Frederica

VI

A lesser woman would have fled at this stage, abandoning Lufra to his fate, for the ensuing scene was truly appalling. To the accompaniment of screams from milkmaids, nursemaids, and several elderly ladies, Lufra committed the enormous crime of stampeding a herd of milch-cows. He did not, indeed, repeat the heroic act which had earned him his name, but, finding that the cows fled before him, he scattered them, enjoying the only sport which had so far been offered him in London.

No thought of escaping so much as crossed Frederica’s mind, but by the time she had managed, with the help of the head cowman and two of the Deputy-Ranger’s menials, to catch and to secure the wholly unrepentant hound, she knew that her case was desperate. All about her was a scene of carnage; one of the elderly ladies had succumbed to hysterics; another was demanding that a constable should be instantly sent for; the cowman was calling down curses on her head; and the park’s custodians were declaring their fixed resolve to impound Lufra, pending his certain execution. To make matters worse, the nurse with whose charges Lufra had disported himself came hurrying up, attracted by the commotion, and lost no time in deposing that he had savagely rushed upon the children, frightening the poor little dears out of their wits, stealing their ball, and causing Master John to fall flat on his face grazing his hands and soiling his nankeens.

“Fudge!” said Frederica scornfully.

Neither the cowman nor the park-keepers paid much heed to the nursemaid’s testimony. The cowman was only concerned with his cattle; and the park-keepers, observing the flattened ears and waving tail with which Lufra greeted his youthful friends, did not for a moment suppose him to be savage. They recognized in him all the signs of an overgrown and outrageous mongrel, young enough to be ripe for mischief; and, in other circumstances, they would have taken a lenient view of his misdemeanour. But the rules governing London parks were strict; the hatchet-faced old griffin who was adjuring them to summon a constable, her weaker sister who was still in the throes of nervous spasms, various citizens who declared that such dangerous brutes ought never to be permitted to roam at large, and a bevy of nursemaids unanimous in demanding vengeance on the wild animal which had shattered for ever the nerves of their gently-born charges, prompted them to take an extreme view of the case. Confronted on the one hand with a number of persons bent on reporting the incident to the Deputy-Ranger, and on the other by a delinquent mongrel owned by a Young Person unattended by a footman, or a maid, they saw their duty clear before them: Lufra, the elder of the two awfully told Frederica, must be handed over to them, to be kept in custody until a magistrate should pronounce his fate.

Lufra, misliking both his tone and his purposeful advance, stopped panting, and rose, bristling, and intimating by a warning growl that any attempt to attack Frederica would be undertaken at the park-keeper’s peril: a warlike display which excited the cowman to demand his summary execution, and caused the park-keeper to order Frederica to “bring that dawg along o’ me!”

Amongst the assembled persons none but the cowman knew better than Frederica how unpardonable was Lufra’s crime. One glance at this individual’s inflamed countenance was enough to convince her that an appeal addressed to him would be waste of breath. Inwardly quaking, she said: “Take care! This dog belongs to the Marquis of Alverstoke! He is extremely valuable, and if anything were to happen to him his lordship would be very angry indeed!”

The younger park-keeper, who had formed his own, not inexpert, opinion of Lufra’s lineage, said bluntly: “Gammon! No Markiss never bought ’im! ’E’d be dear at a grig! ’E’s a mongrel, that’s what ’e is!”

“A mongrel?” exclaimed Frederica. “Let me tell you that he is a pure-bred Barcelona collie, brought to England at — at enormous expense! I am sorry that he should have chased the cows, but — but he was merely trying to herd them! The breed is used for that purpose in Spain, and — and he is not yet accustomed to English cows!”

“Trying to herd them?” gasped the cowman. “I never did, not in all my life! Why, you’re as bad as he is!”

The younger park-keeper had no hesitation in endorsing this verdict. He said that Miss was coming it too strong, adding that while he knew nothing about Barcelona collies he did know a mongrel when he saw one. He also said, sticking to his original point, that, in his opinion, no Markiss never bought such a dog as Lufra.

“Indeed!” said Frederica. “And, pray, are you acquainted with my cousin, the Marquis of Alverstoke?”

