Frederica (6 page)

“No—well, almost never! I must own that Felix does sometimes say Jessie, but only when Jessamy is on his high ropes; and in private Harry occasionally calls me Freddy—but not to torment me! And he never calls Jessamy Jessie, no matter how much Jessamy may have provoked him, because he is four years older, besides being the head of the family, and he would think it very shabby conduct to nettle Jessamy into a fight, when he knows he could drop him in a trice. Not but what Jessamy is full of pluck, Harry says, but—Oh, dear, how I am running on, and without saying anything to the purpose! Where was I?”

“I rather think you had reached the point of your mother’s death.”

“Oh, yes! Well—the effect of that was very dreadful. I believe—indeed, I know—that Papa was so shattered that they feared for his reason. I was too young to understand, but I remember that he was ill for a long time—or so it seemed to me—and when he recovered he wasn’t the
same.
In fact, he became quite a stranger, because he was hardly ever at home. He couldn’t bear it, without Mama. I daresay we shouldn’t have liked it at the time, but I have frequently thought that it would have been a very good thing if he had married again. I know it is improper in me to say so, but he was sadly unsteady, you know.”

“Well, yes,” admitted Alverstoke. “I do know. But did he leave you to fend for yourselves? I find that hard to believe!”

“No, no, of course he didn’t! My Aunt Seraphina came to live with us—she is Mama’s unmarried sister—and she has been with us ever since Mama died!”

“And is she still with you?”

“Indeed she is! Good gracious, how could we have come to London without her to lend us countenance?”

“You must forgive me: not having seen—or, until this moment, heard—anything of your aunt, I had formed the impression that you had decided to dispense with a chaperon.”

“I’m not so ramshackle! Why should you suppose—Oh! Your propriety is offended by my receiving you without a chaperon! My Aunt Scrabster warned me how it would be, but I’m not a girl just escaped from the schoolroom, you know. What’s more, although
we
are quite accustomed to her ways, I cannot believe that
you
would like my aunt! For one thing she’s extremely deaf; and for another, she—she is a trifle eccentric! If
she comes in, pray don’t get into a quarrel with her!”

“I can safely promise you I won’t!” he said. “Is she so quarrelsome?”

“No but she hates men,” explained Frederica. “We fancy she must have suffered a disappointment in youth, or some such thing. I daresay she will go away immediately, if she finds you here.”

“Scarcely an ideal chaperon!” he observed.

“No, and, what is worse, she is beginning not to like Harry as much as she was used to. She positively hated Papa—but that was understandable, because, besides being uncivil to her, he behaved very badly, and wasted the estate quite shockingly. Fortunately, before he had contrived to bring us all to pieces, he had a stroke.”

“That
was
fortunate,” he agreed, preserving his gravity.

“Yes, wasn’t it? For, although he recovered, in a great measure, the use of his limbs, his brain was a little impaired. I don’t mean to say that he lost his reason, but he became forgetful, and—and
different
!
He wasn’t wild, or resty any more, and not in the least unhappy. Indeed, I never liked him half as well before! He let me manage the estate, and all his affairs, so I was able, with a great deal of help from Mr Salcombe, who is our lawyer, to stop everything going to rack and ruin. That was five years ago, and I do think that if Harry will only hold household for a few years he will find himself quite comfortably circumstanced, and even able to provide for Jessamy and Felix, which he is determined to do, thinking it so unjust that everything should come to him, through Papa’s not having made a Will.”

“Good God! Then what becomes of you and your sister?”

“Oh, we are perfectly well to pass!” she assured him. “Mama’s fortune was settled on her daughters, you see, so we have £.5,000 each. I expect that doesn’t seem to you very much, but it does make us independent, and it means that Charis won’t be a
penniless
bride.”

“Ah! She is engaged, then?”

