Frederica (35 page)

Digesting this, Eliza said slowly: “I see. You think that intrigues him, and you may well be right. But it seems very odd to me that both Louisa and Sally believe him to be in love with the other sister!”

“He is being extremely cautious,” said Augusta.

“It must be for the first time!”

“Exactly so! I am of the opinion that he does not yet know his own mind. But I consider it significant that he is taking pains—also, I daresay, for the first time!—to do nothing that might make Frederica the subject of malicious on-dits. Even Louisa has failed to perceive that there is a very different expression in his eyes when he talks to Frederica than the quizzing look he gives Charis.”

“Well!” said Eliza. “I had no notion of this, or that matters had become so serious! To be sure, it did occur to me, when we sat cosing together last night, and when Felix set out to cajole him, that he was not as—as
inhuman
as he was used to be! If that is Frederica’s influence at work—Oh, but Augusta, you can’t have considered! Only think of her encumbrances! He told me himself that Felix and his brother are in her charge; can you conceive of his being willing to undertake any part of that responsibility?”

“By what I hear,” responded Augusta dryly, “he has already begun to do so. I am heartily glad of it: it has given him something to think of besides his own pleasure. I have never made any secret of my conviction that idleness has been his ruin. His wealth has made it possible for him to indulge his every extravagant whim without even troubling himself to count the cost; he has never been obliged to consider anyone but himself; and what is the result? He was bored before he was thirty!”

“So you advocate the guardianship of two schoolboys as a remedy?” Eliza gave a chuckle, as she passed her own sons under mental review. “Well, he certainly wouldn’t be
bored
!”
she said. She began to draw on her gloves. “I hope to make the acquaintance of the Misses Merriville this evening, and am now doubly anxious to do so. It will be hard to convince me, however, that such a female as you have described would make Alverstoke a suitable wife.”

But when she drove away from the Seftons’ house that night, she was much inclined to think that Augusta might be right. She felt strongly drawn to Frederica, liking her frank, natural manners, her air of quiet elegance, and the laughter in her eyes. That must have been what had attracted Alverstoke, she decided—if he was attracted. It was impossible to make up her mind on that question, for while, on the one hand, he plainly stood on terms of friendly intimacy with her, on the other, he did not linger beside her for many minutes, but strolled away to engage Mrs Ilford in a light flirtation. Lady Elizabeth noted, with approval, that Frederica’s eyes neither followed him, nor afterwards searched for him in the crowded room. Augusta was right, she thought: the girl has quality. But to describe her as
passable
merely was to do her a gross injustice: she was certainly dimmed by her sister’s brilliance, but in any other company she would rank as a very pretty girl. She possessed, moreover, the indefinable gift of charm, which, unlike Charis’s fragile beauty, would remain with her to the end.

She said smilingly: “I must tell you that I have quite lost my heart to your brother Felix! You are aware, I daresay, that I made his acquaintance yesterday. A most engaging child!”

Frederica laughed, but shook her head. “Yes, but he is very naughty, and is quite in my black books—if he would but care for that! I strictly forbade him to plague Lord Alverstoke, who has been much too kind to him—indeed, to all of us!—already.”

“Oh, but he didn’t plague him! He told us that you had forbidden him to do so, and assured my brother that he was only
asking
him—!”

“Oh, dear, what a dreadful boy he is! I do beg your pardon: he told me that you said you wished to watch this ascension, and I’m very sure you don’t, ma’am!”

“On the contrary! I shall enjoy it excessively—and in particular the spectacle of my brother being brought round a small and probably grubby thumb!”

“Certainly grubby!” said Frederica ruefully. “Isn’t it odd that you may send a little boy out as neat as wax, and within half-an-hour he will be a perfect shag-rag?”

“Yes, and in that respect they are all exactly alike. I have three sons, you know, Miss Merri—Oh, no, why should we peel eggs? Frederica! We are cousins, are we not?”

“Well, I
think
we are,” said Frederica. “Only—only rather remote, I’m afraid!” She hesitated, and then said candidly: “It must seem very odd to you that I should have asked Lord Alverstoke to befriend us. The thing was he was the only relation whose name I knew. My father had several times spoken of him, so—so I was so bold-faced as to apply to him. I was very anxious, you see, that my sister should have a London season.”

