False Colours

16

Lady Denville did not, after all, visit her prodigal son before breakfast, being strongly urged by Kit not to do so, on the grounds that she would in all probability wake him from a deep sleep, induced partly by exhaustion, and partly by a posset brewed by Nurse Pinner from some recipe known only to herself.

Kit had visited his mama while she was still attired in her filmy dressing-gown. The stately Miss Rimpton was deftly arranging her burnished locks a la Tite, and although she might be said, by the slight curtsy she dropped him, to have acknowledged the right of my lady’s son to intrude upon his mama’s toilet, her face remained set in lines of austere disapproval. Lady Denville might welcome his supposed lordship with cordiality, but in Miss Rimpton’s opinion no gentleman, however nearly related, should be permitted to set eyes on her until she had passed out of her dresser’s expert hands. She said repressively: “One moment, my lady, if you please!” and went on pinning up her mistress’s hair in an unhurried way which was designed to put Kit in his place. It succeeded very well, since when she presently withdrew, having desired her ladyship to ring the bell when she should be ready to receive her further services, he exclaimed: “You know, that woman frightens me to death, Mama!”

“Yes, isn’t she odious?” agreed Lady Denville. “But a positive genius! What is it you want, dearest? Don’t tell me something dreadful has happened!”

“Not a bit of it!” he replied, quizzing her. “Can’t you guess?”

“No, wicked one! How should I—Kit! You don’t mean—Oh, is it Evelyn?” She flew up out of her chair, as he nodded. “Oh, thank God! Where is he? When did he arrive?”

“Last night, after we had all gone to bed. He let himself in with Pinny’s key. He wanted to come and wake you, but I wouldn’t allow him to do so.”

“Oh, Kit, how could you? You must have known I should have been only too glad to have been awakened!”

“Yes, love, I did, but I also knew that if he did wake you it would be hours before I could drag him off to bed! Which I was determined to do, because he’s not in very plump currant yet. Nothing to alarm you!—He overturned his phaeton, broke his shoulder and a couple of ribs, and seems to have suffered a pretty severe concussion.”

“Oh, my poor, poor darling!” she cried. “Where is he? Tell me instantly, Kit!”

“He’s with Pinny. I went back with him there in the small hours, to help him to undress, and I promise you she’s taking good care of him!”

“Yes, yes, of course she is, but I must go to him at once! Ring the bell for Rimpton, dearest! You must make my excuses to your aunt—say I have the headache, and am still in bed! Yes, and the quails! Dawlish procured them from Brighton, because Bonamy particularly likes them, but so does Evelyn, and perhaps he might be tempted to eat them, even if he fancies nothing else. So tell Dawlish to put two of them in a basket, with some asparagus, and—”

But at this point Kit intervened, representing to her very kindly, but with considerable firmness, firstly, that Evelyn’s presence must remain a secret; secondly, that any such order would inevitably lead to his discovery; thirdly, that this difficulty would not be overcome by telling Dawlish that the quails and the asparagus were for Nurse Pinner’s consumption; and fourthly, that he had been strictly enjoined by Nurse not to let anyone disturb Evelyn until he had had his sleep out. “So sit down again, Mama, and let me tell you what happened to Evelyn!” he said. “You will be able to stay with him much longer, if you go down after breakfast, for you can tell my aunt that you are obliged to visit Pinny, because she’s out of sorts, and no one will think it in the least odd of you. Besides, if I know Evelyn, he’ll want to be shaved before he receives visitors! I sent Fimber down to the cottage, with some of his gear, an hour ago, so with both Pinny and Fimber to cosset and scold him you may be very sure he won’t be neglected!”

“He will need me to protect him!” she said, laughing.

However, she did sit down again; and Kit embarked on the task of recounting a slightly expurgated version of his twin’s adventures. “For you’ll do it much better than I could, Kester!” had said Evelyn coaxingly.

This confidence was not misplaced. Mr Fancot, bred to diplomacy, omitted all reference to Tunbridge Wells; slid gracefully over the peculiar behaviour of his twin in having shaken off his devoted groom; and managed to make Lady Denville so impatient to learn the exact circumstances of the accident that it never occurred to her to wonder what could have induced Evelyn to have chosen so roundabout a way to London in preference to the direct pike-road which he could have rejoined, after his visit to John-Coachman, merely by retracing his route for a couple of miles to Nutley. Long before Kit ventured to introduce Miss Patience into his recital, her ladyship was so brimful of gratitude to Mrs Askham for the tender care she had lavished upon Evelyn that it seemed doubtful whether she would be able to restrain her impulsive desire to have herself driven to Woodland House before she had even set eyes on Evelyn. “How can I wait to thank her?” she demanded, tears sparkling in her eyes. “How can I ever repay her? Oh, she must be the noblest creature alive! But for her he might have died, Kit!”

