Regency Buck

Chapter XV

The arrival of Captain Charles Audley was a happy circumstance, for the departure to London on that day of Mr. Brummell, Lord Petersham, and both the Marleys had produced all the inevitable languor attendant on the breaking-up of a party. The Taverners, with Miss Fairford and Lord Alvanley, were engaged to remain at Worth over the week-end, but although an Assembly at a neighbouring town, where some militia were quartered, a day’s hunting, and a card-party were promised, there was an insipidity, a flatness, that was hard to shake off. The appearance, however, of Captain Audley banished every feeling of regret for the absence of four of the original members of the party. His gaiety was infectious and his manners, for all their oddity, were so generally charming as to render him always acceptable. His having but just come from the Peninsula made him first in consequence; the ladies hung on his lips, and the gentlemen, in a quieter fashion, were very ready to hear all the information he could give them of the state of affairs in Spain. The only respect in which he fell short of the female expectations at least was his refusal to describe the act of dashing gallantry to which it was felt that his wound must have been due. He would not talk of it, insisted that the wound was not the result of any noble action at all, and beyond learning that it had been incurred at the affair of Arroyo del Molinos upon the twenty-eighth day of October, and that he had been lying in hospital ever since (which Lady Albinia and Mrs. Scattergood were aware of already), they could discover nothing about it. But on any other subject he was ready to converse, and his arrival was soon felt to be an advantage. He paid unblushing court to Miss Taverner, was kind to Miss Fairford, quizzed his aunt and cousin, took Peregrine secretly over to a dingy tavern in the nearest town to witness a cockfight, and was voted in less than no time to be a most amiable young man. He was not above being pleased; he could derive as much enjoyment from making up a pool of quadrille to oblige his aunt as from playing whist for pound points; and found as much to amuse him at the local Assembly as he would have found at Almack’s.

“You are blessed with the happiest nature, Captain Audley,” Miss Taverner said smilingly. “Whatever you do, you are pleased to be doing, and your spirits infect everyone else with the same liveliness.”

“If I could not be pleased in such company I must be an insufferable fellow!” he replied warmly.

“You are certainly a flatterer.”

“Only so modest a creature as yourself could think so.”

“I am silenced. Do you find this mode of address generally acceptable amongst the heiresses of your acquaintance?”

“Miss Taverner, I appeal to your sense of what is fair! Is this kind? Is this right?”

“It was irresistible,” she replied mischievously.

“What is to be done? How shall I convince you?”

“You cannot; you are completely exposed.”

“I shall come about again, I warn you. My dependence is all on my brother. If he has the slightest regard for me he must assist me to convince you of my disinterestedness.”

“Dear me, how is he to do that, I wonder?”

“Why, very simply! He has only to sell you out of the three-per-cents and gamble away your whole fortune on ‘Change. I may then offer you my hand and heart with a clear conscience.”

“It sounds very disagreeable. I had rather keep my fortune, I thank you.”

“Miss Taverner, you are guilty of the most shocking cruelty to one wounded in the service of his country!”

“That is very bad, certainly. What shall I do to atone?”

“You shall drive me out in Worth’s curricle,” he said promptly.

“I am quite willing, but Lord Worth might view the matter in a different light.”

“Nonsense! His cattle must be honoured in being driven by you.”

“I wish he may think so, but I believe we shall do well to obtain his permission.”

“You shall be held blameless,” he promised. “You can have no objection to my ordering the curricle to be sent round.”

She wavered. “To be sure, I have once driven it. I suppose if you order it there can be nothing against it. You cannot do wrong in your own home after all.”

He grinned. “We will hear my brother’s comments on that. His greys are in the stable: can you handle them?”

“I can, but I have a notion I ought not. Are—are his chestnuts in the stable, too?”

“Miss Taverner,” said Captain Audley solemnly, “Julian is the best of good fellows, and the kindest of brothers, but he has the most punishing left imaginable! Frankly, I dare not!”