“I can readily understand that,” Eliza said, looking towards Charis, who made one of a group of young people on the opposite side of the room. “I see she has Endymion Dauntry on a string: if he were not so handsome one would take him for a mooncalf! Is that his sister, Chloë, talking to young Wrenthorpe? How monstrous that he should be so much the better-looking!” She withdrew her gaze, and smiled at Frederica: “Alverstoke tells me that you are under the chaperonage of an aunt, but that she is not here tonight: I should like to make her acquaintance, so I shall pay her a morning visit, if you think she would not dislike it?”

“She could not do so, but I fear you would not be very likely to find her at home,” said Frederica. Her brow was creased, and she sighed. “It is a most unfortunate circumstance—well, a very
sad
circumstance!—that my uncle, who lives in Harley Street, is dangerously ill, not expected to recover, which, indeed, one would not wish him to do, for he has been a sufferer from a painful and incurable disease for a long time. My Aunt Seraphina feels it to be her duty to support her sister, and spends almost the whole of every day in Harley Street. My Aunt Amelia is in great affliction, which seems to suspend her every faculty. She is—er—all sensibility, and the least thing overpowers her.” She added hastily: “Not that I mean to say this is a little thing!”

“I know just what you mean,” interposed Eliza. “Poor soul! I sincerely pity her, but I shall spare you any flowery commonplaces. I fancy we are alike in preferring the word with the bark on it: it is in the highest degree unfortunate that this should have happened just now! You must be most awkwardly placed, without your chaperon. Well, I mean to stay in London for a few weeks, so perhaps I may be able to come to your rescue.”

“Oh no, no! It is most kind of you, but
that
doesn’t signify! My aunt dislikes ton-parties, and rarely accompanies us to them. Indeed, she only consented to come to Upper Wimpole Street on the understanding that she need not do so. I thought that perhaps it would present a—a more correct appearance if she were known to be with us. But, in point of fact,
I’ve
always been Charis’s chaperon. You see, by the time she was seventeen I was quite beyond the age of needing a chaperon myself—whatever Cousin Alverstoke may say!”

“What
does
he say?” enquired Eliza.

“Everything that is disagreeable!” replied Frederica, laughing. “He thinks me sunk beneath reproach—positively a hurly-burly woman!—because I don’t take my maid with me when I go out! It is too absurd! As though I were a green girl, which anyone can see I am not!”

“No: but not, if I may say so, at your last prayers!”

Frederica smiled. “I daresay no female ever reaches her last prayers. But that doesn’t signify: the thing is that if my uncle were to die
now
it would be most improper, wouldn’t it? for Charis to attend any such parties as this.” The laughter sprang into her eyes again; she said comically: “Oh, dear! How odious that sounds! But when one has schemed and contrived, as I have, to bring a very beautiful and very dear sister to London for at least
one
season—it—it does seem hard to be obliged to forgo it all because an uncle, whom we scarcely know, and who is not a blood-relation—though a kind, worthy man!—should die at such an ill-chosen moment!”

A responsible twinkle came into Lady Elizabeth’s eyes, but she replied quite seriously: “Yes, I see. Awkward! But if he is only related to you by marriage I am much inclined to think that you need do no more than go into black gloves.”

“But not
dance
in black gloves!” objected Frederica.

Lady Elizabeth thought this over. “Perhaps not. I am not perfectly sure about dancing, but I do know that we were in black gloves for one of my great-aunts when my mother presented Louisa, and I seem to remember that she went to parties every night. I don’t care a rush for proper modes myself, and should have supposed that you do not either.”

“I’m obliged to care, for my sister’s sake. What might be thought eccentricity in Lady Elizabeth Dauntry would be condemned in Miss Merriville as very unbecoming conduct,” said Frederica dryly.

Eliza wrinkled up her nose distastefully. “I suppose that’s true. How detestable! Well, the only thing to be done is to—”

But at that moment she was interrupted by Lady Jersey, who came up to her with her hands outstretched, exclaiming: “
Eliza
!
Oh, goodness me, I hadn’t the least notion—My dearest wretch, how dared you come to London without one word to me?”

