Frederica (26 page)

It was harder to decide whether or not Charis felt a stronger partiality for Endymion than for any other of her suitors. She seemed to look upon them all with kindness; and if her eyes held warm admiration when they rested on him there was nothing to be surprised at in that: a very handsome fellow, Endymion.

As for Frederica’s paragon, his lordship, who was impatient of melancholy romantics, thought him very milky indeed, with no more intention of offering for Charis’s hand than if she had been a statue. He made no attempt to engage her attention, but seemed to be content to sit dreamily regarding her, a faint smile, which his lordship thought singularly fatuous, lingering about his mouth. He excused himself from joining the party bent on Speculation, and was still sitting rapt in contemplation when Alverstoke, taking leave of Miss Winsham, strolled over to him, and said, in a drawl that held a hint of derision: “Lost in admiration of my ward, Lyneham?”

Sir Mark started, and looked up; and, seeing who had roused him from his reverie, rose to his feet, and bowed, saying simply: “Yes, my lord. She is a Botticelli, is she not? One is tempted to fancy that in another incarnation she must have sat for him when he painted his
Birth of Venus.
Alas, that one cannot set her in a frame, to be a constant refreshment to one’s eyes! One would wish that countenance to remain for ever as it is today, pure and perfect!” He sighed. “It cannot be, of course. The lovely innocence we see now, as she stands at the dawn of womanhood, will vanish all too soon; age and experience will set their stamp upon her, carving furrows in her beauty; and—”

“And her chin will be doubled!” interpolated his lordship, who had no taste for whimsy.

He left Sir Mark abruptly, and went to take his leave of Frederica. She was distributing fishes and counters amongst the players seated round the card-table, but when she saw him coming towards her she gave the box into her sister’s hands, and went with him to the head of the stairs. “I shan’t beg you not to go away so soon,” she said. “I am persuaded you were never more bored. But I do trust you are satisfied that we are not got into the wrong company?”

“Oh, yes! Quite innocuous!” he returned. “None more so than your paragon, whose only desire appears to be to set your sister in a frame, and hang her on the wall to provide his eyes with eternal refreshment.”

She exclaimed incredulously: “Set her in a frame? He can never have said so!”

“Ask him!”

She looked disgusted. “Well, what a wet-goose! I never thought he could be so spiritless!”

“No, no, a romantic, with the soul of a poet, and a high appreciation of the beautiful!”

“I see nothing romantic in wishing to turn Charis into a picture! In fact, I am much inclined to think that you were right when you told me that he was a dull dog,” she said, with her usual candour.

He laughed. “Why, yes!—but deeply reverential, I assure you! He considers Charis’s beauty to be pure and perfect, and wishes it might remain so.”

She stared at him for a frowning moment, and then said decidedly: “That proves he hasn’t the smallest tendre for her! How very vexatious! You know, he
did
seem to me to be so promising!”

His eyes gleamed, but he responded with perfect gravity: “You will be obliged to look about for another eligible
parti.
Can
I
be of assistance? I recall that you have come to the conclusion that a young man won’t do for Charis, and it occurs to me—Tell me, would you object to a widower?”

“Yes, I should!” said Frederica. “Furthermore, cousin, I beg you won’t concern yourself in our affairs! I never asked more of you than an introduction to the ton, and you gave us that—for which I am excessively grateful!—and I don’t expect, or wish, you to trouble yourself further! Indeed, there is not the least need!”

“Oh, no, don’t stir coals!” he protested. “Just when you’ve provided me with an interest, too!” “Finding widowers for Charis!” “That was a joke,” he explained. “Not a funny one!” she said severely. “I beg a thousand pardons! I won’t introduce my widower to your sister’s notice, but you may believe me when I say that you may command my services, or my advice, at any time.”

She was surprised, and for a moment suspected him of mockery. But the familiar glint was absent from his eyes; and, as she met their steady regard, he laid his hand over hers, which was resting on the banister, and clasped it strongly, saying: “Is it agreed? You don’t want for sense, or force of mind, but you’re not yet up to snuff, my child.”

“No—no, I kn-know I’m not,” she said, stammering a little. “Thank you! you are very good! Indeed, I can’t think whom else I could turn to, if I needed guidance—or got into a scrape! But I don’t mean to embroil you in any
more
scrapes, I promise you!”