“No, not yet. That is why I was determined, when Papa died, just over a year ago, to bring her to London. You see, at Graynard she had as well be buried alive! There isn’t even a watering-place within our reach, so how can she form an eligible connection? She—she is quite
wasted,
Lord Alverstoke! You will understand, when you see her, why I felt it to be my duty to bring her out in London! She is the loveliest girl! She has the sweetest disposition imaginable, too, never cross or crotchety, and she
deserves
to make a splendid marriage!”

“I have it on the authority of my secretary that she is a diamond of the first water,” said his lordship dryly. “But splendid marriages, Miss Merriville, in general depend on splendid dowries.”

“Not always!” she countered swiftly. “Only think of the Gunning sisters! Why, one of them married two Dukes, and I know she wasn’t a great heiress, because Papa told me about them, saying that Charis beat them both to flinders! Not that I expect Charis to marry a Duke—or
any
nobleman, unless, of course, one offered for her! But I do expect her to make a very good marriage, if only I can contrive to have her brought out creditably! My mind has been set on it this age, but
how
to contrive it was the question. And then, when I almost felt myself to be at a stand, Mr Salcombe came to ask me whether I would consider hiring the house furnished, for a year! The thing was that he had heard of someone who had lately retired, and wished to buy a property in Herefordshire, and not finding just what he wanted had hit upon the notion of hiring a house for a limited time in the county, so that he could look about him at his leisure, and not be obliged to post all the way from London every time he received an offer of some property which always turned out to be quite unsuitable. You may imagine how ready I was to accommodate him!”

“Oh, yes, I can imagine that—and also that your brother had nothing to say in the matter!”

“Well, he wasn’t of age then, but of course I did nothing without his consent. At first, he couldn’t like it: I think it wounded his pride. To own the truth, I didn’t like it either—but what could be more nonsensical than to cling to one’s consequence when one is living on a monkey’s allowance? It is still only by practising the strictest economy that we can keep out of debt, and until Mr Forth entered into a treaty for the house it was wholly out of my power to undertake this London venture. Even if I could broach my principal, which I am not permitted to do, I don’t think I should, for that would leave me dependent on poor Harry.” She looked seriously across at his lordship. “That mustn’t be, you know. I don’t say it to him, because he is very young, and thinks that nothing could be more natural than for us all to continue at Graynard. But I shouldn’t be at all surprised if he wished to be married in a year or two. Only think how much his wife would dislike having his sisters planted at Graynard, and how uncomfortable it would be for us!”

“Very true,” he agreed. “If any female could be induced to marry him under such circumstances, which I strongly doubt.”

Her gravity disappeared; she gave another of her chuckles. “She would be afraid that I should rule the roost, wouldn’t she? Which I probably should, because I’ve done so for so long, and habits are very hard to overcome. No: the best thing will be for Charis to contract a suitable marriage; and for the boys, and my aunt, and me, to set up an establishment of our own as soon as Harry becomes engaged. I made up my mind to that a long time ago. But the most pressing need is to provide for Charis! It seems to me to be positively
wicked
that anyone so beautiful should dwindle into an old maid! Which is what she would do, unless she married one of the dreadfully dull young men in our neighbourhood, who have been dangling after her this age; or, worse, some wholly ineligible creature, not worth a hair! It was
that
consideration which made me regard Mr Perth’s offer as a stroke of good fortune. Well, only think, sir! He hires only the house, and the Home farm, at a figure which I shouldn’t have dared to suggest to him; and the rest of the property, which is beginning to pull in the pieces again, remains in Harry’s possession, for, naturally, Mr Forth has no wish to be burdened with its management. And, which is of the first importance, it was of particular interest to him to hire, as well as the house, the servants, except our housekeeper, and our butler. That was another stroke of good fortune, because Mrs Hurley, and dear old Buddle, would never have consented to remain at Graynard in the employment of anyone but a Merriville. So we were able to bring them to London with us; and although they despise London, and are for ever telling me what a horrid house this is, and furnished in the most rubbishing style; and complaining that London servants are a chuck-farthing set, it is the greatest comfort to have them with us! And I must say,” she added candidly, “it
is
a
horrid house, and not situated, as I’ve discovered, in the
modish
part of town. Never having visited London, I asked my Aunt Scrabster to procure a furnished house for me. That was a mistake. She lives in Harley Street herself, and I find that this district is almost entirely inhabited by persons engaged in trade. However, I am told that the most extortionate rents are demanded for houses in Mayfair, besides fines upon entrance, so I don’t repine. The worst mistake I made was believing that my aunt had either the power or the desire to introduce us to the ton!” She smiled. “My tongue runs like a fiddlestick, doesn’t it? The round tale is that my aunt and uncle, being childless, have never made any attempt to live in a—in a
fashionable
way; and poor Aunt Amelia was never more dismayed than when I informed her of my decision to come to London for the season! That, sir, is why I was forced to apply to you.”

