Lady of Quality

Chapter 6

“Well!” uttered Miss Farlow, in accents of strong reprobation, as soon as Limbury had conducted Mr Carleton out of the room. “What a very uncivil person, I must say! To be sure, Sir Geoffrey did warn us, and I do hope, dearest Annis, that you will not dine with him this evening! Such impertinence to have invited you—if an invitation you could call it, though I never heard an invitation delivered so improperly! I quite thought you must have given him a heavy set-down, and was astonished that you did not!”

“Well, I did think of doing so,” admitted Miss Wychwood. “But since he is, as you so rightly say, a very uncivil person, I couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t retaliate in kind. I feel it is my duty to go with Lucilla, if only to prevent her coming to cuffs with him.”

“I make no secret of the fact that I don’t consider you owe that girl any duty!” said Miss Farlow, trembling with indignation. “But I have a duty towards you,and don’t tell me I haven’t, for I shan’t listen to you! Sir Geoffrey and dear Lady Wychwood entrusted you to my care, and even if he didn’t say so, he meant it, and Lady Wychwood did say so! Just as I was about to get into the carriage, or if it wasn’t then, it was in the hall, or perhaps the morning-room, because she had a little chill coming on, and so didn’t come out of the house, though she wished to, but I begged her not to do so, because the weather was most inclement, which you must remember, so we said goodbye in the hall—”

“Or perhaps in the morning-room?” interpolated Miss Wychwood.

“It may have been: I’m not perfectly sure, but it makes no difference! And she distinctly said, when she bade me goodbye, or perhaps just after she had said goodbye: ‘Take care of her, Cousin Maria!’ Meaning you, of course! And I promised I would, and so I shall!”

“Thank you, Maria, I feel sure I can depend on you to come to my rescue if I should find myself in trouble. But at the moment I’m not in any sort of trouble, so do, I beg of you, put your bonnet straight, and make your hair tidy again! You look like a birch-broom in a fit!”

“Annis!” said Miss Farlow, sinking her voice impressively. “That man is not a proper person for you to know!”

“Fiddle! I collect Geoffrey told you so, but what harm either of you expect him to do I haven’t the most distant guess. Do you suspect him of having designs upon my virtue? You are quite beside the bridge if you do! He doesn’t even like me!”

Miss Farlow’s modesty was so much shocked by this speech that she uttered a faint shriek, and tottered away to her own room, there to write an agitated letter to Sir Geoffrey Wychwood, in which she assured him that he might depend on her to do all that lay in her power to put an end to a most undesirable friendship, and (in the same sentence) warned him that she feared there was nothing she could do to stop dear Annis in one of her headstrong moods.

When Lucilla came in, it was several minutes before Miss Wychwood was able to break the news of her uncle’s arrival to her, so anxious was she to recount all the details of the day’s expedition. But she did at last pause for breath, and the change that came over her countenance when she heard the dread tidings was almost ludicrous. The sparkle was quenched instantly in her eyes, the smile vanished from her lips, she turned pale, and wrung her hands together. “He has come to drag me away! Oh, no, no, no!”

“Don’t be such a goose!” said Miss Wychwood, laughing at her. “I don’t think he has any such intention, though I fancy that may well have been his original purpose. But until I told him just what the case was he had no idea that the Iverleys and Mrs Amber were trying to bring about a match between you and Ninian. You need not be afraid that he will help them to promote that precious scheme, for he most certainly will not. He was excessively vexed—partly with them, and partly with you, for not having written to tell him of it. So when you meet him don’t put him out of temper by looking black at him, and getting on your high ropes! He seems to me to be as mifty as he is uncivil, and no good purpose can be served by getting into a quarrel with him, you know.”

“I don’t want to meet him!” Lucilla declared, tears starting into her eyes.

“Now you are being foolish beyond permission, my dear! Of course you must see him! I am taking you to dine with him at the York House this evening, so that we may, all three of us, discuss what’s to be done with you! Oh, don’t look so dismayed, you ridiculous puss! I promise I won’t let him bully you!”