“What impudence!” ejaculated the hatchet-faced lady. “Calling yourself a Marquis’s cousin, and jauntering about the town alone! A likely story!”

After a good deal of argument, during which the younger park-keeper supported the hatchet-faced lady, the cowman said (several times) that Marquis or no Marquis any damage done to his cows must be paid for, and the elder park-keeper temporized, a sturdy citizen in a snuff-coloured frock-coat proffered the suggestion that the Marquis should be applied to for corroboration of Miss’s story.

“A very excellent notion!” declared Frederica warmly. “Let us go to his house immediately! It is quite close, in Berkeley Square.”

Left to himself, the elder park-keeper would at this stage have abandoned the affair. If the young lady was willing to seek out the Marquis it seemed to him to prove that she really was his cousin; and although he knew that this did not affect the issue he was very unwilling to proceed further in the matter. Properly speaking, of course, the Marquis — if he was the dog’s owner — was liable for a fine, let alone what Mr Beal’s head cowman might claim from him by way of damages; but when you were dealing with lords you wanted to be careful. The younger park-keeper, who was the recipient of this confidence, became suddenly thoughtful; but the cowman grimly accepted Frederica’s invitation, saying that he would have his rights even if the dog belonged to the Queen — meaning no disrespect to her; and the hatchet-faced lady, her eyes snapping, said that if the park-keepers didn’t know their duty she did, and would bring the affair to the notice of the Ranger. There seemed nothing for it but to go with the young lady. The hatchet-faced lady announced that she too would go, and that if — which she doubted — a Marquis was forthcoming she would give him a piece of her mind.

The door of Alverstoke House was opened by a footman. He was a well-trained young man, but his eyes, when they perceived the cavalcade awaiting admittance, showed a tendency to start from their sockets. Frederica, carrying the situation off with a high hand, said, with a friendly smile: “Good-morning! I do trust his lordship has not yet gone out?”

The footman, Ms eyes starting more than ever, replied, in a bemused voice: “No, miss. That is — ”

“Thank goodness!” interrupted Frederica. “I don’t wonder at it that you should be astonished to see me so — so heavily escorted! I’m surprised at it myself. Be so good as to tell his lordship that his cousin, Miss Merriville, is here, and desires to speak to him!”

She then stepped into the house, inviting her companions, over her shoulder, to follow her; and such was her assurance that the footman stood aside instinctively, offering no other opposition to the invasion of his master’s house by a set of regular rum touches than the stammered information that his lordship was still in his dressing-room.

“Then tell him, if you please, that the matter is of some urgency!” said Frederica.

“Would you — would you care to see his lordship’s secretary, miss?” said the footman feebly.

“Mr Trevor?” said Frederica. “No, thank you. Just convey my message to his lordship!”

The footman had never heard of Miss Merriville, his lordship’s cousin, but her mention of Mr Trevor’s name relieved his mind. He thought she must be his lordship’s cousin, though what she was doing in such queer company, or why she should have brought a couple of park-keepers and an obvious bumpkin to Alverstoke House he could not imagine. Nor did he know what to do with the ill-assorted visitors, for while it was clearly incumbent upon him to conduct Miss Merriville and her female companion to the saloon he could not feel that either his lordship, or the august and far more terrible Mr Wicken, would be pleased to discover that he had also ushered Miss Merriville’s male attendants into this apartment.

He was rescued from this social dilemma by the dignified appearance on the scene of Mr Wicken himself. Thankful for the first time in his life to see his dread mentor, he hurriedly informed him that it was Miss Merriville — my lord’s cousin — wishful to see my lord!

James the footman might not have heard of Miss Merriville, but Wicken was not so ignorant. He, with his lord’s valet, his steward, his housekeeper, and his head groom knew all about the Merrivilles; and what they referred to as his lordship’s latest start had been for days the main topic for discussion in the Room. Nor was Wicken ever rocked from his stately balance. He bowed to Miss Merriville, impassively surveyed her retinue, and moved across the hall to open the door into the library. “His lordship shall be informed, ma’am. If you will be pleased to take a seat in the book-room? And you, ma’am, of course,” he added graciously, bestowing a suitable bow on the hatchet-faced lady, whom he had written down as a governess, or, possibly, a paid companion.

“Yes, and these men had better come in too,” said Frederica.

