Friday’s Child

Chapter Eighteen

THAT EVENING, HIS COLD HAVING YIELDED IN some measure to judicious treatment, Mr Ringwood felt so much better that the prospect of spending a solitary evening by his own fireside filled him with repugnance. His man having reported that there was a nasty wind blowing, with a suggestion of sleet in the air, he thought it might be foolhardy to sally forth to one of his clubs, and sent round a note instead to Cavendish Square, begging the honour of Mr Fakenham’s company to dinner and a rubber or two of piquet. Ferdy, moved by his friend’s plight, good-naturedly cancelled an engagement he had made to meet some other of his cronies at Long’s Hotel, and repaired in due course to Stratton Street, where he was received by a slightly pink-nosed host, clad in the purple brocade dressing-gown he had himself once worn, and with a Belcher handkerchief knotted incongruously round his throat. This ill-assorted attire naturally struck one who was a tulip of fashion to the heart, and Ferdy frankly informed Mr Ringwood that he looked devilish.

“I feel devilish,” said Mr Ringwood morosely. He added with a flicker of spirit: “At all events I have let my man shave me!”

“Yes,” admitted Ferdy, recalling with a shudder Mr Ringwood’s appearance earlier in the day. “If you had not, Gil, dear old fellow, I couldn’t have dined with you. Couldn’t have fancied a morsel!” He regarded the Belcher handkerchief with misgiving. “And dash it, I’m not sure I shall be able to fancy anything as it is!”

However, he was presently able to do full justice to a very handsome dinner, consisting of buttered crab, a dish of mutton fry with parsnips, a pheasant pie, with several side dishes, including some potted sturgeon, and a cold boiled knuckle of veal, and pig’s face. Having washed down this repast with some excellent Chambertin, Mr Ringwood felt much restored, and was even inclined to think that if he imbibed a sufficient quantity of port during the evening, with perhaps a little brandy to top off the whole, the morrow might find him a new man. The Honourable Ferdy having no fault to find with this programme, the covers were removed, the decanters set on the table, and the two friends settled down to their game of piquet. In this they were presently interrupted by Lord Wrotham, who had looked in on Mr Ringwood to discover what, since Ferdy had so lamentably failed in this morning’s mission, was next to be done to prevent Lady Sherry’s ruining herself in the eyes of the Polite World. Mr Ringwood explained that he himself had resolved to call in Half Moon Street on the following morning; and the three gentlemen were just lamenting the absence of a fourth who could have made up a table of whist when another knock was heard on the street door. The hope that this might herald the arrival of some convivial soul in search of entertainment was shattered a minute later by the entrance into the room of Hero, a birdcage in one hand and an ormolu clock clutched under her other arm. A cloak was tied round her neck, its hood slipping from her head; she looked alarmingly pale, and there were tear-stains on her cheeks.

“Gil!” she uttered, in a breaking voice. “Help me! Oh, will you please help me?”

The three gentlemen had sprung instinctively to their feet upon her entering the room, and now stood rooted to the floor, gazing at her in the blankest amazement. Mr Ringwood, horribly conscious of his unconventional attire, showed a craven desire to shrink into the background. It was Ferdy who first recovered his manners, and stepped forward, saying earnestly: “Anything in our power, Kitten! Gil not quite himself — shocking cold in his head! took a toss into a dyke, you know. Allow me to take your cloak!”

She relinquished it and gave up the birdcage to George, saying agitatedly: “Oh, thank you, Ferdy! I did not know you were here! And George! I am so very sorry you are not well, Gil, but what am I to do if you cannot help me, for I have nowhere to go, and no one to advise me, and I am quite desperate!”

“Good God!” exclaimed George, standing with the birdcage in his hand and staring at Hero. “How can this be? What — ”

Mr Ringwood pulled himself together, assured Hero that his cold was a thing of the past, and drew her towards the fire. “Do, pray, sit down, Kitten, and be calm! Of course I will help you!”

“All help you!” Ferdy interpolated. “Greatest pleasure on earth! No need to worry — not the least in the world!”

“She is chilled to the bone!” said Mr Ringwood, holding her small hands in his. “For God’s sake, George, put down that birdcage and pour her a drop of brandy!”