While he did not share this extreme view of the case, Kit was very ready to encourage it, and to slip in a word or two designed to imbue Lady Denville with the conviction that in Mr Askham she would discover a gentleman of culture, and respectable ancestry. She said she had no doubt at all that he and his wife were excellent persons.

She was not in the least surprised to learn that Evelyn had forgotten to assure himself that his card-case did, in fact, contain some cards: it was just the sort of mischance, she said, that might be depended upon to overtake one at precisely the wrong moment; and she found nothing to wonder at in Evelyn’s having asserted that his name was Evelyn, rather than Denville. “For, you know, dearest, a great many people do call him Evelyn! I think, perhaps, it is because he is that kind of man, and so very unlike your father, whom no one ever addressed as William! Do you recall that before Papa died it was only the merest acquaintances who called Evelyn Martinhoe? But, oh, Kit, if only the Askhams had known that he was Denville! They must have sent a message instantly, and you need never have pretended you were Denville, for no one could have expected Evelyn to attend a dinner-party when he was out of his senses! Oh, dear, Kit, I meant it for the best, but only think what has come of it! Try as I will, I cannot feel the least degree of certainty that Cressy won’t recognize the difference between you! Even if I could hit upon a way of accounting for his suddenly being obliged to keep his arm in a sling! So, instead of rescuing him, I have very likely ruined him!”

Courageously facing the worst of his task, Mr Fancot said: “No, Mama, you haven’t. I was about to tell you that he no longer wishes to marry Cressy. The fact is—”

She interrupted him, demanding in a voice of deep foreboding: “Who is it?”

“It’s Miss Askham, Mama. Evelyn has fallen tail over top in love with her, and it’s she he means to marry, I shall leave it to him to tell you about her, but she seems to be a—a most unexceptionable girl!”

“Oh, no, Kit!” she uttered imploringly. “When he has already offered for Cressy! Dear one, don’t, I beg of you, imagine that I mean to pinch at him, for no one knows better than I do that it is impossible to find a fault in either of you—indeed, I have always been so very sorry for other parents whose sons are so sadly inferior to mine!—but I cannot but think it a pity that Evelyn should fall in love quite so often, and nearly always with such ineligible girls!”

“Yes, Mama,” he agreed, regarding her in affectionate amusement. “But consider how impossible it would be to find a girl in any way worthy of either of us!”

“Now you are being absurd!” said her ladyship, with great dignity.

He laughed. “No, how can you say so? In all seriousness, love, I have a strong notion that this is a very different affair from all Evelyn’s former fits of gallantry. I do believe that he has formed a lasting attachment, and so, I think, will you, when you have talked to him. From what he told me, Miss Askham is wholly unlike any other of his flirts—and, I should have supposed, lacking in the qualities which he has hitherto found so captivating. He told me that she was neither dashing nor full of wit, but that the mere thought that he might grow bored with her seemed to him fantastic! Well, Mama, my own taste is—is for a girl of a different cut, but it flashed across my mind, as I listened to Evelyn, that perhaps Miss Askham may be the very thing for him. I’ll say no more on that head, but leave you to judge for yourself. As for her eligibility from the worldly standpoint—no! It must be thought an unequal marriage, though I collect that Evelyn would have no reason to blush either for Miss Askham, or for her family. They are not persons of consequence, nor are they affluent, but they seem to be of unquestionable gentility.”

Lady Denville had been listening intently to this, a look of doubt on her face, and she now said anxiously: “Kit, you don’t think that they did know who Evelyn was, and—and drew him in?”

“No, I don’t, Mama,” he said decidedly. “I own, that was my first thought, but if that was their intention they went a mighty queer way to work to bring it about! Mrs Askham never permitted her daughter to be alone with Evelyn from the moment that he recovered his senses; and it seems that Askham is no more in favour of the match than—than my Uncle Henry will be! Evelyn made a pretty clean breast of the whole business to him; and while he didn’t forbid Evelyn ever to cross the threshold again, he did forbid him to make any attempt to fix his interest with Miss Askham while his affairs are in such a tangled state.”