In spite of this assurance it was a considerable time before Lucilla could be persuaded to consent to the scheme, and although she did in the end consent it was easy to see, when she took her place beside Miss Wychwood in the carriage, that she was far from being reconciled to it. Her charming little face was downcast, her eyes were full of apprehension, and it was not difficult to guess that she stood in great awe of her formidable uncle.

He received them in a private parlour, very correctly attired in the blue coat, white waistcoat, black pantaloons, and striped silk stockings which constituted the evening-dress worn by all the Smarts at private parties. Miss Wychwood noted, with slightly reluctant approval, that while he exhibited none of the exaggerated quirks of fashion which characterized the dandy-set, his coat was very well cut, his neckcloth tied with nicety, his shirt-points decently starched, and the bosom of his shirt unadorned by a frill—an outmoded fashion still worn by many provincial beaux, and almost invariably by the older generation of Smarts to which he undoubtedly belonged.

He came forward to shake hands with Miss Wychwood, paying no immediate heed to Lucilla, following her into the parlour. “You can’t think how relieved I am to see that you haven’t brought your cousin with you!” he said, by way of greeting. “I have been cursing myself these three hours for not having made it plain to her that I was not including her in my invitation to you! I couldn’t have endured an evening spent in the company of such an unconscionable gabble-monger!”

“Oh, but you did!” she told him. “She took you in the greatest dislike, and can’t be blamed for having done so, or for having uttered some pretty severe strictures on your total want of conduct. You must own, if there is any truth in you, that you were shockingly uncivil to her!”

“I can’t tolerate chattering bores,” he said. “If she took me in such dislike, I’m amazed that she permitted you to come here without her chaperonage.”

“She would certainly have stopped me if she could have done it, for she does not think you are a proper person for me to know!”

“Good God! Does she suspect me of trying to seduce you? She may be easy on that head: I never seduce ladies of quality!” He turned from her as he spoke, and put up his glass to cast a critical look over Lucilla. “Well, niece?” he said. “What a troublesome chit you are! But I’m glad to see that your appearance at least is much improved since I last saw you. I thought that you were bidding fair to grow into a Homely Joan, but I was wrong: you are no longer pudding-faced, and you’ve lost your freckles. Accept my felicitations!”

“I was not pudding-faced!”

“Oh, believe me, you were! You hadn’t lost your puppy-fat.”

Her bosom heaved with indignation, but Miss Wychwood intervened, recommending her not to rise to that, or any other fly of her uncle’s casting. She added severely: “And as for you, sir, I beg you will refrain from making any more remarks expressly designed to put Lucilla all on end, and to render me acutely uncomfortable!”

“I wouldn’t do that for the world!” he assured her.

“Then don’t be so rag-mannered!” she retorted.

“But I wasn’t!” he protested. “I didn’t say Lucilla is pudding-faced! I said she was,and even complimented her on her improved looks!”

Lucilla was betrayed into a little crow of involuntary laughter, and said with engaging frankness: “Oh, what an odiously complete hand you are, Uncle Oliver! Was I really such an antidote?”

“Oh, no, not an antidote! Merely a chicken that had lost its down and had too few feathers to show that it might grow into a handsome bird!”

“Well!” said Lucilla, much impressed. “I know I’m quite pretty,but no one has ever said I was handsome! Do you think I am, sir, or—or are you roasting me?”

“No, I don’t think you handsome, but you’ve no need to look so downcast! Believe me, only females admire handsome women: men infinitely prefer pretty ones!”

She was left to digest this, while he engaged Miss Wychwood in conversation, but suddenly interrupted this exchange of elegant civilities to ask him if he thought Miss Wychwood handsome, or pretty.

Annis, torn between amusement and embarrassment, directed an admonitory frown at her, but Mr Carleton replied without hesitation: “Neither.”

“Well, I think,” said Lucilla, bristling in defence of her patroness, “that she is beautiful!”

“Yes, so do I,” he answered.

“I am very much obliged to you both,” said Annis, recovering from the shock, “and I shall be even more obliged to you if you will stop putting me to the blush! I haven’t come to listen to empty compliments, but to discuss with you, sir, how best to provide for Lucilla until her come-out!”