“Certainly, ma’am — if you wish them to do so,” responded Wicken. “But I venture to think that they will be quite comfortable in the hall.”

With this opinion even the cowman was in the fullest agreement, but Frederica would have none of it. “No, for they too wish to speak to his lordship,” she said. She then invited the hatchet-faced lady to sit down; and Wicken, not by so much as the flicker of an eyelid betraying his emotions, held the door for the rest of the party to enter the room.

James, meanwhile, had gone up the stairs to the Marquis’s dressing-room, and had tapped on the door. It was a very soft, deprecating tap, the Marquis being notoriously ill-disposed towards persons seeking admittance to his room before noon; and he was obliged to tap again, a little more loudly. He was not invited to enter, but the door was opened to him by his lordship’s very superior valet, who appeared to regard his intrusion as a form of sacrilege, demanding to know, in an outraged undervoice, what he wanted.

“It’s urgent, Mr Knapp!” whispered James. “Mr Wicken said I was to tell his lordship!”

These words acted, as he had felt sure they must, as a passport. Knapp allowed him to step into the room, but adjured him, still in an undervoice, not to stir from the door, or to make the least sound, until he was bid. He then trod silently back to the dressing-table, at which my lord was seated, engaged in the important task of arranging his neckcloth.

Only his sisters had ever stigmatized Alverstoke as a dandy. He adopted none of the extremes of fashion which made the younger members of this set ridiculous, and which would certainly have disgusted Mr Brummell, had that remarkable man still been the arbiter of taste in London. Mr Brummell, obliged by sordid circumstances to retire to the Continent, was living in obscurity, but the smarts of his generation had not swerved from the tenets he had laid down. Alverstoke, three years his junior, had encountered him in his flamboyant salad days, and had been swift to discard every one of his colourful waistcoats, his flashing tie-pins, and his multitude of fobs and seals. A man whose raiment attracted attention, had said Mr Brummell, was not a well-dressed man. Clean linen, perfectly cut coats, and the nice arrangement of his neckcloths were the hallmarks of the man of ton, and to these simple rules Alverstoke had thenceforward adhered, achieving, by patience and practice, the reputation of being one of the most elegant men on the town. Disdaining to adopt the absurdities of starched shirt-points so high that they obscured his vision and made it impossible for him to turn his head, and such intricacies as the Mathematical or the Oriental ties, he evolved his own style of neckwear: discreet, yet so exquisite as to arouse envy in the breasts of the younger generation.

James was well aware of this; and, since his secret ambition was to rise to the position of a gentleman’s gentleman, Knapp’s admonition was unnecessary. For no consideration would he have disturbed the Marquis at such a moment; and he saw nothing at all to provoke laughter in the Marquis’s attitude: he was only sorry that he had not arrived in time to see the dexterous turn his lordship gave the foot-wide muslin cloth before it was placed round his collar. This had obviously been successful, for Knapp had laid aside the six or seven neckcloths he had been holding in readiness to hand the Marquis if his first attempts should be failures; and that gentleman was now gazing at the ceiling. Fascinated, James watched the gradual lowering of his chin, and the deft pressing into permanent shape of the creases thus created in the snowy muslin. In an expansive moment, Knapp had once told him that all his lordship did, to achieve those beautiful folds, was to drop his jaw some four or five times. It had sounded easy, and it looked easy; but his budding sartorial instinct told James that it was not easy at all. He held his breath while the operation was in progress, only letting it go when the Marquis, having critically inspected the result of his skill, laid down his hand-mirror, and said: “Yes, that will do.”

He rose, as he spoke, and, as he slid his arms into the waistcoat Knapp was holding, looked across the room at James. “Well?” he asked.

“Begging your lordship’s pardon, it’s Miss Merriville — wishful to see your lordship, immediate!” disclosed James. “On a matter of urgency!” he added.

The Marquis looked faintly surprised, but all he said was: “Indeed? Inform Miss Merriville that I will be with her directly. My coat, Knapp!”

“Yes, my lord. In the book-room, my lord, I believe.”