“I do not know what you mean by a punishing left, but you are very right. We must not take his chestnuts. I daresay he will not mind his greys being exercised.”

“He will know nothing of the matter, in any case. He has rid over to Longhampton. The word is, en avant!”

The greys, which were soon brought round to the house by a reluctant groom, had not been out for several days, and were consequently very fresh. Captain Audley looked them over, and said: “We had better take Johnson along with us. Miss Taverner, do you feel yourself to be equal to the task of driving them, or shall we send them away, and have out the gig?”

“A gig! By no means! I have driven this team before, and know them to be beautifully mouthed. I will engage to drive you without mishap. We will take no groom.”

“So be it!” said the Captain recklessly. “I have one sound arm, after all.”

It was not needed, however. Miss Taverner’s skill soon showed itself, and the Captain, who, never having driven with her before, had been at first holding himself in readiness to seize the reins, presently relaxed, and paid Miss Taverner the compliment of saying that she was as good a whip as Letty Lade. He directed the way, and since he gave the road to Longhampton a wide berth, it was a piece of the most perverse ill-luck that upon the way back to Worth they should come plump upon the Earl.

His lordship had stopped by the roadside to exchange a few words with one of his tenant-farmers, and was bestriding a raking bay mare. Judith was the first to catch sight of him, at a distance of a hundred yards, or more, and she gave a dismayed gasp, and exclaimed: “What is to be done? There is your brother!”

Captain Audley regarded her quizzically. “Oh, oh! I believe you would like to turn around and make off in the other direction!”

“Nonsense!” said Miss Taverner, sitting very erect. “Yours is the blame, after all.”

“But I have only one arm. I depend on your protection.”

“How can you be so absurd? Ten to one he will think nothing of it.”

“You are too sanguine. We had better turn our heads away and trust to his not recognizing us.”

“A man not recognize his own horses!” said Miss Taverner scornfully. “Oh, you are laughing at me! You are quite abominable!”

At the first sound of the curricle’s approach the Earl had raised his head and glanced casually up the lane. He was in the middle of making a civil inquiry into the health of his tenant’s family, but he broke off abruptly. The farmer followed the direction of his eyes, and said in no little surprise: “Why, here come your lordship’s greys, or I’m much mistaken!”

“You are not mistaken,” said the Earl grimly, and wheeled his mare across the lane.

Miss Taverner, observing this manoeuvre,, said: “There! You see! We shall have to stop.”

“I see no necessity. Drop your hands and drive over him.”

Miss Taverner threw him a look of withering contempt and checked her horses. In another minute the curricle had pulled up alongside the Earl, and Miss Taverner was meeting his gaze with an expression half of defiance, half of apology, in her blue eyes. “I am taking your brother for a drive, Lord Worth,” she said.

“So I see,” replied the Earl. “It was very civil of you to pull up to greet me, but you must not let me be detaining you.”

Miss Taverner eyed him doubtfully. “You must wonder at it, but—”

“Not at all,” said the Earl. “The only thing I wonder at is that you are not driving my chestnuts.”

“I should have liked to,” said Miss Taverner wistfully,

“but Captain Audley said he dared not, and of course I knew I must not without your leave. If you are displeased I beg your pardon. Captain Audley, how odious it is of you to sit laughing, and not to say a word in my defence!”

“My brother would never listen to my excuses with half so much complaisance, I assure you,” said the Captain, with a twinkle.

Miss Taverner turned her attention to the Earl again. “I hope you are not very angry, sir?”

“My dear Miss Taverner, I am not in the least angry, except on one account. My horses are at your service, but what are you about to have no one but that one-armed rattle by your side? If any accident occurred, as it might well, he would be of no assistance to you.”

“Oh, if that is all,” returned Judith, “you must know that I have been used to drive alone. My father saw no objection.”

“Your father,” said the Earl, “never saw you with one of my teams in hand.”