“All in good time,” he said. “We will dine first.” He added, with that glint in his eyes which she found strangely disquieting: “Your advanced years, ma’am, have impaired your memory! I told you, not so many hours ago, that I never try to flummery people! My years are considerably more advanced than yours, but I should warn you that my memory is still quite undamaged by senility!”

“Odious, odious creature!” she said softly, but allowed him to hand her to the table, where two waiters had just finished setting out the first course of a well-chosen dinner.

Lucilla was inclined to pout, but was subdued by a glance from Miss Wychwood’s fine eyes, and meekly took her place at her guardian’s left hand. She was young enough to regard the food set before her as a matter of indifference, but she had a schoolgirl’s hearty appetite, and did full justice to the first course, partaking of every dish offered her, and allowing her elders to converse without interruption. The edge of her hunger having been taken off by the time the second course was brought in she refused the green goose, and the pigeons, but made great inroads on an orange soufflé, a Celerata cream, and a basket of pastry. Nibbling a ratafia biscuit, she stole a glance at her uncle’s profile. He was smiling at something Miss Wychwood had said to him, so she ventured to ask him the question uppermost in her mind. “Uncle Oliver!” she said imperatively.

He turned his head. “Do rid yourself of this detestable habit you’ve fallen into of addressing me as Uncle Oliver! I find it quite repellent.”

She opened her eyes at him. “But you are my uncle!” she pointed out.

“Yes, but I don’t wish to be reminded of it.”

“Such a dreadfully ageing title, isn’t it?” said Miss Wychwood, with spurious sympathy.

“Exactly so!” he replied. “Almost worse than aunt!”

She shook her head sadly. “Indeed yes! Though it was being called aunt that drove me from my home.”

“Well, what am I to call you?” demanded Lucilla.

“Anything else you like,” he responded, in a voice devoid of interest.

“Now, that very generous permission opens a wide field to you, my dear,” said Miss Wychwood. “It wouldn’t do for you to call him Bangster,for that would be too impolite, but I see nothing amiss with you calling him Captain Hackum,which has the same meaning, but wrapped up in clean linen!”

Mr Carleton grinned, and kindly explained to his bewildered niece that these terms signified a bully. “They are cant terms,” he further explained, “and far too vulgar for you to use! Anyone hearing them on your lips would write you down as a brass-faced hussy, without conduct or delicacy.”

“Devil!” said Miss Wychwood, with feeling.

“Oh, you’re quizzing me!” Lucilla exclaimed, slightly offended. “Both of you! I wish you will not! I am not a brass-faced hussy, though I daresay people would think me one if I called you merely Oliver! I am sure it must be most improper!”

“It would not only be improper but it would bring down instant retribution on your head!” he told her. “I have no objection to your addressing me as Oliver, but Merely Oliver I’m damned if I’ll tolerate!”

She gave a choke of laughter. “I didn’t mean that! You know I didn’t! Of course, if you had a title it would be perfectly proper to call you by it, but only think what my aunt would say if she heard me calling you Oliver!”

“As it seems unlikely that she will hear it, that need not trouble you,” he said. “If you have any qualms, allay them with the reflection that Princess Charlotte addresses all her uncles—and, for anything I know, her aunts too—by their Christian names, and even the youngest of them is older than I am!”

Lucilla had little interest in Royalty and dismissed the Princess Charlotte summarily. “Oh, well, I daresay things are different for princesses!” she said. “But you said that it’s unlikely my aunt will ever hear me call you Oliver. W-what do you mean, Unc—sir?”

“I understand that she has washed her hands of you?”

“Yes!” breathed Lucilla, clasping her hands together, and keeping her eyes fixed on his face. “And so—?”

“It behoves me, of course, to find some other female willing to take charge of you.”

Her face fell. “But when am I to make my come-out?”

“Next year,” he replied.

“Next year? Oh, that’s too bad of you!” she cried. “I shall be past eighteen by then, and almost on the shelf! I want to come out this year!”

