Frederica (16 page)

The deliberate hauteur with which he spoke had its calculated effect: Jessamy’s conscience might trouble him, but it was superseded by a vague but horrid fear that he had committed a social solecism. He stammered: “N-no, sir! It—it is very kind of you! I didn’t know—! Pray don’t be offended! One—one doesn’t like to be beholden—But if you are indeed our guardian it alters the case—I suppose!”

The Marquis smiled at him, which, as it was not given to him to read the thoughts hidden by the smile, very much relieved his mind. Had he known that the Marquis was wondering what madness had seized him, and to what tiresome lengths he might be expected to go now that he had so rashly acknowledged the Merrivilles’ claim upon him, Jessamy would have suffered an agony of mortification; but as he knew nothing about his lordship’s habitual reluctance to interest himself in the affairs of his relatives he was able to take his leave blithely, and to stride back to Upper Wimpole Street in the best of spirits, and with his head full of the delightful prospect of driving to Richmond with his lordship, and even, perhaps, of being allowed to handle the reins himself for a little way.

Meanwhile, the Marquis had set out for Wardour Street, his youthful companion prancing beside him, and beguiling the tedium of the way by describing to him in detail the various exhibits he had that morning seen at Merlin’s Mechanical Museum. These included such attractions as a juggler, an aerial cavalcade, Merlin’s Cave, and a set of Antique Whispering Busts (very ingenious); but these had not interested Felix as much as a hydraulic vase, a band of mechanical music, and a mechanical cruising frigate. If it was still in existence (but his little guide-book was rather out-of-date), he meant next to visit an exhibition at Spring Gardens, where Maillardet’s Automaton was to be seen. This marvel, according to the tattered guide-book he dragged from his pocket, was a musical lady, who was advertized, rather alarmingly, to perform most of the functions of animal life, and to play sixteen airs upon an organized pianoforte, by the actual pressure of the fingers. No, he had not visited the British Museum: except for a collection of stuffed birds, it held nothing but fusty
old
things, which only such people as Jessamy liked.

Several persons with whom Alverstoke was well acquainted were encountered on the way, a circumstance which led, later, to a good deal of discussion in the clubs. The merchant-dandy, Mr Thomas Raikes, known to the ton as Apollo, because (said the irreverent) he had risen in the east and was setting in the west, had been dumbfounded to see Alverstoke with a schoolboy beside him when he had emerged from his own house in Berkeley Square; and Mr Rufus Lloyd, meeting Alverstoke in Bond Street, and asking whither he was bound, was later able to disclose, in bewildered accents, that he was going to visit a foundry in Soho. This was generally received with incredulity; but Sir Henry Mildmay, a man of more parts than the Red Dandy, had no hesitation in saying, with an indulgent but odiously superior smile: “I am afraid he was roasting you, Rufus.” Lord Petersham, a lifelong friend of Alverstoke’s, came nearest to the mark when he said, with his slight lisp: “Taking one of hith nephewth there, I darethay.”

Mr Endymion Dauntry, also meeting Alverstoke in Bond Street, could have set Petersham right, but he was not present at the discussion, and he had been only mildly surprised to see the Marquis with a schoolboy in tow. A magnificent young man, Mr Dauntry: splendidly built, and classically featured; with a profile that commanded the admiration of a number of ladies, who declared that he might pose as a model for Greek statuary; a pair of brown eyes; beautifully moulded lips; and curling brown locks above a noble brow. Such an extraordinary degree of good-looks inevitably attracted attention; and if his understanding had been more than moderate, and his conversation more entertaining, he would have been a prime favourite with the ladies. This, unfortunately, was not the case. He was amiable and polite, but as he was also slow-witted, and untroubled by ideas, his conversation consisted of laboured commonplaces, and only became animated when he was describing the obstacles successfully cleared in the course of a hazardous five-mile point, the circumstances which had led to his taking a toss at a regular rasper, or the sport he had enjoyed on some capital scenting-day. His brother officers rated him a very good fellow, but nicknamed him, in affectionate derision, Noddy Dauntry, to which he raised not the smallest objection, merely smiling sleepily, and saying that he never had been one of the downy ones. He was a dutiful son, and a kind brother; and although he happily accepted an allowance from Alverstoke (as well as his cornetcy, and his horses), he was very grateful for these benefits, and rarely applied to him for further monetary assistance.

