— I don’t know, Wilf. I thought he was in an odd mood.”

    “Odd?”

    “Mm. I cannot define it further.”

    Mr Rowbotham glanced at him uncertainly, but did not insist.

Next chapter:

https://theogilvieconnection.blogspot.com/2022/09/frivolities.html