“I daresay, but it won’t harm you to wait for another year,” he answered unfeelingly. “In any event, you must, because Julia Trevisian, who is to present you at one of the Drawing-rooms, cannot undertake the very exhausting task of chaperoning you to all the functions to which she will see to it that you are invited, until your cousin Marianne is off her hands. Marianne is to be married in May, midway through the Season, and that would be far too late for you to make your first appearance—even if Julia were not, by that time, wholly done-up, which, from her conversation when I last saw her, I gather she expects to be.”

“Is Cousin Julia going to bring me out?” she asked, brightening perceptibly. “Well, I must say that if you arranged that, sir, it is quite the best thing you’ve ever done for me! In fact, it is the only good thing you’ve ever done for me, and I am truly grateful to you!”

“Handsomely said!”

“Yes, but it doesn’t settle the question of where I am to live, or what I am to do for a whole year,” she pointed out. “And I wish to make it plain to you that nothing—nothing!—will prevail upon me to return to Aunt Clara! If you force me to go back, I shall run away again!”

“Not if you have a particle of commonsense,” he said dryly. He looked her over, rather sardonically smiling. “You’ll do as you are bid, my girl, for if I have any more highty-tighty behaviour from you I promise you I shan’t permit you to come out next Season.”

She turned white with sheer rage, and stammered: “You—you—”

“Enough of this folly!” interposed Miss Wychwood, in blighting accents. “You are both talking arrant nonsense! I don’t know which of you is being the more childish, but I know which of you has the least excuse for behaving like a spoilt baby!”

A tinge of colour stole into Mr Carleton’s cheeks, but he shrugged, and said, with a short laugh: “I’ve no patience to waste on pert and disobedient schoolgirls.”

“I hate you!” said Lucilla, in a low and trembling voice.

“I daresay you do.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake come out of the mops, both of you!” said Miss Wychwood, quite exasperated. “This ridiculous quarrel has sprung up for no reason at all! There can be no question of your uncle’s sending you back to Mrs Amber, Lucilla, because she has made it abundantly clear that she doesn’t want you back.”

“She will change her mind,” said Lucilla despairingly. “She frequently says she washes her hands of me, but she never does so!”

“Well, it’s my belief your uncle wouldn’t send you to her even if she does change her mind.” She raised a quizzical eyebrow at Mr Carleton, and said: “Would you, sir?”

A reluctant smile just touched his lips. “As a matter of fact, no: I wouldn’t,” he admitted. “She seems to me to have exercised no control over Lucilla, and is demonstrably not a fit or proper person to have charge of her. So I am now faced with the unenviable task of finding another, and, it is to be hoped, a more resolute member of the family to fill her place.”

Very little of this speech gratified Lucilla, but she was so much relieved by the discovery that he had no intention of restoring her to Mrs Amber that she decided to ignore such parts of it which had grossly offended her. She said tentatively: “Wouldn’t it be possible for me to remain in my dear Miss Wychwood’s charge, sir?”

“No,” he replied uncompromisingly.

She choked back an unwise retort. “Pray tell me why not!” she begged.

“Because, in the first place, she is even less a fit and proper person to act as your guardian than is your aunt, being far too young to chaperon you, or anyone else, and wholly unrelated to you.”

“She is not too young!” cried Lucilla indignantly. “She is quite old!”

“... and in the second place,” he continued, betraying only by a quiver of the muscles beside his mouth that he had heard this hot interjection, “it would be the height of impropriety for me—or, indeed, you!—to impose so outrageously on her good nature.”

It was evident that this aspect had not previously occurred to Lucilla. She took a moment or two to digest it, and said, finally: “Oh! I hadn’t thought of that.” She looked imploringly at Miss Wychwood, and said: “I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t for the world impose on you, ma’am, but—but should I be an imposition? Pray tell me!”

Throwing a fulminating glance at Mr Carleton, Miss Wychwood replied: “No, but one of the objections your uncle has raised I realize to be just. I am not related to you, and it would be thought very odd if you were to be known to have been removed from Mrs Amber’s care, and put into mine. Such an extraordinary change must give rise to conjecture, and a great deal of poker-talk which I am persuaded you wouldn’t relish. Moreover, that sort of scandalbroth must inevitably reflect on Mrs Amber, and that, I know, you wouldn’t wish to happen. For however many tiresome restrictions she has subjected you to, and however boring you found them, you must surely acknowledge that she has acted always—however mistakenly—with nothing but your welfare in mind.”

