Regency Buck

Chapter XVII

It was many days before Miss Taverner could be restored to the enjoyment of composure, and long before the evils of her journey ceased to be felt. She struggled to support her spirits, but they were quite worn down, and although she might assume an air of calm cheerfulness, her reflections were all mortifying, and her heart very heavy.

Peregrine’s arrival in Brighton, half an hour later than her own, brought her no comfort. What had passed between him and Worth she did not ask, nor he divulge. He came to her sulky, half-defiant, half-shamefaced, ready to abuse Worth, but reluctant to discuss the cause of their disagreement. It was evident that Worth had not spared him. Judith’s spirits sank still lower. She felt herself to have bred dissension between the two men, and no acknowledgment now (which would indeed have been hard to make) of having deserved Worth’s censure would avail to soften Peregrine’s indignation. No good could come of talking over the affair; it must be left to time to remedy the harm that had been done. Nor could she expect Peregrine to see it all as she did. He was conscious of having done wrong, perhaps secretly sorry for it, but it was after all no great matter: he could forget everything but Worth’s part in it in a very short while, and sally forth with tolerable light-heartedness to take a look at Brighton.

When Mrs. Scattergood was set down at the house it was some hours later, and Judith was able to meet her with the appearance at least of composure. But it was a hard case to be obliged to listen to her reproaches, and to give her some account of what had passed at Cuckfield. But even Mrs. Scattergood could not talk for ever, and by the time they sat down to dinner she was ready to forget it all, and turn her thoughts to what Brighton offered in the way of entertainment.

The house on the Marine Parade was neat, and sufficiently commodious to satisfy its tenants. They could have wished that the drawing-rooms had been more handsome, but were obliged to admit that the furnishings of the whole, though not rich, were above what was generally to be found in houses let out for hire at the seaside. The want of elegance was soon remedied by the arrangement of all the pretty trifles and hangings which Mrs. Scattergood had had the forethought to bring from Brook Street in one of her many trunks. The first evening passed quietly in making themselves at home; both ladies went early to bed, the elder to place slices of raw veal on her face to prevent wrinkles, and the younger to lie awake half the night in fruitless reflection.

This wretchedness could not long endure. In the morning the sight of the sun sparkling on the sea produced an alleviation; and the air, which was fresh and salt-tanged, invigorated the spirits. Some feeling of lowness must still remain, but misery could not persist. It was in anticipation of a day of interest and pleasure that Judith joined her brother and Mrs. Scattergood in the breakfast-parlour.

From the circumstance of her eyes having been full of tears when her chaise had driven into Brighton the day before, Judith had been hardly conscious of her surroundings, and had not even looked up to see the Pavilion, which was placed to catch the traveller’s gaze immediately upon entering the town. That must therefore be the first object of their morning’s walk, and soon after breakfast the two ladies set out together, accompanied as far as the Steyne by Peregrine, who was bound for Ragget’s club.

Five minutes’ walk along the sea-front brought them to the southern end of the Steyne, and a view, though not the best, of the Pavilion was at once obtained. They bent their steps inland, and began to walk up the glazed red-brick pavement of the Steyne, past the neat gardens laid out in geometrical designs, past Donaldson’s Circulating Library, until Pavilion Parade was reached, and they stood immediately before the gleaming and costly edifice itself.

The Pavilion, which had been built for the Prince Regent by Mr. Henry Holland, occupied a frontage of four hundred and eighty feet, and stood in ten acres of ground. It had been designed in accordance with a vague idea conceived by the Prince upon being sent a present of some Chinese wallpaper, and startling and original was the result. At first glance the sight-seeing visitor might well imagine himself to have strayed into some land of make-believe, so gorgeous and unconventional was the palace. The Greek, the Moorish, and the Russian styles predominated. It was fronted by an Ionic colonnade and entablature; a succession of green-roofed domes and minarets rose above a running battlement that surmounted the upper line of the whole building; and two cones, equal in height to the central and largest dome, crowned each wing. The pinnacles and the minarets, which were placed at every angle of the structure, were made of Bath stone, the rest of the palace of stuccoed brick. In front of each of the wings was an open arcade composed of arches, separated by octagonal columns, and ornamented by trellis-work. The entrance was upon the western side, but the principal front, which Mrs. Scattergood and Miss Taverner were gazing at, was to the east, and opened on to a lawn, which was separated from the parade by a low wall, and a dwarf enclosure. A captious critic had once remarked, on first seeing the palace, that it was as though St. Paul’s had littered, and brought forth a brood of cupolas, but no such profane thought crossed Miss Taverner’s mind. If the Pavilion had not been conceived with quite that simplicity of taste which was proper, it was not for her to cavil; she was not to be setting up her judgment in opposition to Mr. Holland’s.