“Ah, that gives me a very good opinion of him!” said her ladyship quickly. “I shouldn’t like it at all if Evelyn wished to marry too far beneath him, but I don’t give a straw for consequence. As for your Uncle Henry, it has nothing whatsoever to do with him, and so I shall tell him, if he has the impertinence to object to a marriage which has my approval! The only thing is—” She paused, hesitating for a moment, her brow puckered. Then she directed an inquiring, not entirely unhopeful look at Kit, and said tentatively: “Dearest, do you think perhaps you would like to marry Cressy? I can’t but feel that one of you ought to do so, when I reflect on the excessively awkward situation she has been placed in, poor child!” She added hastily, as Kit fell into uncontrollable laughter: “Not that I wish to press you! Only that the thought has frequently crossed my mind that you and she would deal admirably together!”

“That thought has crossed our minds, too, Mama!” he replied unsteadily. “I should like to marry Cressy, and, since she feels she might like to marry me, it is precisely what I hope to do, and what I was just about to divulge to you!”

“Then Cressy knows already! Oh, wicked one, wicked one not to have told me!” cried her ladyship, her countenance transformed. “Dearest, nothing could delight me more! She is the very girl I would have chosen for you, if I hadn’t already chosen her for Evelyn, which was a very foolish mistake, but not, thank goodness, one that can’t be remedied! I knew something would happen to bring us about! Oh, my darling Kit, I wish you so very happy!”

Kit thanked her, but ventured to point out to her that her felicitations were a little premature, since several difficulties still blocked the way to a happy issue. She acknowledged the truth of this, but with unabated cheerfulness, saying: “To be sure, but they are only trifling ones! We shall be obliged to confess the whole to Lady Stavely, for one thing, and I don’t think we dare hope that she won’t cut up dreadfully stiff, do you? Of course, we could keep it a secret from her, but I am much inclined to think it would be wrong to do so.”

“Yes, Mama, so am I!” agreed Kit.

She nodded. “I knew you would say so. Because if Evelyn is determined to marry Miss Askham it would be bound to put Lady Stavely in a much worse pet when she saw the notice of his engagement in the Gazette, and had been thinking all the time that he was promised to Cressy! And, of course, Stavely may not be quite pleased, but you may depend upon it that that odious creature, Albinia Gillifoot, will take good care he gives his consent.”

“Yes, Mama, very possibly. But there is a far worse obstacle confronting us,” Kit said gently. “When you say that Evelyn’s marriage has nothing to do with my uncle, are you not forgetting the circumstances which prompted Evelyn to offer for Cressy?”

She stared at him, the bewilderment in her face slowly changing to consternation. She looked stricken for an instant, but even as he stretched out his hand to her, in quick remorse, she made a recover. She clasped his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, and said, gallantly smiling at him: “Are you remembering my tiresome debts? Oh, my darling, you must neither of you waste a moment’s thought on them! As though I could be so monstrous as to set anything so paltry against the happiness of my sons! Besides, I’ve been in debt for years and years, and have grown to be perfectly accustomed to it! I shall bring myself about. Well, of course I shall! I have always contrived to do so, even when matters seemed to be quite desperate!” She gave his hand a pat, and released it. “So now that we have settled that, dearest, you must go away, because it must be ten o’clock already, and I am not yet fully dressed.”

Mr Fancot, never one to waste his time in argument which he knew to be futile, abandoned his attempt to bring his parent to a sense of the size and urgency of her embarrassments. Bestowing a fond embrace upon her, he informed her—just in case he might previously have omitted to do so—that he loved her very much; and left her to Miss Rimpton’s ministrations.

He found the Cliffes and Cressy assembled in the breakfast-parlour; and it said much for his ability to shine in the world of diplomacy that not even Cressy suspected that while he responded with every appearance of interest and amiability to the various utterances of his relations his mind was preoccupied with two problems. The first, and more immediate, was how to gain access to Lord Silverdale, and to this he found a possible answer. The second seemed to be insoluble.

Lady Denville, presently joining the party, bade everyone good-morning; hoped, in her pretty, solicitous way, that her sister-in-law had slept well; and said, as she took her seat at the table: “Dearest Cressy! This afternoon we must have a delightful cose together, you and I!”

As the sparkling glance that accompanied these words was as eloquent as it was mischievous, Kit intervened, asking, with all the heartiness of a host bent on arranging every detail of the day, what his guests would like to do that morning.