Hero allowed herself to be pressed into a seat by the fire, choked over the brandy, and said: “Oh, thank you, no more, if you please! It is only my hands that are cold, and there is such a wind outside!”

“You have not walked here?” exclaimed Ferdy, as though Half Moon Street were situated in the most remote quarter of the town.

“Yes, for what else could I do? Oh, Gil, promise me, promise me — all of you! — that you won’t give me up to Sherry!”

Three pairs of eyes were riveted to her face. “Not — not give you up — Kitten, have you gone mad?” stammered Mr Ringwood.

“No,” she replied, wringing her hands. “Indeed, I am not mad, Gil, though I shall be, or die, perhaps, if he finds me!”

Ferdy’s jaw dropped. He swallowed once or twice and then said in a soothing tone: “Thinking of someone else, Kitten! Not Sherry! Very good sort of a fellow, my cousin Sherry. Thought you liked him!”

George, who had been standing gripping the back of a chair, demanded in a voice which boded ill for the absent Viscount: “What has Sherry done to you?”

“He has not done anything yet. That is why I had to run away, to prevent him! I could not bear it, I could not!”

“By God!” George swore, his brilliant eyes beginning to smoulder. “Only tell me!”

Mr Ringwood emerged from his stupefaction at this point. He poured himself out some brandy, tossed it off, and set down the glass with the air of a man who was now competent to deal with any emergency. “Hold your tongue, George!” he commanded tersely. “So Sherry’s home, is he, Kitten?”

She nodded, two large tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I take it it’s this curst race of yours?”

“Yes. How could I have been so wicked and stupid as to — Oh, Ferdy, if I had but listened to you this morning!”

He shook his head sadly. “Pity,” he agreed. “Thought so at the time.”

“But even then it would have been too late, for Sherry says they are betting on me in the clubs, and my reputation is quite ruined! Everyone is talking of me, b-bandying my name about — ”

“Let anyone bandy your name about in my presence!” said George, grinding his teeth. “Only let them mention your name, that’s all I ask! I shall know what to do if Sherry don’t!”

“How did Sherry get wind of it?” interrupted Mr Ringwood.

“My cousin Jane wrote him an odious letter, and he came home at once, in such anger with me — ” She broke off, her voice becoming totally suspended by tears.

Mr Ringwood exchanged a glance with his friends. “Yes, well, you know, Kitten, can’t be surprised at that. Couldn’t expect Sherry not to be a trifle put out by this business, for it was not at all the thing. Going to tell you so myself, if Sherry had not come home.”

“Oh, Gil, it is far, far more than being put out! You do not know!”

Ferdy cleared his throat. “Got a quick temper, Sherry. It don’t mean anything: give you my word it don’t! Dare say he’s forgotten all about it by now.”

She dried her eyes. “He is not in a temper now. I could bear that! But he says it is all his fault for having married me, and we cannot go on in this manner, and his mind is made up that I must go to Sheringham Place so that his mother may teach me — may teach me — But I would sooner die!”

“Sheringham Place at this season?” said Ferdy, horrified. “I wouldn’t do that, Kitten! Wouldn’t care for it at all! Can’t think how Sherry came to take such a notion into his head. Absurd, that’s what it is! Absurd! Tell you what: I’ll go and have a word with Sherry. Agitation of the moment, you know: probably never thought what the place is like in winter.”

“It would be of no avail. I implored him not to send me there in disgrace, but he would not heed me. He said his mind was made up, and he should take me there tomorrow. He means to do so. But he shan’t, he shan’t! Lady Sheringham hates me, and she will tell everyone what I have done, and how I have ruined Sherry’s life, and when I saw his face tonight I knew that it was true! Oh, Gil, oh, Gil!”

“Did Sherry say that?” demanded George fiercely.

“No, no, but you do not know the whole! all the stupid things I have done, and now this! I can see that he is quite tired of it all, and wishes he had never run off with me. And I think he means to try to make the best of it, and he believes his mother will help him, but she will not! So I made up my mind to go away, but that I did not know where to go, and so I came to you, Gil, because I thought you would advise me.”