Having in this masterly manner disclaimed all responsibility for his superior’s deviation from the normal, James withdrew circumspectly. Knapp remarked, as he shook out a handkerchief, and presented it to Alverstoke, that he wondered why Wicken should not have shown Miss Merriville into the saloon; but Alverstoke, picking up his quizzing-glass, and passing its long ribbon over his head, merely said Wicken probably had his reasons.

Several minutes later, looking precise to a pin in a dark blue coat which appeared to have been moulded to his form, very pale pantaloons, and very highly polished Hessian boots, he came down the stairs to find Wicken awaiting him. “Why my book-room, Wicken?” he enquired. “Don’t you think my cousin worthy of being taken up to the saloon?”

“Certainly, my lord,” responded Wicken. “But Miss Merriville is not alone.”

“So I should suppose.”

“I was not referring to the female accompanying her, my lord. There are three other persons, whom I thought it more proper to usher into the book-room than the saloon.”

Having been acquainted with his butler from his earliest youth, Alverstoke did not fall into the error of supposing that the unknown persons came of the professorial class. Others, less familiar with Wicken, might think his countenance sphinx-like, but it was plain to Alverstoke that he profoundly disapproved of Miss Merriville’s escort.

“Well, who are they?” Alverstoke asked.

“As to that, my lord, I’m sure I shouldn’t care to say, though two of them appear, from their raiment, to be employed in some official, but menial, capacity.”

“Dear me!” said Alverstoke.

“Yes, my lord. There is also a Dog — a very large dog. I was unable to recognize the breed.”

“Is there, by God! I wonder what the deuce — ” he broke off. “Something tells me, Wicken, that danger awaits me in the book-room!”

“Oh, no, my lord!” said Wicken reassuringly. “It is not, I fancy, a fierce animal.”

He opened the door into the book-room as he spoke, and held it for Alverstoke. He then suffered a slight shock, for, as Alverstoke paused on the threshold, surveying the assembled company, Lufra, who was lying at Frederica’s feet, recognized in him the agreeable visitor whose magical fingers had found the precise spot on his spine which he was unable to attend to himself, and scrambled up, uttering a high-pitched bark, and launched himself forward. It was only for a moment that Wicken thought he meant to attack the Marquis; but the hatchet-faced lady, blind to the flattened ears and furiously waving tail, screamed, and called on all to witness that she had said it from the start: the creature was savage, and ought to be shot.

The Marquis, restraining Lufra’s ardour, said: “Thank you! I’m much obliged to you, but that’s enough! Down, Luff! Down!”

The park-keepers exchanged significant glances: no doubt about it: the dog belonged to the Marquis right enough. Frederica, feeling that Lufra had done much to atone for his bad behaviour, rose, and went towards Alverstoke, saying: “Oh, cousin, you can’t think how glad I am to find you at home! This vexatious dog of yours has embroiled me in such a scrape! I declare, I’ll never offer to take him out for you again!”

To her profound relief, he took this without a blink, merely saying, as he bent to pat Lufra: “You shock me, Frederica! What has he been doing?”

Three persons told him, in chorus. He interrupted them, saying: “One at a time — if I am expected to understand the matter!”

Frederica, and the cowman, were silenced; but the hatchet-faced lady was made of sterner stuff. She said that people might talk about Barcelona collies if they chose, but that she for one didn’t believe a word of it, and that it was coming to something when one couldn’t go for an airing in the park without being attacked by savage dogs.

The Marquis had recourse to his deadliest weapon: he raised his quizzing-glass to his eye. Strong men had been known to blench when that glass had been levelled at them. The hatchet-faced lady did not blench, but speech was withered on her tongue. The Marquis said: “You must forgive me, ma’am: I have a lamentably bad memory, but I believe I haven’t the pleasure of your acquaintance? Cousin, pray introduce me!”

Frederica, who was rapidly revising her first, unfavourable opinion of him, replied promptly: “I can’t, because I haven’t the least notion who she may be, or why she would come here. Unless it was to assure herself that you are indeed my cousin, which she seemed to doubt!”

“It doesn’t appear to be an entirely adequate reason,” he said. “However, if, for some reason hidden from me, ma’am, you wish for reassurance on this point, you have it! Miss Merriville and I are cousins.”