“Yes,” Lucilla agreed reluctantly. “But not when she tried to make me accept an offer from Ninian!”

This, as Mr Carleton, cynically appreciative of this exchange, recognized to be (in his own phraseology) a leveller, did not prove to be a home-hit. Miss Wychwood rallied swiftly, and said: “I shouldn’t wonder at it if she thought she was promoting your welfare. Recollect, my love, that Ninian was quite your best friend when you were children! Mrs Amber may well have thought that you would find true happiness with him.”

“Are you—you, ma’am!—trying to persuade me to go back to Cheltenham?” Lucilla demanded, in sharp suspicion.

“Oh, no!” replied Miss Wychwood calmly. “I don’t think that would answer. What I am trying to do is to point out to you that if you, by some unlikely chance, could prevail upon your uncle to appoint me to be your guardian, in preference to any of your own relations, we should all three of us come under the gravest censure. Well, I shan’t attempt to conceal that I have no wish to incur such censure; and, in your case, it would be extremely damaging, for you may depend upon it that Mrs Amber would inform every one of her friends and acquaintances—and probably your paternal relatives as well—that you were quite beyond her control, and had left her to reside with a complete stranger, which—”

“.. . would have the merit of being true!” interpolated Mr Carleton.

“Which,” pursued Miss Wychwood, ignoring this unmannerly interruption, “would have a far more damaging effect on your future than you are yet aware of. Believe me, Lucilla, nothing is more fatal to a girl than to have earned (however unjustly) the reputation of being a hurly-burly female, wild to a fault, and so hot-at-hand as to be ready to tie her garter in public rather than to submit to authority.”

“That would be very bad, wouldn’t it?” said Lucilla, forcibly struck by this masterly representation of the evils attached to her situation.

“It would indeed,” Miss Wychwood assured her. “And it is why I am strongly of the opinion that your uncle should make arrangements for you to reside, until your come-out, with some other of your relations—preferably one who lives in London, and is in a position to introduce you into the proper ways of conducting yourself in Society before you actually enter it. He is the only member of your father’s family with whom I am acquainted, but I should suppose that he is not the only representative of it.” She turned her head, to direct a look of bland enquiry at Mr Carleton, and said: “Tell me, sir, has Lucilla no aunts or cousins, on your side of the family, with whom it would be quite unexceptionable for her to reside?”

“Well, there is my sister, of course,” he said thoughtfully.

“My Aunt Caroline?” said Lucilla, doubtfully. “But isn’t she a great invalid, sir?”

“Yes, being burnt to the socket is her favourite pastime,” he agreed. “She suffers from a mysterious complaint, undiscoverable, but apparently past cure. One of its strangest symptoms is to put her quite out of frame whenever she finds herself asked to do anything she doesn’t wish to do. She has been known to become prostrate at the mere thought of being obliged to attend some party which promised to be a very boring function. There’s no saying that she wouldn’t sink into a deep decline if I were to suggest to her that she should take charge of you, so I shan’t do it. I can’t have her death laid at my door.”

Lucilla giggled a little at that, but expressed her profound relief as well, saying frankly that she thought life with Lady Lambourn would be even more insupportable than life with Mrs Amber. “Besides, I am scarcely acquainted with her,” she added, as a clincher. “Indeed, I don’t think I’ve seen her more than once in my life, and that was years ago, when Mama took me with her to pay a morning call on her. I was only a child, but she didn’t seem to be invalidish. I remember that she was very pretty, and most elegant. To be sure, she did tell Mama that she could seldom boast of being in high health, but she didn’t say it in such a way as to lead anyone to suppose that she suffered from an incurable complaint.”

“Ah, that must have been before she attained the status of widowhood!” he replied. “Lambourn had the good sense to cock up his toes when he realized which way the wind was blowing.”