“But, Kitten, you can’t leave Sherry like that!” protested Ferdy. “I mean to say — married him — better or worse! Not the thing at all!”

“I know, but perhaps he will divorce me, and then he can be comfortable again,” explained Hero, on a forlorn sob.

“Good God, no!” cried Ferdy, shocked. “Never had anything like that in our family, Kitten! Besides — well, what I mean is, no reason to divorce you!”

George released the chair-back and strode purposefully to the door. “Where’s the sense in talking? I’m going to find Sherry, and when I do find him — ”

“Oh no, George! Pray, pray do not! George, I implore you do not!” shrieked Hero, turning very pale.

“Don’t put yourself about, Kitten! I give you my word, I won’t do more than mill him down. I’ll bring him here, and by God, I’ll make him grovel to you, so I will!”

Ferdy considered this proposition on its merits. “Shouldn’t think you would, George,” he said judicially. “Very handy with his fives, my cousin Sherry. Drew your cork the other day. Very likely to do it again. No wish to cast a rub in your way, dear boy, but there it is. What’s more, I’ve never known him to grovel to anyone. Mind you, I don’t say he wouldn’t, but I haven’t seen it. Wonderfully stiff-necked, all the Verelsts.”

“When Sherry hears what I have to say to him he’s not the man I take him for if he don’t come straight back with me to tell poor little Kitten he didn’t mean a word of it!” declared George.

“You don’t understand, George,” Hero said sadly. “Perhaps he would listen to you, and perhaps he might relent towards me, because he is very kind to me, but you see — you see, it was all a dreadful mistake, and I ought not to have married him.” She bent her head, looking down at her tightly clasped hands. “Sherry — Sherry doesn’t love me, you see. He — he never did love me. If I had not been such a silly g — goose, I should not have — For he never pretended that he loved me, you know.”

George’s face twisted. He came quickly back into the room and laid his hand over both Hero’s and gripped them. “I know,” he said, in a moved voice.

She nodded. “Yes, I — I thought you did, George. So, you see ...”

There was an uncomfortable silence. George broke it, addressing himself with some asperity to Mr Ringwood. “Why the devil can’t you say something, Gil, instead of standing there like a dashed waxworks?”

“Thinking,” said Mr Ringwood curtly.

“Well, you’d best think quickly!” George said. “It only needs for Sherry to find she’s here for the fat to be in the fire!”

“Sherry likely to miss you?” Mr Ringwood inquired of Hero.

“Oh no! He has gone out, and he will think I am in bed when he comes in. No one knows that I am not in the house.”

“Did you come here alone, Kitten?”

“No, Maria is with me. She is my maid, and oh, I never knew how much she liked me until today, for she never seemed to like me at all! But — but she came to me when Sherry had gone away, and she said a piece out of the Bible, about Ruth and Naomi, in the most touching way, and she is in the hall now, with my baggage, for I could not carry anything besides my clock and the canary, and those I had to bring!”

Ferdy surveyed these two necessary adjuncts to a lady’s baggage rather doubtfully. “Dare say you’re right,” he said. “Very handsome timepiece.”

“Gil gave it to me for a wedding present,” Hero explained, her tears beginning to flow again. “I have your bracelet too, and how could I bear to leave Gil’s dear little canary? It is named after him! And Sherry — Sherry does not love it as I do, and perhaps he might give it away.”

“Quite right to bring it,” said Ferdy firmly. “Company for you. All the same, Kitten, what beats me is where you mean to go. Can’t stay with Gil, you know. Sherry wouldn’t like it above half.”

“Yes, she can,” said Mr Ringwood unexpectedly. “At least, not for long, but no reason why she shouldn’t stay here tonight. In fact, she must.”

“Good God, Gil, you must have taken leave of your senses!” said George explosively. “No reason why she shouldn’t, indeed! If that’s all your precious thinking leads to — ”

“No reason at all,” said Mr Ringwood. “Got her abigail. Have a truckle bed put up in my room. I’ll spend the night in your lodging.”