“I’m sure it’s of no interest to me, my lord!” she returned, reddening. “What’s more, if I hadn’t thought it my duty to do so, I shouldn’t have come! Or if I hadn’t seen as plain as plain that the moment Miss Merriville talked about her cousin the Marquis those — those two toadeaters were ready to let that vicious animal attack everyone in the park!”

Faint, protesting sounds came from the park-keepers, but the Marquis ignored them. “I had no idea he was so dangerous,” he remarked. “I trust you sustained no injury, ma’am?”

“I didn’t say he attacked me! But — ”

“He didn’t attack anyone!” struck in Frederica.

“Oh, indeed? And I daresay he didn’t knock down a poor little boy, and frighten all those sweet innocents out of their wits? Oh, no!”

Frederica laughed. “No, he didn’t knock the little boy down. To be sure, the children were scared of him at first, but as soon as they understood that he only wanted to play with them they very soon recovered their wits. In fact, they begged me to bring him to the park again tomorrow!”

“It was my cows he attacked!” interposed the cowman. “And you saying as how he was herding them, miss, being as he was bred to do so, in Spain! Which he never was! I never been to Spain meself, nor I ain’t wishful to do so, me not holding with furriners, but what I say, and stand to, is that cows is cows, all the world over, and not even a benighted heathen wouldn’t train a dog to scatter a herd like that nasty brute done! Mr Munslow there, begging your lordship’s pardon, ups and says he was a mongrel; but all I says is that he ain’t no collie, Barcelona nor otherwise!”

The younger park-keeper was understood to say, twisting his hat between his hands and casting an imploring look at the Marquis, that no offence had been meant, but that Miss had said that the dog was a Barcelona collie, which he couldn’t believe, not if he lived to be a hundred, no matter (drawing a resolute breath) who told him different.

“So I should hope,” said the Marquis. “He is nothing of the sort, of course.” He turned his head towards Frederica, and said in a voice of weary boredom: “Really, cousin, you are too shatterbrained! He is a hound, not a collie; and what I told you was not Barcelona, but Baluchistan! Baluchistan, Frederica!”

“Oh, dear! So you did! How — how stupid of me!” she replied unsteadily.

Neither of the park-keepers seemed to find his lordship’s explanation unacceptable. The elder said wisely that that would account for it; and the younger reminded the company that he had known all along that the dog wasn’t Spanish. But the cowman was plainly dissatisfied; and the hatchet-faced lady said sharply: “I don’t believe there is such a place!”

“Oh, yes!” replied his lordship, walking towards the window, and giving one of the two globes which stood there a twist. “Come and see for yourself!”

Everyone obeyed this invitation; and Frederica said reproachfully: “If you had only told me it was in Asia, cousin!”

“Oh, Asia!” said the elder park-keeper, glad to be enlightened. “A kind of Indian dog, I daresay.”

“Well, not precisely,” said Frederica. “At least, I don’t think so. It’s this bit, you see. It’s a very wild place, and the dog had to be smuggled out, because the natives are hostile. And that’s why I said he was very rare. Indeed, he is the only Baluchistan dog in this country, isn’t he, cousin?”

“I devoutly hope he may be,” returned his lordship dryly.

“Well, all I have to say is that it makes it so much the worse!” declared the hatchet-faced lady. “The idea of bringing wild foreign animals into the park! Smuggled, too! I don’t scruple to tell you, my lord, that I very much disapprove of such practices, and I have a very good mind to report it to the Customs!”

“I’m afraid there are none,” he said apologetically, coming back in his leisurely way to the fireplace, and stretching out his hand to the bell-pull. “No postal service, either. You could send a messenger, I suppose, but it would be excessively costly, and the chances are that he would be murdered out of hand. It is really very difficult to know what to advise in such a case.”

“I am speaking of the English Customs, my lord!” she said, glaring at him.

“Oh, that wouldn’t be of the least use! I didn’t smuggle the dog into the country; I merely caused him to be smuggled out of Baluchistan.”

She said, in a voice that shook with passion: “However that may be, you have no right to let savage dogs loose in the park, and I shall report it to the proper authorities, and so I warn you, my lord!”

