The Shocking Miss Anstey (23 page)

He supposed he must still try to do it, and wearily he addressed himself yet again to the Earl of Hildersham, who was sitting comfortably in a chair by the open window.

‘But I do assure your lordship, there’s not a house in Cheltenham that isn’t taken. It’s impossible. We open our new Assembly Rooms next month---’

‘And Wellington’s coming to do it? Cut the bit of ribbon and dance the first dance, hey? Well, that’s why I’m here. It’s why we’re both here.’

He glanced for a moment at the woman who was sitting, so quiet and composed, at his side, and she gave a quick smile of acknowledgement. Then her eyes strayed again to the open window and the busy High Street beyond. They were in the Plough, the first hotel in Cheltenham, where they had arrived a half-hour since in a barouche-and-four. Mr. Bickham, the proprietor, had sent at once for the Master of Ceremonies.

‘Yes,’ said Mr. King suddenly, and his voice had pitched a little higher. ‘It’s why you’re here, my lord, and it’s why everyone else is here too. I’ve never known Cheltenham so full. It’s near bursting--or it will be. The rooms are booked, the houses taken, and what am I to
do
when people keep coming? But as to finding you a house, my lord, a whole house---’

‘I wrote to you.’

‘You did, my lord, and for Mrs. Masters.’ For a moment his tired eyes turned to her as she sat by the window. ‘You asked a house for her, a small house, and I found it hard enough to get. But the house is ready, just off the London road, new from the builders. It was finished but three days ago, and that only at my insistence. But there it is, furniture put in, servants engaged, just as you commanded. I hope it will give satisfaction.’

‘I’m sure it will, and I’m much obliged to you, sir.’

‘I thank your lordship. There--er--will be an account for the furniture, my lord. Mr. Cooke, in the Colonnade.’

‘Let him send it to me. But as for myself---‘

‘What can I
do,
my lord? You wrote no word of coming yourself.’

‘Oh, I changed my mind. I heard Wellington was coming, and---‘

‘Yes, my lord. It is what they have all heard. So we have gentlemen everywhere, and for a house, a whole house, fit for your lordship’s rank--the last of them was taken weeks ago. My lord, it’s impossible.’

‘Hardly that.’ Hildersham uncrossed his legs and looked calmly at the worried man in front of him, noting perhaps the signs of strain in a man much older than himself. Then his tone changed quickly. ‘Now don’t distress yourself, Mr. King. You’ve done excellently, and these little difficulties aren’t your fault. I still think I shall get a house, though. I may have to pay a little more, of course, but it’s my experience that if enough is offered somebody always takes it. He’ll move out, and let me have his house.’

‘Ah!’ Mr. King considered it, aware that this was his own experience too. ‘It would be a high price just now.’

‘Try it, sir, try it. Then let me know.’

‘As your lordship pleases. If I have
carte blanche---‘

‘You have. And for a night or two, while you see to it.. .’ He paused, and a touch of amusement came to his face. ‘I’ll lodge myself on Mrs. Masters.’

‘My lord!’

‘What’s the matter? Isn’t the house big enough?’

‘It’s not proper, my lord.’

‘Oh, damn that. There’s nothing proper about
me.’
The deep voice chuckled softly. ‘What do you say to it, Marion? Will you have me?’

‘I’ll be delighted.’

It was the first time she had spoken, and her cool clear voice turned Mr. King’s attention to her. He had been too worried till now to take much heed of her, and he was suddenly aware that he must indeed take heed of her. Mr. King had learned through the years to single out the qualities that would attract attention at a spa, and he saw them all here. She was young, the early twenties at most, slim and dark, elegant in a cool summer pelisse and a curricle-cloak of rifle green. She was small and slight, with her sharp young head poised delicately on a slender neck, and her eyes shone brightly as she turned them suddenly to his. Mr. King coughed gently, and was quite certain she must not give hospitality at night to the Earl of Hildersham.

He tried to remember the letter he had had from Hildersham. It had asked him to arrange a house for her, and though he could not recall the exact terms, it had certainly conveyed to him that she was a widow, possibly from the war, to whom Hildersham had some kind of obligation. Mr. King coughed again, thinking that there was no look of grief in Mrs. Masters. She would make her mark in any company; and Mr. King knew only too well what the company at Cheltenham could do with a spark of scandal. That was to be expected, but the Master of Ceremonies had a duty to his proprietors, and there must be no scandal about the Earl of Hildersham; or, if there was, it must be the right sort of scandal, the sort that would bring more visitors to Cheltenham.