“Very true,” agreed Judith. “But what is to be done? Will you lead the horses, or shall Captain Audley alight and lead yours?”

“Captain Audley begs leave to inform Miss Taverner that he will die rather!”

“Drive on—Clorinda!” said the Earl, a little smile twisting his lips.

She bowed; the team moved forward, and in another minute was trotting away down the lane. The Earl watched it out of sight, and turned back to his tenant. His business did not occupy him long; he rode home presently across country, and arrived at Worth just as Miss Taverner was ascending the stairs to change her habit for a muslin frock. She looked over her shoulder and said archly: “Am I forgiven, Lord Worth? Do I stand in your black books?”

He came up the stairs and began to walk slowly along the gallery by her side. “You would be disappointed if I said you had not succeeded in vexing me, Miss Taverner.”

“No, indeed. You have a very odd notion of me, to be sure! You think me shockingly unamiable.”

“I think you—” He stopped, and after a moment continued with a little constraint: “I think you take a great delight in crossing swords with me.”

“Mine is a sad character, according to you. But I shall protest against this attack. Our quarrels have been all of your making.”

“I cannot admit it to be true; I am not at all quarrelsome.”

She smiled, but allowed it to pass. They walked on until her bedchamber door was reached. Before she could open it the Earl spoke again. “Are you determined, Miss Taverner, to return to Brook Street on Monday?”

She looked at him in surprise. “Determined? I have the intention, certainly. Why do you ask me?”

“I have no knowledge of the engagements you may have made, but if it is not distasteful to you I should like you and Peregrine to extend your visit.” He saw a look of refusal in her face, and added with his sardonic smile: “You need not be afraid: I shall not be here. I have business which will take me into the Midlands for several weeks.”

“But why do you wish us to stay here?” asked Judith.

“I believe it may be of benefit to Peregrine’s health.”

“He seems to me to be better,” she said. “He does not cough so much, I think.”

“Undoubtedly, but I do not consider an immediate return to town advisable. The air of Worth will do him more good than the air of Waller’s.”

She agreed to it, but still hesitated. He said abruptly: “Oblige me in this, Miss Taverner!”

She raised her brows. “Is it a command?”

“I have carefully avoided giving it the least appearance of one.”

“What is your real reason, Lord Worth?”

“When I am unable to be in London to prevent you, Miss Taverner, from announcing your engagement to a Royal Duke, and Peregrine from committing some act of folly to the risk of his life or his fortune, I prefer to leave you safely provided for under my own roof.”

She said quickly: “You do think that something threatens Perry, then!”

He shrugged. “I think he is a rash young man who will get into trouble if he can.”

She was silent for a moment, and then said: “Very well. If you wish it we will remain here a little longer.”

“Thank you; I do wish it. My brother will do what lies in his power to make your stay agreeable, I trust. If you can keep him from overtaxing his strength I shall be your debtor.”

She could not prevent a suspicion from crossing her mind; she said with a certain reserve: “I cannot charge myself with such an office. I have neither interest nor influence with Captain Audley.”

There was a good deal of comprehension in his eyes, which were regarding her with something of the cynical gleam she so much disliked. “You are mistaken, Miss Taverner.”

“I do not understand you.”

“I shall not permit you to marry my brother. You would not suit.”

Miss Taverner whisked herself into her bedroom and shut the door with unnecessary force.

When she met the Earl again at the dinner-table he seemed to be unaware of having said anything to vex her. Her manner was cold; he gave no sign of noticing it; and after a while she came to the conclusion that her most dignified course would be to assume a similar unconcern.

Lady Fairford, applied to in a letter sent express, readily gave her consent to her daughter’s remaining at Worth under Mrs. Scattergood’s chaperonage; Miss Fairford’s presence easily reconciled Peregrine to the change of plan; and the Earl left his house on Monday, confident that his guests would be all very happily engaged with each other until his return.