Attention was certainly drawn away from Lady Denville, but the responses Kit received must have disappointed such a host as he was trying to impersonate. But as his only desire was to snatch a private interview with Cressy, he was very well satisfied with them. His cousin said moodily that he didn’t know; Cosmo, whom the humdrum pattern of an ordinary day in a country house exactly suited, said that he would read, and write letters until the post came in; Cressy, who was having much ado not to laugh, kept her eyes lowered, and did not attempt to speak; and Mrs Cliffe, who was anxiously watching her son, returned no answer, but suddenly declared that Ambrose might say what he chose but she was persuaded that he had a boil forming on his neck. All eyes turned involuntarily towards Ambrose, who reddened, shot a glowering look at his mama, and said angrily that it was no such thing. He added that he had the headache.

“Poor boy!” said Lady Denville, smiling kindly upon him. “I dare say if you were to go for a walk it would soon leave you.”

“Amabel, I must beg you not to encourage Ambrose to expose himself!” said Mrs Cliffe. “There is a wind blowing, and I am positive it is easterly, for I myself have a touch of the tic, which I never get but when there is an east wind! It would be fatal for Ambrose to stir out of doors when he is already not quite the thing, for with his constitution, you know, any disorder is very likely to lay him up for a fortnight!”

“Is it?” said Lady Denville, gazing at her nephew with the awed interest of one confronted with some rare exhibit. “Poor boy, how awkward it must be for you, to be obliged to remain indoors whenever the wind is in the east! Because, so often it is!”

“Well, well, we need not make mountains out of molehills!” said Cosmo testily. “I don’t deny that his constitution is sickly, but—”

“Nonsense, Cosmo, how can you talk so?” exclaimed his sister. “I’m sure he isn’t sickly, even if he has got a little headache!” She smiled encouragingly at Ambrose, sublimely unconscious of having offended all three Cliffes: Ambrose, because, however much he might dislike having an incipient boil pointed out, he was proud of his headaches, which often earned for him a great deal of attention; Cosmo, because he had for some years subscribed to his wife’s view of the matter, finding in Ambrose’s delicacy an excuse for his sad want of interest in any manly sport; and Emma, because she regarded any suggestion that her only child was not in a deplorable state of debility as little short of an insult.

“I fear,” said Cosmo, “that Ambrose has never enjoyed his cousins’ robust health.”

“Your sister cannot be expected to understand delicate constitutions, my dear,” said Emma. “I dare say the twins never suffered a day’s illness in their lives!”

“No, I don’t think they did,” replied Lady Denville, with a touch of pride. “They were the stoutest couple! Of course, they did have things like measles and whooping-cough, but I can’t recall that they were ever ill. In fact, when they had whooping-cough, one of them—was it you, dearest?—climbed up the chimney after a starling’s nest!”

“No, that was Kit,” said Mr Fancot.

“So it was!” she agreed, twinkling at him.

“But how terrible!” exclaimed Emma.

“Yes, wasn’t it? He came down looking exactly like a blackamoor, and brought so much soot down with him that everything in the room seemed to be covered with it. I don’t think I ever laughed so much in my life!”

“Laughed?” gasped Emma. “Laughed when one of your children was in danger of falling, and breaking his neck?”

“Well, I don’t think he could have done that, though I suppose he might have broken his legs, or got stuck in the chimney. I do remember wondering how we were to get him out if he did stick tight. However, it would have been a great waste of time to get into a worry about the twins, because they were for ever falling out of trees, or into the lake, or off their ponies, and nothing dreadful ever happened to them,” said Lady Denville serenely.

Mrs Cliffe could only shudder at such callous unconcern; while Ambrose, quite mistakenly supposing that these reflections were directed at his own, less adventurous, career, fell into obvious sulks.

Lady Denville, having disposed of the tea and bread-and-butter which constituted her breakfast, then excused herself, saying, as she got up from the table: “Now I must leave you, because Nurse Pinner seems not to be very well, and it would be too unkind in me not to visit her, and perhaps take her something to tempt her appetite.”

“Some fruit!” said Kit hastily.

She gave a little chuckle, and said, irrepressible mischief in her voice: “Yes, dearest! Not quails!”

“Quails!” ejaculated Cosmo, shocked beyond measure. “Quails for your old nurse, Amabel?”

“No, Evelyn thinks some fruit would be better.”

“I should have thought that some arrowroot, or a supporting broth would have been more suitable!” said Emma.