Mr. King coughed again, and then took his most professional tone.

‘If your lordship will forgive me, it would be most unwise--indiscreet, my lord, with people as they are. They drink the waters, stroll in the walks, sit in the Pump Rooms, and what have they to do but talk? And with your lordship’s eminence, and at a spa---‘

‘It doesn’t need a spa to set them talking of
me.
They do it anywhere, and I don’t worry.’

‘No doubt, my lord, but for Mrs. Masters’ sake---‘

‘She came here to be noticed. Didn’t you, lovely?’

‘In a way, perhaps. It all depends---‘

‘Precisely.’ Mr. King cut in sharply, and had even less doubt now of Mrs. Masters. ‘It depends very greatly. Mrs. Masters is young, and, if I may say so, attractive, and--er--my lord, you must not sleep in her house.’

‘I have to sleep somewhere. You don’t want me to walk about all night?’

‘Possibly a hotel, my lord--just a night or two?’

‘This one?’ The flick of his hand seemed to take in all the Plough. ‘They’re full to the chimney-pots. They say the others are too. So there we are. I’ll need hospitality, and if Mrs. Masters offers it . . . Very kind of her. I’ll accept it till you find me a house.’

Hildersham unfolded his legs and sat back comfortably. Mr. King sat opposite and damned his obtuseness. He had no objection to whispered scandal. That was an attraction at a spa. But open scandal, disregarding even the looks of things, was another matter, and mothers with daughters--or some of them--would be outraged by it. It would harm the spa, and something would have to be done.

‘My lord . . .’ A thought had come suddenly to him. ‘Hospitality indeed--but not, if you please, from a lady. I feel sure that some nobleman at present in the town will most gladly be host to your lordship.’

‘Oh? Who?’

‘I--I’ll have to consult the Spa Book.’

‘Very well.’ Hildersham got suddenly to his feet as if he had lost interest in this. ‘I’m taking Marion to this house of hers. I suppose we can get a phaeton or something? I’ve put up my barouche.’

‘Oh yes, my lord.’

‘Right. Well, I’ll be an hour or two--see her settled in--and then I’ll come back--no, where’s your office? Assembly Rooms? I’ll call there and hear what you’ve to say. If there’s nothing . . .’ He completed it with a nod at Mrs. Masters, who was already on her feet, tying her cloak, and then his smile broke out as he turned. ‘In the meantime, sir, I’m much obliged to you.’

They went out together, her arm linked in his, and Mr. King was so far from his usual equanimity that he did not even bow them out, let alone attempt his usual announcement that the Pump Rooms opened at six each morning, when a band of musicians would attend till nine, depending for remuneration on the liberality of visitors. He did not care at this moment whether musicians were remunerated or not. He sat dejectedly in his chair, feeling that he was getting too old for this--as indeed he was. He would be seventy next month, and he had continued this year only for the Duke of Wellington’s visit. He could not miss that unless, of course, he were to go mad first, and he was beginning to suppose he might.

But something had to be done, and he pulled himself to his ageing feet and went strolling up the High Street with his professional look of leisure, his charming smile, and a lift of his hat for two ladies and a baronet as he passed the new Assembly Rooms, still a whirl of painters and polishers. On he went, legs aching and hat lifting, past Cambray Street to the Old Rooms just beyond, thirty years old and too small and outmoded for the fine new Cheltenham that was rising after the war. Here he had his office, and here he sank wearily into the softly padded chair and called urgently for the
Important Visitors’
List. All visitors were asked to sign the Spa Book on arrival, nominally so that Mr. King could call to pay respects, actually so that he could sum them up and decide what importance they had. But the Book served also to compile some special lists, and it was one of these that he was now reading. He would need a nobleman as host for Hildersham, and of these the list had not many. Lord Harborne, in the Royal Crescent. . . that would hardly do. His lordship had gout and was said to be difficult... The Viscount Trevithick . . . again no ... he had lost too much at hazard and was in a little villa off the London Road . . .
not
suitable for Hildersham . . . The Marquis of Malloch, at Bayshill, had a large family, mostly daughters . . . perhaps inadvisable . . . Mr. King pursed his lips and read on. The Royal Crescent again, Lord Barford . . . that looked better. Mr. King sat back as he considered it.