So Frederica, moving away, did not learn what, in her ladyship’s opinion, was the best thing to be done. She could only hope that Mr Navenby, who had punctiliously asked her leave to address himself to Charis, might succeed in winning that soft heart. Since Charis showed a tendency to burst into tears whenever his name was mentioned, the hope was not strong; but when Frederica compared him to Endymion she found it hard to believe that Charis, ninnyhammer though she was, could really prefer a handsome block to so admirable a young man. Indeed, she had been so much exasperated by the sight of Charis gazing worshipfully up into Endymion’s face, at Almack’s, two days previously, that she had quite tartly requested her not to make such a figure of herself at the Seftons’ party.

“You cast just such sheep’s eyes at young Fraddon, when you fancied yourself in love with him,” she reminded her wilting sister. “But then you were only seventeen. You are past nineteen now, and indeed, my dear, it is tune that you showed a little commonsense! Instead, you show less! Will Fraddon had more than his handsome face to recommend him, and, had your tendre for him endured, neither I nor his parents would have raised any objection to the match. It didn’t, however, and
now
you choose to make a goose of yourself over another, and far less eligible, handsome face! Charis, surely you must know that I am not more opposed to such a match than is Mrs Dauntry—or, I don’t doubt, Lord Alverstoke? No, no, don’t cry! I don’t mean to be unkind, and I promise you I perfectly understand how you came to be dazzled by so magnificent a—a clodpole! Only try to give your thoughts a more rational direction! How
could
you be happy with a man whom his own relations think a block?”

The effect of this practical homily was to cast Charis into a fever of apprehension, which she communicated to Endymion at the first opportunity that offered. No sooner had he succeeded, at the Seftons’ assembly, in drawing her apart from the throng of her suitors than the story was poured into his ears, and his beloved was entreating him not to come near her for the rest of the evening. “I have the most dreadful
feel
that Frederica has divulged the secret of our attachment to Alverstoke!” she said tragically. “You cannot have failed to notice the way he watched us, when you first came up to me! I declare, I was ready to sink, when I looked up, and found his piercing gaze upon me!”

Endymion had not, in fact, noticed this unnerving circumstance, but he agreed that it was sinister. After painful cogitation, he said: “There’s only one thing for it: I must sell out!”

“Oh, no, no!” Charis breathed. “Never would I let you do so for my miserable sake!”

“Well, to own the truth, I’ve never cared for military life above half,” confided Endymion. “But the thing is that Cousin Alverstoke will very likely cut off my allowance, if I sell out, and then, you know, we should find ourselves obliged to bite on the bridle. Should you object to being a trifle cucumberish? Though I daresay if I took up farming, or breeding horses, or something of that nature, we should soon find ourselves full of juice.”

“
I
?
she exclaimed. “Oh, no, indeed! Why, I’ve been
cucumberish,
as you call it, all my life! But for you it is a different matter! You must not ruin yourself for my sake.”

“It won’t be as bad as that,” he assured her. “My fortune ain’t handsome, but I wasn’t born without a shirt. And if I was to sell out my cousin
couldn’t
have me sent abroad.”

“But could he do so now?” she asked anxiously. “Harry says the Life Guards never go abroad, except in time of war.”

“No, but he might contrive to get me sent off on a mission.”

Her eyes widened. “What sort of a mission, dear love?”

“Well, I don’t know precisely, but we’re always sending missions somewhere or other, and very often they have a military man attached to them. Diplomatic stuff,” explained Endymion vaguely. “Like Lord Amherst going to China, a couple of years back, and staying there above a twelvemonth. Something to do with mandarins,” he added, in further elucidation of the mystery. “Wouldn’t suit me at all, but there’s no saying what I might happen if I don’t sell out. Got a devilish lot of influence, Alverstoke.”

Since it never entered her head that nothing short of Royal influence could avail to obtain a place for Endymion on any diplomatic mission, Charis was instantly assailed by a hideous vision of death and disaster. If the ship which bore so precious a burden escaped wreck, he would either perish at the hands of unknown, but probably murderous mandarins, or succumb to one of the deadly fevers peculiar to Eastern countries. Her face perfectly white, she said, in a low, passionate voice, that to avert such a fate she would be prepared to renounce him. Endymion was much moved, but, not having visualized any of the disasters which had sprung so immediately to her mind, he did not feel that the situation, even at its worst, called for so great a sacrifice. But when Charis suddenly begged him to leave her, because Lady Elizabeth was looking at them, he did feel, and forcibly, that they could not go on, he said, in this devilish havey-cavey way.