His confidence was not misplaced. With riding-horses at their disposal. Assemblies at Longhampton, and their own company, the younger people were well satisfied. Captain Audley made a charming host, and it was not long before Peregrine liked him as well as his sister did, and thought him the very model of what he would secretly like to be himself. Three weeks slipped by without anyone’s noticing them, and by the time the party did at last break up every member of it was on excellent terms with the rest. Miss Taverner, while allowing the Captain to come as near to flirting with her as her sense of propriety would sanction, did not fall in love with him; and upon being asked by Peregrine whether she could fancy being married to him returned a decided answer.

“Dear me, no, Perry! What should put such a notion into your head?”

“I thought you seemed to like him very well.”

“Why, so I do! I am sure everyone must.”

“Well, I will tell you what, Ju: I should not mind it if you did marry him. He is a capital fellow.”

She smiled. “Certainly; but he is not at all the sort of man I could fancy myself in love with. There is a volatility, a habit of being too generally pleasing which much preclude my taking him in any very serious spirit.”

“I am sure he is in love with you.”

“And I am sure he is as much in love with any other passable-looking female,” replied Miss Taverner.

The matter was allowed to drop. Towards the end of January the Taverners were in London again, only to set forth a week later for Osterley Park. Even Peregrine, who had plunged once more into the pleasures of town, thought an invitation from Lady Jersey too flattering to be declined. He raised no objection, and, indeed, after settling-day at Tatter-sail’s was inclined to think that a further stay in the country would be a very good thing.

“Yes,” agreed his cousin dryly. “A very good thing if at the end of one week in town you can tell me you are floored.”

“Oh, well!” replied Peregrine. “It is not as bad as that, I daresay. I have had shocking bad luck, to be sure. Fitz gave me the office to back Kiss-in-a-Corner. I turned the brute up in Baily’s Calendar—a capital steeplechaser! Yet what should win that particular race but Turn-About-Tommy, whom I’ll swear no one had ever heard of! Never was there such ill-luck! I am not so well up in the stirrups as I should like, but I daresay my luck will have turned by the time I am back from Osterley.”

“I hope it may. You do not look very well. Are you in health?”

“Oh, never better! If I look a trifle baked to-day that is because Fitz, and Audley, and I had a pretty batch of it last night.” He pulled out his snuff-box and offered it. “Do try some of my mixture! It is famous snuff, quite the thing!”

“Is this the snuff you were given at Christmas? No, I thank you! With Judith’s eyes upon me I dare not be seen taking scented snuff.”

“Well, you very much mistake the matter,” said Peregrine, helping himself and shutting the box. “Even Petersham pronounced it to be unexceptionable!”

“But I care more for Judith’s opinion than for Petersham’s.”

“Oh, lord! That’s nonsensical!” said Peregrine, with brotherly scorn.

He soon took himself off to join Mr. Fitzjohn, and Mr. Taverner, turning to Judith, who sat quietly sewing by the fire, said: “Is he in health? He looks a trifle sickly, I think. Or do I imagine it?”

“He has not been in good health,” Judith replied. “He had a troublesome cough—a chill caught on our journey to Worth, but I believe him to be quite on the mend now.”

“You do right to take him out of London. Another run of bad luck, and he will be quite in the basket, as they say.”

She sighed. “I cannot stop him gaming, cousin. I can only trust in Lord Worth. He is keeping Perry on an allowance, and I believe has an eye to him.”

“An eye to him! If you had said an eye to his fortune I could more readily believe you! I have it on the authority of one who was present that Lord Worth rose from the macao-table at Watier’s a couple of months ago with vowels of Perry’s in his pocket to the tune of four thousand pounds!”