“I suppose she could do that,” George admitted grudgingly. “But it don’t solve anything! Dash it, it’s the damnedest coil! She has no relatives she may go to, or I’d say she was right to leave Sherry. But she can’t live by herself! You know that! If her mother-in-law weren’t such a curst disagreeable woman — You are certain you could not bear to go to Sheringham Place, Kitten? I mean, Sherry’s a brute to have put it to you like that, but I can’t but see what’s in his head. It is the dowager’s business to have an eye on you, only — ”

“No, no, George, pray do not ask me to go there!” Hero begged him. “I have made up my mind that I will become a governess, just as Cousin Jane always said I should be. But I do not know how to set about it, and that is why I came to Gil, because he taught me to drive my phaeton, and I thought he might know.”

“Do you know, Gil?” inquired Ferdy, looking at Mr Ringwood with dawning respect.

“No,” replied Mr Ringwood.

“Didn’t think you would,” said Ferdy. “Tell you what: ask my mother! Bound to know!”

“She ain’t going to be a governess,” said Mr Ringwood shortly. “Told you I’d been thinking. Well, I’ve got a notion.”

George, who had been turning the matter over in his mind, said suddenly: “It’s all very well, but she can’t leave Sherry like this! Dash it, it’s impossible!”

“No, it ain’t,” replied Mr Ringwood, his stolidity unshaken. “Best thing she could do. Going to take her to stay with my grandmother.”

“By Jove!” exclaimed Ferdy, much struck. “Devilish good notion of yours, Gil! As long as she ain’t dead.”

“Of course she ain’t dead!” said Mr Ringwood, with a touch of impatience. “How could I take Kitten to stay with her if she was?”

“That’s what I was wondering,” confessed Ferdy. “Thought she was dead. Thought you went to the funeral, what’s more.”

“If you weren’t so cork-brained you’d know that was my other grandmother!” said Mr Ringwood, quite exasperated. “I’m talking of my maternal grandmother, Lady Saltash.”

Ferdy regarded him fixedly. “Forgot she was your grandmother too. You know what I think, Gil?”

“No, and I don’t want to.”

“No need to get into a miff, dear old boy! Only going to say, couldn’t have had a better notion myself. Very sporting old lady, your grandmother. Dare say she and Kitten may deal extremely.”

“Oh, do you think she would be so obliging as to teach me how to behave like a lady of fashion?” Hero asked anxiously.

“Shouldn’t be at all surprised,” responded Mr Ringwood. “Never met any old lady so much up to snuff as my grandmother.”

A qualm smote Hero; she said: “But perhaps she may not like to have me to stay with her, Gil?”

“Yes, she will. Like it above all things. Dare say you may be very useful to her. Got a pug-dog. Nasty, smelly little brute. Took a piece out of my leg once. You could take it for walks. Wants exercising. At least, it did when I last saw it. Of course, it may be dead by now. Good thing if it is.”

Ferdy, who had been listening attentively, interposed at this point to object: “Don’t see that, Gil, old boy; don’t see that at all! Stands to reason Kitten can’t take the pug for walks if it’s dead. No point in her going to Bath.”

“Bath! Does she live in Bath?” cried Hero, before the incensed Mr Ringwood could wither Ferdy. “Oh, nothing could be better: for it was to Bath I was to have gone to be a governess, and Sherry does not like the place, and he will never look for me there! Oh, Gil, how kind and clever you are!”

Mr Ringwood blushed and disclaimed. Ferdy agreed that Gil had always been a knowing one, and only George remained unconvinced. But he reserved his criticisms until Hero and her abigail had presently been escorted upstairs by Mr Ringwood’s impassive valet. He then spoke his mind in no uncertain fashion, the gist of his argument being that whatever the state of affairs might be between Sherry and his wife, they were legally married, and it was the height of impropriety for Gil or anyone else to aid and abet Hero in deserting her husband.

“I don’t care a fig for that,” responded Mr Ringwood. He had by this time changed his dressing-gown for a blue coat and a waistcoat, and was engaged in stuffing into a cloak-bag such items as he might be supposed to need for a night’s sojourn away from home.

“I dare say you don’t,” retorted Lord Wrotham, “but you’re not the only one of us who can think, let me tell you! I don’t mean Ferdy: I know he can’t; but I can, and what’s more, I have thought! I’m devilish fond of Kitten, but dash it, Sherry’s a friend of mine!”