“What a vast number of enemies your tongue must have made for you!” observed Miss Wychwood. “May I suggest that instead of casting what I strongly suspect to be unjust aspersions on your sister, you bend your mind to the question of which of your relations you judge to be the most proper to have charge of Lucilla until Lady Trevisian is at liberty to introduce her into the ton?”

“Certainly!” he responded, with the utmost cordiality. “I shall make every effort to do so, but at this present I find myself at a stand, and must, reluctantly, beg you to continue in your self-appointed post as her chaperon.”

“In that case,” she said, getting up from the table, “we have no more to do here, and will take our leave of you, sir. Come, Lucilla! Thank your uncle for his kind hospitality, and let us go home!”

He made no attempt to detain them, but murmured provocatively, as he put Miss Wychwood’s shawl round her shoulders: “Accept my compliments, ma’am! Were you obliged to put great force on yourself not to rise to that fly?”

“Oh, no, none at all!” she retorted, without an instant’s hesitation. “My father taught me many years ago never to pay the least attention to the ill-considered things uttered by rough diamonds!”

He gave a shout of laughter. “A facer!” he acknowledged. He turned from her to flick Lucilla’s cheek lightly with one careless finger. “Au revoir,niece!” he said, smiling quite kindly at her. “Do, pray, strive to re-establish the family’s reputation, which I have placed in such jeopardy!”

He then escorted them downstairs, and, while Miss Wychwood’s carriage was called for, engaged her, with the utmost civility, in an exchange of very proper nothings. These were interrupted by the entrance from the street of a somewhat rakish looking gentleman whose lively eyes no sooner perceived Miss Wychwood than he came quickly forward, exclaiming: “Ah, now, didn’t I know fortune was going to smile on me today? Most dear lady, how do you do?”

She gave him her hand, which he instantly carried to his lips, and said: “How do you do, Mr Kilbride? I collect you are in Bath on a visit to your grandmother. I trust she is well?”

“Oh, in a state of far too high preservation!” he said, with a comical look. “Out of reason cross, too! It is most disheartening!”

She ignored this, and briefly introduced him to her companions. Her manner, which was slightly chilly, did not encourage him to linger, but he was apparently impervious to hints, and, after exchanging nods with Mr Carleton, with whom he was already acquainted, turned to address himself to Lucilla, which he did to such good purpose that she told Miss Wychwood, on the drive to Camden Place, that he was the most delightful and amusing man she had ever met.

“Is he?” said Miss Wychwood, with calculated indifference. “Yes, I suppose he is amusing, but his wit is not always in good taste, and he is an incurable humbugger, which I find a little tedious. By the bye, your uncle has charged me with the task of engaging a new abigail for you, so will you go with me tomorrow morning to the Registry Office?”

“No, has he?” cried Lucilla, astonished. “Yes, indeed I will, ma’am! And may we take a look in at the Pump Room? Corisande will be there, with her mama, and I told her I would ask you if I might join her.”

“Yes, certainly. And while we are in the town we must buy a new pair of gloves for you, to wear at our rout-party.”

“Evening-gloves?” Lucilla said eagerly. “They will be the first I have ever possessed, because my aunt will buy mittens for me, as if I were a mere schoolgirl! Did my uncle say I might have them as well as a new maid?”

“I didn’t ask him,” replied Miss Wychwood. “From what I have seen of him, I am tolerably certain that he would have answered in a disagreeably rusty way that he knew nothing about such matters, and I must do what I thought best.”

Lucilla gave a gurgle of laughter, and said: “Yes, but the thing is, will he pay for them? For I know how expensive long gloves are, and—and I haven’t very much of my pin-money left!”

“There is no need for you to tease yourself about that: of course he will do so!” replied Miss Wychwood, adding, with a good deal of mischievous satisfaction: “His pride makes it a hard matter for him to be forced to permit his ward to reside with me, as my guest, and I take great credit to myself for having imbued him with enough respect to have prevented him from offering to pay me for taking charge of you! I shouldn’t wonder at it if he tried to transfer the allowance he makes Mrs Amber to me. As for cutting up stiff at being required to meet the cost of whatever you may purchase—pooh! he is a great deal more likely to encourage you to be extravagant, for fear that if he refused to pay your bills I might do so!”