He had been meditatively tapping the lid of his snuffbox, and he now flicked it open, and, frowning slightly, took a pinch, while Frederica watched him, not un-hopefully. He shut the box, dusted his long fingers, and at last looked at her, still frowning. “You would be well advised to be content with something less than the first circle of society,” he said bluntly.

“Are we so ineligible?” she demanded.

“By birth, no. In all other respects, yes. I don’t know what your pecuniary resources may be, but—”

“Enough!”

“If you are thinking of a Court presentation for your sister you would do better to fund your money: it’s an investment that would yield you no dividend.”

“I know that, and I don’t think of it.”

“What, then?”

She clasped her hands together in her lap, and said, a little breathlessly: “Almack’s!”

“You are aiming at the moon, Miss Merriville. No introduction of mine would help you to cross that hallowed threshold! Unless you number amongst your acquaintances some matron possessing the entree, who would be willing to sponsor you—”

“I don’t. If that had been the case I shouldn’t have sought your assistance. But I won’t cry craven!
Somehow
I shall manage—see if I don’t!”

He rose politely, saying: “I hope you may. If you think my advice of value, may I suggest that you would have a better chance of success if you were to remove to one of the watering-places? Bath, or Tunbridge Wells, where you may attend the assemblies, and would no doubt meet persons of consideration.”

She too rose, but before she could answer him she was interrupted by the sound of hasty footsteps on the stairs. The next instant a sturdy schoolboy burst into the room, exclaiming: “Frederica, it was nothing but a fudge! We searched all over, and I asked people, and no one knew anything about it!”

IV

Miss Merriville, unperturbed by the irruption into her drawing-room of a young gentleman who had contrived to acquire, since she had last seen him some three hours earlier, a crumpled and grubby collar and muddied nankeens, responded with quick sympathy: “Oh, no! How wretched for you! But it can’t have been a fudge, Felix! It was Mr Rushbury who told you about it, and he wouldn’t have hoaxed you!”

By this time Master Felix Merriville had taken cursory stock of the Marquis, but he would undoubtedly have poured forth the story of his morning’s Odyssey to his sister had he not been quelled by another, and older, schoolboy, who, entering the room in his wake, severely adjured him to mind his manners. A large and shaggy dog, of indeterminate parentage, was at his heels; and just as he was apologizing to Frederica for having come in when she was entertaining a visitor, this animal advanced with the utmost affability to greet the Marquis. His disposition was friendly, as he showed by the waving of his plumed tail; and his evident intention was to jump up at the guest. But Alverstoke, wise in the ways of dogs, preserved his face from being generously licked, and his exquisitely fashioned coat of Bath Superfine from being smirched by muddy paws, by catching the animal’s forearms, and holding him at bay. “Yes, good dog!” he said. “I’m much obliged to you, but I don’t care to have my face licked!”

“
Down,
Lufra!” commanded Mr Jessamy Merriville, in even more severe accents. He added, with his sister’s absence of shyness: “I beg pardon, sir: I would not have brought him in if I had known that ray sister was entertaining a visitor.”

“Not at all: I like dogs,” responded his lordship, reducing Lufra to abject slavery by running his fingers along the precise spot on the spine which that grateful hound was unable to scratch for himself. “
What
did you call him?”