She looked up with an expression of startled alarm in her face, but was prevented from answering him by the entrance of Captain Audley. The Captain had been walking down Brook Street, and would not pass the house without coming in to pay a morning call. Miss Taverner made the two men known to each other, and was glad to see that no such formal civility as had been the result of presenting her cousin to Worth was the outcome of this introduction. Captain Audley’s manners were too easy to permit of it. A cordial hand-shake was exchanged; Mr. Taverner made some polite reference to the Captain’s wound; and the talk was directed at once to events in the Peninsula. The news of the storming of Ciudad Rodrigo had not long been made known; there was plenty to say; and half an hour passed apparently to both men’s satisfaction. Upon the Captain’s departure Mr. Taverner acknowledged him to be a very pleasant fellow, and one whom he was glad to make the acquaintance of; and in discussing him the original subject of conversation was forgotten. It was recalled to Judith’s mind later, and when she saw Peregrine again she repeated what their cousin had said, and desired to know the truth of it.

Peregrine was vexed. He coloured and said in a displeased voice: “My cousin is a great deal too busy! What concern of his are my affairs?”

“But Perry, is it true, then? Do you owe money to Lord Worth? I had not thought it to have been possible?”

“No such thing. I wish you will not bother your head about me!”

“Bernard said he had it from one who was present.”

“Lord! cannot you let it be? I did play macao at Worth’s table, but I don’t owe him anything.”

“Bernard said Lord Worth has vowels of yours amounting to four thousand pounds.”

“Bernard said! Bernard said!” exclaimed Peregrine angrily. “I can tell you, I don’t care to recall that affair! Worth behaved in a damned unpleasant fashion—as though it were anything extraordinary that a man with my fortune should drop a few thousands at a sitting!”

“That he—your guardian—should win such a sum from you!”

“Oh, do not be talking of it for ever, Judith! Worth tore up my vowels, and that is all there is to it.”

She was conscious of a feeling of relief out of proportion to the event. The loss of four thousand pounds would not be likely to cause Peregrine embarrassment, but that Worth should win considerable sums of money from him shocked her. She had not believed him capable of such impropriety: she was happy to think that he had not been capable of it.

The visit to Osterley Park passed very pleasantly, and the Taverners returned to London again midway through February with the intention of remaining there until the Brighton season commenced. Nothing was much changed in town; no new diversions were offered; no startling scandal had cropped up to provide a topic for conversation. It was the same round of balls, assemblies, card-parties, theatres; with concerts of Ancient Music in Hanover Square, or a visit to Bullock’s Museum, just opened in Piccadilly, for those of a more serious turn of mind. The only novelty was supplied by Mr. Brummell, who created a slight stir by the announcement that he was reforming his way of life. Various were the conjectures as to what drastic changes this might mean, but when he was asked frankly what his reforms were he replied in his most ingenuous manner: “My reforms—ah, yes! For instance, I sup early; I take a—a little lobster, an apricot puff, or so, and some burnt champagne about twelve, and my man gets me to bed by three.”

The Duke of Clarence, after one more attempt to win Miss Taverner, returned to the siege of Miss Tylney Long, but in the clubs his chances of success were held to be slim, the lady having begun to show signs of favouring Mr. Wellesley Poole’s suit.

At the beginning of March all other subjects of interest faded before a new and scintillating one. One name was on everybody’s lips, and no drawing-room could be found without a copy of Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage lying upon the table. Only two cantos of this work had been published, but over these two everyone was in raptures. Lord Byron, sprung suddenly into fame, was held to have eclipsed all other poets, and happy was the hostess who could secure him to add distinction to her evening party. He had been taken up by the Melbourne House set; Lady Caroline Lamb was known to be madly in love with him, as well she might, for surely never had such beauty, such romantic mystery clung to a poet before.

“Confound this fellow Byron!” said Captain Audley humorously. “Since Childe Harold came out none of you ladies will so much as spare a glance for the rest of us less gifted mortals!”

“Do not level that accusation at my head, if you please,” replied Miss Taverner, smiling.