“My dear ma’am, what possible concern is it of mine if you choose to make a pea-goose of yourself? I may add that I am at a loss to understand what concern this unfortunate affair is of yours. You have informed me that my dog did not attack you — which I believe; you have also informed me that you came to my house because it was plain to you that, upon learning my rank, these men — whom you stigmatized as toadeaters — were ready to permit the dog to attack everyone in the park — which I do not believe! It appears to me that you have been indulging in a high piece of meddling. If I should be asked to give an account of this interview, I should feel myself bound to state that these men came, very properly, to inform me of my dog’s misdemeanor, and to request that he should be kept under restraint; but as they were accompanied, for what reason I know not, by an officious person, wanting in both manner and sense, who took it upon herself to usurp their authority, it was all too long before they were able to lay their complaint before me.” He glanced towards the open door, where Wicken stood, his countenance graven, and his brain seething with conjecture. “Be so good as to show this lady out!” he said. “And desire Mr Trevor to come to me!”

This masterly speech, listened to by Frederica with awe, and by the park-keepers with approval, cast the hatchet-faced lady into gobbling incoherence. Never, during the course of her overbearing career, had she been so much insulted, as she tried to inform his lordship. But his lordship, losing interest in her, merely helped himself to a pinch of snuff; and Wicken, interrupting her stammered utterance, said, in a voice devoid of all human passion: “If you please, madam!”

The hatchet-faced lady swept out of the room, spots of scarlet burning on her cheek-bones. No one, least of all Wicken himself, was surprised at her capitulation, the younger park-keeper going so far as to confide, later, to his senior, that he reckoned anyone would need to have uncommon good bottom to square up to that old Puffguts.

The cowman, however, while approving in general of the expulsion, was by no means mollified. He began to explain to the Marquis the enormity of Lufra’s crime, the dire results that could ensue from stampeding cows in milk, and the fate that would befall him at their owner’s hands if they were found to have suffered the least injury.

“Well, that isn’t likely!” said Frederica. “Anyone might suppose from the way you talk that they were chased all over the town, which they were not! Though, if you choose to keep cows in a public park, I must say — ”

“No, cousin, you must not!” intervened the Marquis, taking his revenge. “My instructions to you were to take Lufra to Hyde Park, and I hold you entirely to blame for this lamentable affair.”

Frederica, seeking refuge behind her handkerchief, said in trembling accents that she feared he was right.

“Have no fear!” said the Marquis, addressing himself to the cowman. “The matter shall be suitably adjusted! Ah, come in, Charles!”

Mr Trevor, considerably astonished by the scene that met his eyes, said: “You sent for me, sir?”

“I did, yes. This Baluchistan hound of mine, which my cousin offered to exercise for me, has been getting me into trouble. I regret to say that he — er — forgot himself amongst the cows in Green Park.”

Mr Trevor might have been momentarily staggered, but he was by no means slow-witted, and it did not need the warning glance directed at him from under his employer’s lazy eyelids to put him on his guard. He said calmly that he was sorry to hear it; and when he looked at the Baluchistan hound, who was sniffing interestedly at his legs, only the faintest twitch at the corners of his mouth disturbed the gravity of his expression.

“Just so!” said his lordship. “I knew you would be shocked, and I’m persuaded I can leave the matter in your hands.” He smiled, and added softly: “You are always to be depended on, Charles!” He then turned to the complainants, and said: “Mr Trevor will settle everything to your satisfaction, I trust, so go with him to his office! Ah! — two of the Deputy Ranger’s people, Charles, and the herdsman!”

He nodded dismissal to his visitors. They departed willingly, having correctly interpreted his words to mean that suitable largesse would presently be distributed amongst them, and feeling that Mr Trevor would be an easier man to deal with than the Marquis.

Charles signed to them to precede him out of the room, and when they had filed past him, lingered for a moment, looking at Frederica. “How much damage did he do, Miss Merriville?”

Emerging from her handkerchief, Frederica showed him not a tearful but a laughing countenance. “Oh, I don’t think he hurt the cows at all, because we caught him before he had time to!”

“In that case, then — ”

“No, Charles!” interposed the Marquis. “My sole desire is to be rid of the business, and this is not the moment to be clutch-fisted!”

“Oh, I’ll see to it that you’re rid of it, sir!” said Charles cheerfully, and withdrew.

“Well, what an excellent young man!” said Frederica.