She would have drawn her hand away as she spoke, but he prevented her, lifting it from the banister, and lightly kissing it. She had the oddest sensation of having suffered an electric shock; she even felt a trifle dizzy; and it was several moments after he had left her before she went back into the drawing-room. It was no longer customary for gentlemen to kiss hands; and although oldfashioned persons frequently kissed the hands of married ladies, his lordship was not oldfashioned, and she was not married. She wondered what he meant by it, and was obliged to give herself a mental shake. Probably he meant nothing at all, or was trying to get up a flirtation. By all accounts that was the sort of thing he might do, for idle amusement, because she had unwisely told him she had never been in love. This was a lowering thought—not that it signified, except that she had come to look upon him as a safe friend, and it would be very uncomfortable if she could no longer do so. If he thought she was going to figure as his latest flirt he was sadly mistaken: for one thing she had no taste for flirtation; and for another no ambition to join the ranks of his discarded flirts.

However, when she met him, three days later, in Bond Street, he showed no sign of gallantry, but greeted her with a frown, and a demand to know why she was unaccompanied. “I was under the impression that I warned you that in London country ways will not do, Frederica!”

“You did!” she retorted. “And although I can’t say that I paid much heed to your advice it so happens that I am accompanied today by my aunt!”

“Who adds invisibility to her other accomplishments!”

She could not help laughing, but said as coldly as she could: “She is making a purchase in that shop, and is to meet me in Hookham’s Library presently. I trust you are satisfied!”

“I am not at all satisfied. Unless you wish to appear as a
fast
female, you will not show yourself unattended in any of London’s fashionable lounges—least of all in Bond Street! If that
is
your ambition, look for another sponsor! And don’t nauseate me with fiddle-faddle about your advanced years! You may pass in Herefordshire for a woman of sense, but here you are merely a green—a
very
green girl, Frederica!”

These harsh words aroused conflicting emotions in her breast. Her first impulse was to give him a sharp set-down. Such arrogance certainly deserved a set-down; on the other hand, he was quite capable of withdrawing his patronage, which, if it did not ruin her plans, would be extremely inconvenient. The thought that with his friendship she would lose all her comfort she thrust to the back of her mind. She said, achieving a respectable compromise: “To be sure, I
am
very green, for until I saw you coming towards me I didn’t know this
was
a fashionable lounge! I’m much obliged to you for telling me, and I can’t think how I came to be so stupid! As though I had never heard of
Bond Street beaux,
which of course I have! Are you—what do you call it?—
on the strut
?”

“No, vixen, I am not on the strut!” he replied, an appreciative gleam in his eye. “Merely on my way to Jackson’s Boxing Saloon!”

“How horrid!”

“That,” said his lordship, “from one who lately described to me the precise significance of
good science,
is coming it very much too brown, Frederica!”

She laughed. “Well, it
is
horrid, for all that! How detestable of you to have encouraged me to make such a cake of myself, when I daresay you know much more about the sport than I do!”

“I shouldn’t be surprised if I did,” he agreed. “Also more about the conventions to be observed by young ladies of quality.”

“That crow has been plucked already! How can you be so unhandsome as to go on scolding? Haven’t I owned I was at fault?”

“If to offer me a gratuitous insult is to own yourself at fault—”

“No, no! not
gratuitous,
cousin!” she interposed.

“One of these days,” said his lordship, with careful restraint, “you will come by your just deserts, my girl! At least, so I hope!”

“Oh, how unkind!” Her eyes twinkled up at him, but she became serious almost immediately, and said contritely: “What a charge we are upon you! I beg your pardon: you have been very kind! I never meant, you know, to embroil you in our affairs, and I am determined you shan’t be called upon again to rescue us from sudden dilemmas.”

“From which I deduce that your brothers are not—at the moment—engaged on any hazardous enterprise,” he remarked.

“Now
that,
”
she said indignantly, “is most unjust!
You
were not called upon to rescue Felix from the steampacket; and, as for Jessamy, he at least doesn’t get into scrapes!”