“I am sure if I have heard you murmur raptly: ‘Adieu, adieu! my native shore Fades o’er the waters blue’ once, I must have heard you murmur it a dozen times! Do you know that we are all of us growing white-haired in the endeavour to be poets too?”

“Ah, his poetry! I could listen to that for ever, but pray do not confuse my admiration for that with a partiality for his lordship. I have met him at Almack’s. I will allow him to be as handsome as you please, but he has such an air of pride and puts on so much melancholy grandeur that it gave me quite a disgust of him. He fixes his brilliant gaze upon one, bows, speaks two words in a cold voice, and that is all! It put me out of patience to see everyone flock about him, flattering, admiring, hanging on his lips. Only fancy! he was asked to dine in St. James’s Place with Mr. Rogers himself, came late, refused every course that was offered, and ended by dining on potatoes mashed up with vinegar, to the astonishment, as you may imagine, of all. I heard it from one who was present, and who seemed to be much struck. For my part I think it a piece of studied affectation, and cannot smile at it.”

“Excellent! I am delighted,” said the Captain. “I need not try to emulate his lordship, I see.”

She laughed. “Emulate such genius! No one could do that, I am sure. You must know that my abuse of Lord Byron has its root in pique. He barely noticed me! You will not expect me to do him justice after that!”

Lord Byron continued to obsess the thoughts of Society.

His connection with Lady Caroline was everywhere talked over, and exclaimed at; his verses and his person extravagantly extolled: even Mrs. Scattergood, who was not bookish, was able to repeat two or three consecutive lines of Childe Harold.

Peregrine, as might be supposed, was not much interested in his lordship. He had thrown off his cough, seemed to be in good health, and had only two things to vex him: the first, that Worth could not be prevailed upon to consent to his wedding-date being fixed; the second, that not even Mr. Fitz-john would put his name up for membership to the Four-Horse Club. This select gathering of all the best whips met the first and third Thursdays in May and June in Cavendish Square, and drove in yellow-bodied barouches to Salt Hill at a strict trot. There the members dined, either at the Castle, or the Windmill, having previously lunched at Turnham Green, and refreshed at the Magpies on Hounslow Heath. The return journey was made the next day, without change of horses. Judith could not see that there was anything very remarkable in the club’s performance, but for fully two months the sum of Peregrine’s ambition was to have the right to join that distinguished procession to Salt Hill, driving the bay horses, which (though the colour was not absolutely enforced) were very much de rigueur. He could never see Mr. Fitzjohn in the club’s uniform without a pang, and would have given all his expensive waistcoats in exchange for a blue one with inch-wide yellow stripes.

“No, really, my dear Perry, I can’t do it!” said Mr. Fitzjohn, distressed. “Besides, if I did, who should we get to second you? Peyton wouldn’t, and Sefton wouldn’t, and you wouldn’t have asked me to put you up if you could have got Worth to do it.”

“I am pretty well acquainted with Mr. Annesley,” said Peregrine. “Don’t you think he might second me?”

“Not if he has seen you with a four-in-hand,” said Mr. Fitzjohn brutally. “Anyway, you’d be blackballed, dear old fellow. Try the Bensington: I believe they are not near so strict, and there’s no knowing but they may have a vacancy.” But this would by no means satisfy Peregrine; it must be the F.H.C. or nothing for him.

“The fact of the matter is,” said Mr. Fitzjohn frankly, “you can’t drive, Perry. I will allow you to be a bruising rider, but I wouldn’t sit behind you driving a team for a hundred pounds! Cow-handed, dear boy! cow-handed!”

Peregrine bristled with wrath, but his sister broke into low laughter, and later reproduced the expression, which had taken her fancy, to her guardian. She came up with his curricle when she was driving her phaeton in the Park, and drawing up alongside, said prettily: “I have been wishing to meet you, Lord Worth. I have a favour to ask of you.”

His brows rose in surprise. “Indeed! What is it, Miss Taverner?”