That set her incorrigible sister-in-law’s eyes dancing wickedly. “Oh, no, I assure you it wouldn’t be! Particularly not the arrowroot, which—which she abominates! Dear Emma, how uncivil it is in me to run away, as I must! But I am persuaded you must understand how it, is!” Her lovely—smile embraced her seething younger son. “Dearest, I leave our guests in your hands! Oh, and I think a bottle of port, don’t you? So much more supporting than mutton-broth! So will you, if you please,—”

“Don’t tease yourself, Mama!” he interrupted, holding open the door for her. “I’ll attend to that!”

“To be sure, I might have known you would!” she said, wholly unaffected by the quelling look she received from him. “You will know just what will be most acceptable!”

“I sometimes wonder,” said Cosmo, in accents of the deepest disapproval, as Kit shut the door behind her ladyship, “whether your mother has taken entire leave of her senses, Denville!”

Mr Fancot might be incensed by his wayward parent’s behaviour, but no more than the mildest criticism was needed to make him show hackle. “Do you, sir?” he said, dangerously affable. “Then it affords me great pleasure to be able to reassure you!”

Mr Cliffe’s understanding was not superior, but only a moonling could have failed to read the challenge behind the sweet smile that accompanied these words. Reddening, he said: “I imagine I may venture, without impropriety, to animadvert upon the conduct of one who is my sister!”

“Do you, sir?” said Kit again, and with even more affability.

Mr Cliffe, rising, and going towards the door with great stateliness, expressed the hope that he had rather too much force of mind to allow himself to be provoked by the top-loftiness of a mere nephew, who was, like many other bumptious sprigs, too ready to sport his canvas; and withdrew in good order.

Mindful of the charge laid upon him, Kit then turned his attention to his aunt, with polite suggestions for her entertainment. She received these with a slight air of affront, giving him to understand that her day would be spent in laying slices of lemon-peel on her son’s brow, burning pastilles, and—if his headache persisted—applying a cataplasm to his feet. He listened gravely to this dismal programme; and with a solicitude which placed a severe strain upon Miss Stavely’s self-command, and caused Ambrose to glare at him in impotent rage, suggested that in extreme cases a blister to the head was often found to be beneficial. Apparently feeling that he had discharged his obligations, he then invited Miss Stavely to take a turn in the shrubbery with him. Miss Stavely, prudently refusing to meet his eye, said, with very tolerable composure, that that would be very agreeable; and subsequently afforded him the gratification of realizing (had he been considering the matter) that she was eminently fitted to become the wife of an Ambassador by containing her bubbling amusement until out of sight of the house, when pent-up giggles overcame her, and rapidly infected her somewhat harassed escort.

Mr Fancot, the first to recover, said: “Yes, I know, Cressy, but there is nothing to laugh at in the fix we are now in, I promise you! I imagine you’ve guessed already that my abominable twin has reappeared?”

“Oh, yes!” she managed to utter. “F-from the moment G-Godmama said—said: Not quails! with such a quizzing look at you!”

Mr Fancot grinned, but expressed his inability to understand why no one had ever yet murdered his beloved mama. Miss Stavely cried out upon him for saying anything so unjust and improper; but she became rather more sober as she listened to the tale of Evelyn’s adventure. She did indeed suffer a slight relapse when kindly informed of her noble suitor’s relief at learning that he had been released from his obligations; but she was quick to perceive all the difficulties of a situation broadened to include an alternative bride for his lordship of whom so rigid a stickler as his uncle would certainly not approve.

“Oh, dear!” she said distressfully. “That is unfortunate! What is to be done?”

He responded frankly: “I haven’t the least notion! Do you bend your mind to the problem, love! My present concern is to recover that confounded brooch!”

She nodded. “Yes, indeed! I do feel that that is of the first importance. I am not myself acquainted with Lord Silverdale, but from anything I have ever heard said of him I am much afraid that your brother is very right: he is—he is shockingly malicious! Papa told me once that he is as hungry as a church mouse, but can always command a dinner at the price of the latest and most scandalous on-dit. And if he is one of the Prince Regent’s guests—Kit, do you know how to obtain a private interview with him?”

“No,” replied Kit cheerfully, “but I fancy I know who can supply me with the answer to that problem!”

“Sir Bonamy!” she exclaimed, after an instant’s frowning bewilderment.

“Exactly so!” said Kit. He added proudly: “Not for nothing am I Mama’s son! I too have nacky notions!”