When he caught sight of Alverstoke in Bond Street, he immediately crossed the road to greet him, beaming with honest pleasure, and saying, as he stretched out his hand: “Cousin Vernon! Devilish good of you to invite my sister to your ball—’pon my soul it is! Mama is devilish obliged to you, and so am I too, of course!”

“Do you mean to grace it with your presence?” enquired Alverstoke.

“Oh, by Jupiter, yes! I should rather think I do! What a squeeze it will be!”

“Devilish!” agreed his lordship.

“Bound to be!” said Endymion, wisely nodding. “First ball at Alverstoke House since Cousin Eliza’s come-out—so Mama says! Bound to be a squeeze!” Becoming aware of the presence of Master Felix Merriville, who, bored with this conversation, had given the Marquis’s sleeve an admonitory tug, he looked down at him from his Olympian height, vaguely surprised, and then directed a questioning look at Alverstoke. Informed that Felix was Fred Merriville’s youngest child, he said: “No, is he? Well, by Jove! Fred Merriville!” After that, he somewhat naively added: “Got a devilish bad memory!—Who
is
Fred Merriville?”

“He
was
a cousin of mine,” coolly replied the Marquis. “Unhappily, he is now deceased; and as he was some years my senior I should doubt whether you ever knew him.”

“As a matter of fact, I didn’t,” confessed Endymion. “But I have it now! You’ve become guardian to his children, cousin! Mama was telling me. Said you were giving the ball for them. She don’t seem to like it above half, but I’ll be dashed if I know why!” He lowered his gaze again to Felix’s impatient countenance, and a frown creased his brow. “Except that—well, damn it, this nipperkin don’t want to go to a ball, do you, young ‘un?”

“No!” said Felix, with unnecessary emphasis. “I want to go to the
foundry
!”

“You shall, Felix, you shall!” said the Marquis reassuringly. He bent his sardonic glance upon his heir, and said: “Perhaps you would like to accompany us, Endymion?”

Mr Dauntry, though he laid no claim to being (as he phrased it) up to all the rigs, was by no means (as he also phrased it) a bag-pudding. Foundries were connected in his mind, in a rather nebulous way, with guns, and he said, knowledgeably: “Artillery, eh? No, no, beyond my touch, cousin!”

He then took leave of Alverstoke, and proceeded on his way, feeling none of the amazement or the apprehension which tortured his mother and his astute Cousin Louisa, but accepting with perfect equanimity Alverstoke’s explanation of the interest he felt in the unknown Merrivilles.

Any faint hope that Alverstoke might have cherished that he would be denied admittance to the foundry perished at the outset. His estimable secretary had not failed to pave the way for him: no sooner had he presented his card than every door, metaphorically speaking, was flung wide, and the head of the foundry, attended by various senior satellites, was hastily summoned to conduct him all over the building. This extremely competent person not only declared that he was honoured by his lordship’s visit, but assured him also of his readiness to explain the intricacies of whatever piece of modern machinery it was that had attracted his lordship’s curiosity: a promise which convinced Felix that his instinct had not misled him when it had prompted him to reject the offer of Mr Trevor’s escort. “He would have
never
have done it for Mr—Mr Thingummy!” he whispered triumphantly.

By what his lordship considered to be a rare stroke of good fortune, the manager of the foundry was not only the progenitor of a large family, but had failed to discover in any of his sons a trace of his genius. Within five minutes of making the youngest Merriville’s acquaintance he recognized in him a kindred spirit; and from then on the Marquis was allowed, much to his relief, to sink into the background. He followed meekly in the wake of the enthusiasts; and the tedium of the expedition was alleviated for him by Felix, in whom he found himself taking an unexpected interest. He knew little, and cared less, about blowing-machines or pneumatic lifts, but he very soon realized that the questions Felix put to their guide showed sufficient knowledge to command that expert’s respect. He began to think that there was more to Felix than he had at first supposed; and he was not surprised when, at the end of their exhaustive tour of the foundry, the manager ventured to congratulate him on that young gentleman’s remarkable understanding. He was aware of a flicker of pride in his protégé, and that did surprise him.