She smiled. “You are not very gallant, sir. You must say: ‘Anything in my power I shall be happy to do for you’; or, more simply: ‘The favour is yours for the asking.’”

He replied in some amusement: “I mistrust you most when you are cajoling, Miss Taverner. What is this favour?”

“Why, only that you will contrive to get Perry elected to the Whip Club,” said Judith in her most dulcet voice.

“My instinct for danger seldom fails me,” remarked his lordship. “Certainly not, Miss Taverner.”

She sighed. “I wish you might. He can think of nothing else.”

“Recommend him to approach his friend Fitzjohn. He might put him up, even though I shall blackball him.”

“You are very disagreeable. Mr. Fitzjohn is as bad. He says Perry is cow-handed.”

“I imagine he might, but I can see no need for you to use the expression.”

“Is it very vulgar?” inquired Judith. “I thought it excessively apt.”

“It is extremely vulgar,” said the Earl crushingly. “Well,” said Judith, preparing to drive on, “I am very glad I am not your daughter, Lord Worth, for you are a great deal too strict in your notions, I think.”

“My daughter!” exclaimed the Earl, looking thunderstruck. “Yes; are you surprised? You must know I should not like to have you for my father at all.”

“I am relieved to hear you say so, Miss Taverner,” said the Earl grimly.

Miss Taverner bit back a smile at having put him out of countenance, bowed, and drove on.

It was some time before Peregrine could recover from his disappointment, but by the middle of April his thoughts took a turn in another direction, and he began to urge Judith to approach Worth on the subject of their spending two or three months at Brighton. She was very willing; London, from the circumstance of the Regent having celebrated his birthday, on April 12th, at Brighton, was growing already rather thin of company; and from all she had heard they would be in danger of missing their chance of acquiring a suitable lodging at Brighton if they delayed much longer. It was arranged between them that if Worth gave his consent Peregrine would drive down with their cousin to arrange accommodation for a date early in May.

The Earl gave his consent with the utmost readiness, but contrived to provoke Miss Taverner. “Certainly. It will be very desirable for you to go out of town for the summer. I had fixed the 12th May as a convenient date, but if you like to go sooner I daresay it can be arranged.”

“You had fixed—!” repeated Miss Taverner. “Do you tell me you have already made arrangements for out going to Brighton?”

“Naturally. Who else should do so?”

“No one!” said Miss Taverner angrily. “It is for Peregrine and me to arrange! You did not so much as mention the matter to either of us, and we will not have our future arranged in this high-handed fashion!”

“I thought you wished to go to Brighton?” said the Earl. “I am going to Brighton!”

“Then what is all this bustle about?” inquired Worth calmly. “In sending Blackader to look over suitable houses there I have done nothing more than you wanted.”

“You have done a great deal more. Perry is going to drive down with my cousin to select a house!”

“He may as well spare himself the trouble,” replied Worth, “there are only two to be had, and I hold an option on both. You must know that houses in Brighton for the season are excessively hard to come by. Unless you wish to lodge in a back street, you will be satisfied with one of the two Blackader has found for you. One is on the Steyne, the other on the Marine Parade.” He looked at her for a moment, and then lowered his gaze. “I strongly advise you to choose the house on the Steyne. You will not like Marine Parade; the Steyne is a most eligible situation, in the centre of the town, within sight of the Pavilion—the hub of Brighton, in effect. I will tell Blackader to close with the owner. Thirty guineas a week is asked for the house, but taking into account the position it cannot be thought excessive.”

“I think it ridiculous,” said Miss Taverner instantly. “From what my cousin has told me I should infinitely prefer to lodge on the Marine Parade. To be situated in the centre of the town, in the midst of all the bustle, can be no recommendation. I will consult with my cousin.”

“I do not wish you to take the house on Marine Parade,” said the Earl.

“I am sorry to disoblige you,” said Miss Taverner, a martial light in her eye, “but you will have the goodness to instruct Mr. Blackader to hire that and no other house for us.”