It looked much better. Lord Barford . . . Lady St. Hollith . . . she had been in Cheltenham before, with a husband . . . no sign of him now . . . some talk of a brother who might be joining them, but there would still be plenty of room. Mr. King nodded and remembered that he had called and been well impressed. They had known what they were doing, these two. Lord Barford had hired the house in ample time, and had brought his servants with him. The niece knew how to run it, and Lord Barford was a man of affairs, a former Ambassador, who knew almost everyone. He might know Hildersham, and Mr. King tinkled his bell. He was too tired now to walk to Royal Crescent, so he called for his cream-and-gold phaeton which his proprietors maintained for him, and in which, contrary to custom, he had a man to drive him. It was the best-known equipage in Cheltenham, and it meant a deal of hat-lifting for Mr. King.

He did not let that disturb him. He could do it by habit, and he was again a picture of smiling ease as the phaeton went swaying down the High Street in the sunlight of the May afternoon. It turned away, and after the noise and throng of the High Street it came to quiet. This was a road for walking more than driving, and only a hundred yards or so was metalled, running past a fine stone colonnade. Ahead was a wide grassy track, crossing a stream and then rising to a low wooded hill where there were signs of activity as if building were beginning. But the phaeton was not concerned with that. It turned away again, going parallel to the High Street, and another minute took it through a belt of trees from which it emerged to a wide sweep of grass. Ahead was the Royal Crescent, a dozen and a half of tall houses, the last not three years old, built in one curving block in the style that was known at Bath, and distinguished by the balconies of ornamental iron that hung above the simple doors. The road ran to the Crescent and round it, and at one of the doors the phaeton stopped. Mr. King smoothed his pantaloons and pulled his coat straight. Then he walked across the pavement and up the steps to the door.

Lord Barford was at home. It was four o’clock and he was waiting for dinner, but he had time for Mr. King. Everyone in Cheltenham had time for Mr. King, and he was given a brimming glass of madeira, which he seemed to accept more thankfully than he always did. Nor did he demur when his host stretched forward a minute later to refill it.

‘That’s better,’ said Barford affably. ‘You’re looking tired.’

‘I must admit, my lord, I am. Time tells, I’m afraid.’

‘It tells all of us, and yours must be a tiring work.’

‘You do it in the winter, don’t you?’ put in Lady St. Hollith from his other side. ‘Aren’t you the Master of Ceremonies at Bath, too?’

‘Indeed yes. I never get any rest.’

‘I’m afraid you won’t, with all these people here. The town seems very full.’

‘I’ve never known it so full. But that, my lord, is what brings me to you.’

Mr. King fortified himself again with the madeira and then contrived to explain the matter. They heard him attentively, and Barford seemed delicately amused.

‘Young Hildersham, is it? Quite like his father. But who
is
the lady?’

‘I--er--understand, my lord, that she’s a widow to whom his lordship has--er--certain obligations.’

‘Then I’ll assume she’s young. And attractive?’

‘Exceedingly, my lord.’

‘Lucky fellow, isn’t he, with obligations of that sort? Well, what do you want me to do?
Custos morum,
is it--to Hildersham?’ His lordship’s eyebrows quivered. ‘That’s a new role for me to play.’

‘But if you would consent, my lord?’

‘My niece will see more of him than I shall. So what do you say to it, Mary?’

‘I think we must.’ She answered him firmly, and seemed in no doubt of it. ‘We’ve an obligation to him. Or, at least, I have.’

‘More obligations?’ He was a little sharper. ‘What’s this one, please?’

‘You know what help he gave John when---‘

‘Your father? Bringing him home? But of course.’ Barford nodded quickly. ‘Stupid of me. I’d forgotten it was Hildersham.’

‘But it was.’

‘Then certainly we must take him in. Very well, sir. It shall be as you say. When do you wish him to come?’

‘Oh, tonight, if you please. That’s important. But I’m infinitely obliged---‘

‘Not at all. How of tonight, Mary? Can it be done?’

‘Why not? He’d better hurry, though, if he wants dinner.’

‘I’ll convey that to him.’ Mr. King rose a little uncertainly to his feet. ‘Your ladyship’s most grateful servant. Yours, my lord.’

‘Don’t hurry, sir. You’ll have another glass before you go? Call it medicinal.’

Mr. King; was persuaded. He took another five minutes, and then the phaeton went crunching away through the trees to the Colonnade. Barford turned quizzically to his niece.