As for Felix himself, it was evident that nothing in his experience had ever come within striking distance of the high treat he had enjoyed. Rendered almost inarticulate by the speculations engendered in his busy brain by the information he had acquired, he could only stammer out his gratitude, and express (anxiously) the hope that Cousin Alverstoke had also enjoyed himself. “J-Jessamy said you didn’t w-want to come, but you
did,
sir, d-didn’t you?”

“To be sure I did!” replied the Marquis, perjuring his soul without hesitation.

“And even if you didn’t, you m-must have been interested!” said Felix, with a brilliant smile.

The Marquis agreed to this too. He then summoned up a hackney, and put Felix into it, directing the jarvey to drive him to Upper Wimpole Street, and at the same time bestowing a guinea upon Felix: largesse so handsome as to deprive the recipient of all power of speech until the jarvey had whipped up his horse, and to make it necessary for him to lean perilously out of the window of the hack to shout his thanks to his benefactor.

IX

While the Marquis was enjoying a hedonistic sojourn at Cheveley, attending the Second Spring Meeting at Newmarket every day, and watching his promising filly, Firebrand, win a Subscription race against strong competition, the Merriville ladies were busy with the preparations necessary for their forthcoming appearance at the Alverstoke Ball, slightly, but not (except for one incident) very seriously harassed by the exploits of the scions of the family. Finding his brother immersed in his studies, and his sisters in frills and furbelows, Felix sought amusement on his own account. He remembered that the Marquis had said that Mr Trevor should go with him to Margate on the steam-packet; but when he called at Alverstoke House to remind Charles of this promise, he was disappointed to learn that Charles, having been granted leave of absence, had gone out of town. This was disappointing; but Felix thought that he might at least go down to the river to watch the packet steam away. That, as he afterwards explained, was all he had meant to do; and if the day had not been so fine, the paddle-wheels so fascinating, and the fare to Margate so moderate (if one did not object to the Common Cabin), that was all he would have done. But the combination of these circumstances, coupled with the wealth jingling in his pocket, had proved to be too much for his virtuous resolve to do nothing which Frederica might not quite like. If the guinea bestowed upon him by the Marquis was not intact, at least enough of it was left to enable him to disburse nine shillings for the privilege of spending a great many hours on a crowded boat, in the company of a set of far from fashionable persons, most of whom his more fastidious brother would have stigmatized as members of the Great Unwashed. Besides, he had made the acquaintance, on the quay, of the marine engineer, a bang-up fellow! To have missed such a chance of widening his knowledge would have been flying in the face of providence: he was sure that Frederica wouldn’t have wished him to do that!

In fact, he had spent very little time in the Common Cabin: his real enthusiasm and his happy knack of making friends wherever he went stood him in good stead, and the ship’s company had taken him to their hearts. That was certainly fortunate, as Frederica recognized, when she suitably recompensed the burly individual who restored him to her next day, for he would otherwise have been obliged to spend the night on the beach, the sum left in his pocket not being sufficient to pay for a lodging in Margate. So he had offered his services to the Captain (yet another bang-up fellow), and after being given a rare trimming he had been allowed to remain on board, and had been brought back to London as a stowaway: a circumstance which seemed to afford him the highest gratification.

He was very sorry, he said disarmingly, to have alarmed his family; and he was ready to accept any penalty Frederica might impose on him.

But as it was obvious that not the most severe punishment would outweigh in his mind the bliss of his stolen holiday, with the privilege of being sea-sick on the way from Margate to Ramsgate, and becoming smirched from head to foot with oil and grime, Frederica imposed no penalty, merely begging Jessamy to keep a watch on him. Unlike Charis, who had a great deal of sensibility, and had spent a sleepless night, listening for the truant’s return, and conjuring up hideous visions of the accidents which might have befallen him, she had remained (in spite of some inevitable qualms) outwardly calm, adducing, when reproached by Charis, the numerous occasions when Felix, having thrown his loving sisters into agonies of apprehension, had reappeared, not a penny the worse for some hair-raising adventure. In this view she was supported by Miss Win-sham, who said that the dratted boy was like a cat: you might fling him as you chose, but he would always land on his feet.