He acknowledged it; but it was Jessamy who plunged him, not many days later, into the affair of the Pedestrian Curricle.

This ingenious machine was the very latest crack, and bidding fair to become the transient rage. Of simple construction, it consisted of two wheels, with a saddle hung between them, the foremost of which could be made to turn by means of a bar. It was propelled by the rider’s feet on the road, and experts could achieve quite astonishing speeds, when, admirably balancing themselves, they would lift their feet from the ground and coast along at a great rate, and to the amazement of beholders. Jessamy had seen one of these experts riding his Pedestrian Curricle in the park, and had instantly become fired with the spirit of emulation. His adventurous nature, chafing as much under the loss of his horses as from his self-imposed regiment of rigorous study, flamed into revolt: here, he perceived, was the means by which he could, without involving Frederica in extra expenditure, find an outlet for his restless energy, and demonstrate to the world that his odious little brother was not the only Merriville with bottom enough to engage in hazardous exploits. He discovered that there were several schools where the new art was taught, and which were willing to hire their machines to proficient pupils. It did not take him long to become one of these, or, when he ventured to sally forth from the school on a hired machine, to learn to guide it through such traffic as he encountered in the quieter streets. Lufra was his companion on these expeditions: a circumstance which led his sisters to assume, with satisfaction, that he had relaxed his stern rule on that faithful hound’s behalf. “Which makes me glad, after all, that we did bring Luff to London,” said Frederica, adding, with a chuckle: “And also that he chased the cows in the Green Park, and made Jessamy think that a mere female was not to be trusted with him. Nothing else would have lured him away from his books!”

Boy enough to wish to startle his family with his unsuspected prowess, Jessamy had said nothing to them about his new hobby. Once he had perfected his balance, and could feel himself to be master of the Pedestrian Curricle, he meant to ride up to the door, and call his sisters out to watch his skill. There was sometimes a little difficulty in mounting the machine, and it would never do to make a mull of that—particularly if Felix were to be one of his audience. So he spent several hours practising this art; and then, as a final test before showing himself off to his family, boldly penetrated into the more populous part of the town. So well did he manage that he could not resist the temptation to coast down the long slope of Piccadilly, both feet daringly lifted from the flagway. This feat attracted a great deal of attention, some of it admiring, some of it scandalized; and, in the end, very much more attention than Jessamy desired.

A rough-coated retriever was to blame for the disaster. Sedately walking at his master’s heels, this animal no sooner saw the strange vehicle than he took the most violent exception to it, and raced beside it, barking and snapping. Jessamy was too well accustomed to dogs who bounced out to chase any passing carriage to be discomposed by this assault, but Lufra, who had lingered a little way behind to investigate a promising smell, saw that his master was being attacked, and hurled himself to the rescue. The result was inevitable. The dogs, embarking on a fight to the death, cannoned into the Pedestrian Curricle; Jessamy, trying to recover his balance, charged into a man mending chairs, lost control of his machine, and was flung on to the cobbled highway, almost under the hooves of a high-stepping pair harnessed to a landaulet. The coachman was able to swing his horses away, and Jessamy to scramble to his feet, bruised, cut, and considerably shaken, but with no bones broken. A little dazed, and deeply humiliated, he found himself faced with a scene appalling enough to have daunted any sixteen-year-old less stiffly courageous than himself. The sudden swerve of the carriage-horses had dislocated the traffic, and the air was rent by rude, loud voices, uttering accusations and counter-accusations, embellished by threats and strange oaths; the dowager in the landaulet was indulging in a fit of mild vapours; the chair-mender, also picking himself up from the roadway, was claiming enormous damages for his personal injuries and the total wreckage of the chair; and the retriever’s master was furiously shouting for help in separating the dogs. To this task Jessamy turned his attention, and once he had persuaded the irate gentleman to stop belabouring both animals, and to hold his own firmly, he speedily dragged Lufra off. He was just about to stammer an apology when the irate gentleman, stigmatizing Lufra as a savage brute, threw all the blame of the encounter upon that noble hound. That, naturally, made him bite back his apology, and point out that all the blame attached to the retriever, who had wantonly attacked him. “Would you give a
souse
for a dog that wouldn’t protect his master, sir?” he demanded. “
I
would not!”