“Friend of mine too,” said Mr Ringwood, finding a snug resting-place for his hairbrushes inside a pair of bedroom slippers.

“Well, if he’s a friend of yours, you’ve no business to hide his wife from him!”

“Yes, I have. Been thinking of it for a long time.”

“Thinking of hiding Kitten for a long time?” demanded Lord Wrotham incredulously.

“You’re a fool, George. Big a fool as Ferdy. Been thinking about Sherry and Kitten. Fond of ’em both.”

“I’m fond of them both too,” said Ferdy. “What’s more, Sherry’s my cousin. But he’s got no right to behave like a curst brute to Kitten. Cousin or no cousin. Dear little soul! Dash it, Gil, almost an angel!”

“No,” said Mr Ringwood, after thinking this over. “Not an angel, Ferdy. Dear little soul, yes. Angel, no!”

“It don’t matter what she is!” struck in George. “All that signifies is that she’s Sherry’s wife!”

Mr Ringwood looked at him under his brows, but refrained from comment. After a slight pause, George said: “Not our affair, whatever we may think. The fact of the matter is, she does need some older female to school her.”

“She’ll have one,” replied Mr Ringwood.

“Yes, that’s all very well, but though I don’t say he set about it the right way, Sherry ain’t so far wrong when he takes it into his head to send Kitten down to the dowager.”

“Do you know my aunt Valeria, George?” asked Ferdy, astonished.

“Oh, lord, yes, I know her! But — ”

“Well, I wouldn’t have thought it.”

“That ain’t the point,” interrupted Mr Ringwood. “Point is what Kitten said just now: Sherry don’t love her.”

“I wouldn’t say that, Gil,” protested Ferdy. “Never told me he didn’t love her!”

Mr Ringwood closed his cloak-bag and strapped it. “I know Sherry,” he said. “But I don’t know if he loves Kitten or not. Going to find out. If you ask me, he don’t know either. If he don’t it ain’t a particle of use sending Kitten to the dowager. Come to think of it, it ain’t much use sending her there if he does, because that ain’t the way he’d find it out. But if he does love her, he ain’t going to like not knowing what’s become of her. Might miss her like the devil. Make him start to think a trifle.”

George regarded him frowningly. “Are you going to tell Sherry you don’t know where his wife is?”

“Not going to tell him anything,” said Mr Ringwood. “He won’t think I had anything to do with it. Thought it all out. You’re going to tell Sherry I’ve gone off to Hertfordshire, because that uncle of mine looks like dying at last.”

“I’ll tell him, if George don’t like to,” offered Ferdy.

“No, you won’t,” answered Mr Ringwood. “You’re coming to Bath with me.”

“No, dash it, Gil!” feebly protested Ferdy.

George, whose brow had cleared, said: “By God, I believe you’ve hit it, Gil! Damme, I’ve thought for a long time Sherry needed a lesson! I will tell him you’ve gone to Hertfordshire! Yes, by Jove, and I’ll take precious good care he don’t ask me if I know what’s become of his Kitten!”

“Yes, but I don’t want to go to Bath!” said Ferdy.

“Nonsense! Of course you’ll go!” George said briskly. “You can’t leave poor old Gil to bear the brunt of it! Besides, it’ll look better if you both escort Kitten. You know what Sherry is! Why, he even called me out, only for kissing her! If he got to hear of Gil’s jauntering about the country with her he’d very likely cut his liver out and fry it. Can’t take exception to the pair of you going with her.”

When the matter was put to him like that, all Ferdy’s chivalrous instincts rose to the surface, and he at once begged pardon, and said that he would stand by Gil to the death. Upon reflection, he admitted that he would as lief not meet his cousin Sherry on the following day. George then wished to be assured that Mr Ringwood’s man, Chilham, was to be trusted to keep his mouth shut, and upon being told that he was the most discreet fellow alive, said that there seemed to be nothing more to do in the matter until the following day. All three gentlemen thereupon left the house, Ferdy going off to Cavendish Square and Mr Ringwood, his cold forgotten, accompanying George to his lodgings in Ryder Street.