The Earl bowed. “Very well, Miss Taverner,” he said.

Judith, who had anticipated a struggle, was left triumphant and bewildered. But the Earl’s unexpected compliance was soon explained. Captain Audley, meeting Miss Taverner in the Park, got up beside her in the phaeton, and said: “So you are to go to Brighton, Miss Taverner! My doctor recommends sea air for me: you will certainly see me there as well.”

“We go next month,” replied Judith. “We shall lodge on the Marine Parade.”

“Yes, I was present when Blackader came back from Brighton. The place will be full this summer. There were only two genteel houses to be had, and one was on the Steyne—no very eligible situation for you, Worth thought.”

Miss Taverner’s lips parted; she turned her eyes towards the Captain, and regarded him with painful intensity. “He wanted me to choose the other?” she demanded.

“Why, yes; I am sure he had no notion of your lodging on the Steyne. It is very smart, no doubt, but you would have your front windows for ever stared into, and all your comings and goings ogled by young bucks.”

“Captain Audley,” said Miss Taverner, controlling herself with a strong effort, “you must get down immediately, for I am going home.”

“Good God!” exclaimed the Captain, in lively dismay. “What have I said to offend you?”

“Nothing, nothing! It is only that I have remembered I have a letter to write which must be sent off without any loss of time.”

Within a quarter of an hour Miss Taverner was seated at her desk, furiously mending her pen, her gloves and scarf flung down on the floor beside her. The pen mended to her satisfaction, she dipped it in the standish, and drew a sheet of elegant, hot-pressed paper towards her. After that she sat nibbling the end of her pen while the ink slowly dried. At last she nodded briskly to herself, dipped the pen in the standish a second time, and began to write a careful letter to her guardian.

Brook Street, April 19th.

Dear Lord Worth [she began], I am afraid that I behaved badly this morning in going against your wishes in the matter of the house in Brighton. Upon reflection I am bound to acknowledge that I did wrong. I write now to assure you that I have no real wish to stay on the Marine Parade, and shall obey you in lodging on the Steyne.

Yours sincerely,

Judith Taverner.

She read this through with a pleased smile, sealed it in an envelope, wrote the direction, and rang the bell for a servant.

The note was taken round by hand, but the Earl being out when it was delivered, no answer was brought back to Miss Taverner.

By noon on the following day, however, the answer had arrived. Miss Taverner broke the seal, spread out the single sheet, and read:

Cavendish Square, April 20th.

Dear Miss Taverner, I accept your apologies, but although your promise of obedience must gratify me, it is now too late to change. I regret to inform you that the house on the Steyne is no longer on the market, but has been snapped up by another. I have this morning signed the lease of the one on Marine Parade.

Yours, etc.,

Worth.

“My love!” cried Mrs. Scattergood, coming suddenly into the room, in her street dress and hat, “you must instantly drive with me to Bond Street! I have seen the most ravishing sea-coast promenade gown! I am determined you must purchase it. Nothing could be more desirable, more exactly suited to the seaside! It is of yellow creped muslin, confined at the bosom and down the entire front with knots of green ribbon, and bound round the neck with, I think, three rows of the same. You may imagine how neat! There is a high lace tucker, and ruffles on the sleeves, and a Zephyr cloak to wear with it, made of lace, falling in long points to the feet, with green tassels to finish each point, and a sash round the waist. You could wear your yellow morocco sandals with it, and the pebble ear-rings and necklace, and the beehive bonnet with the long veil. Oh, and what do you think, my dear? I met Charles Audley on my way, and he told me Worth is to go to Brighton too, and has taken a house on the Steyne for the whole summer. But what is the matter? Why do you look at me like that? Have you received bad news?”

Judith sprang up, and screwing the Earl’s letter into a ball, hurled it into the empty grate. “I think,” she said stormily, “that Lord Worth is the most odious, provoking, detestable creature alive!”