“Is it not a noble edifice?” said Mrs. Scattergood, who could never see it without being struck afresh by its magnificence. “The stables alone cost seventy thousand pounds to build, you know. I am sure you can never have seen a palace to equal it! Carlton House is nothing to it! That is unpretentious to the point of meanness; this must instantly catch the eye, and hold the visitor spellbound with admiration!”

“Very true; it is something quite out of the common, indeed.”

“And the interior!—But you will see! We shall be invited to one of the musical parties, of course. Every apartment of the most noble dimensions, and the whole fitted up with a degree of elegance beyond what is imaginable!”

They walked on to obtain a view of the stables, which were placed at the northern end of the grounds. A short distance brought them to the New Road, and turning down this they soon found themselves in North Street, a steep, crowded highway, which was always in a bustle of traffic. Several of the principal coach-offices were situated in it, and the two ladies paused for a few minutes to watch the departure of one of the stages to London. A number of shops displaying attractive wares made their progress slow, but they presently reached Promenade Grove, on the south-western side of the Pavilion, and sat down to rest for a while under the scanty shade of the poplars that fringed it.

Here were displayed a neatness and a propriety of taste which must have delighted a more critical observer than Miss Taverner. She exclaimed, and was enchanted, and after a short interval of repose declared her intention of exploring the numerous bowers and zigzag alleys in which the grove was laid out. Mrs. Scattergood was very willing, and half an hour was spent in wandering about and admiring the beauty of the flowers, which grew in profusion in a number of formal beds. The grove was not crowded, for the fashionable hour for promenading was later in the day, when an orchestra dispensed music from a wooden box in the centre, but during the course of their stroll the two ladies met several persons with whom they were acquainted, and learned from one of these that although the Prince Regent was not yet in residence at the Pavilion, he was expected to arrive at the end of the week. Colonel McMahon, his secretary, was already in Brighton.

A glance at her watch informed Mrs. Scattergood that the morning was already considerably advanced, and as they had come out with the intention of visiting one of the libraries and taking out a subscription, both ladies now left the grove, and passing the Castle inn, made their way across the Steyne to Donaldson’s library.

Accustomed as she was by this time to the superiority of the London libraries, Miss Taverner was yet amazed at the spaciousness and elegance of Donaldson’s. The collection of books was large; the morning papers and the most valuable of the periodical publications were arranged on tables for the use of subscribers; and the rooms, which were many, were fitted up with a taste that was seldom met with. Card parties and music were to be had there any evening during the season, and throughout the day a constant stream of fashionables coming, some to exchange a book, others to meet their acquaintances or to show off new gowns, produced a continuous scene of animation.

Mrs. Scattergood and her charge reached home again a little time after midday, to find that Peregrine had returned before them, and was seated in the bow-window of the drawing-room on the first floor, busily engaged in focusing a telescope on to the bathing-machines lined up along the beach below. It had not taken him long to discover that one of the more popular amusements obtaining amongst the Corinthians at Brighton was to train a telescope on to these machines (which, unlike those at Scarborough or Ramsgate, had no awnings) in the hope of catching a glimpse of Beauty about to enter the sea. and he had lost no time in purchasing a telescope for his own use.

Mrs. Scattergood exclaimed at him, and abused him roundly for being an odious, vulgar boy, but as the summer was not yet far enough advanced to tempt ladies to indulge in seabathing, he was able to refute all her accusations, and offer her the telescope, so that she might see with her own eyes that the only object of interest on the shore was a stout gentleman in a scarlet suit, cautiously dipping one foot into the water. She indignantly declined taking a peep through the telescope, and removing it from his grasp, shut it up, and inexorably drove him down to the dining parlour, where a cold luncheon was set out upon the table.

The question to occupy their thoughts during lunch was what was to be done with the rest of the day. It was Wednesday, and no ball offered. These took place at the Castle inn and the Old Ship alternately. Wednesdays and Fridays were devoted to card-assemblies, and although Mrs. Scattergood would have been very happy to have spent the evening playing Commerce or Casino, she knew that her charge was not fond of cards. Happily, Peregrine had provided for their entertainment in a burst of brotherly affection, and had not only engaged a box at the theatre, but was willing to take Judith driving all the afternoon.

She was very glad to exchange a card-assembly for the theatre, but the mere mention of driving with him was sufficient to put her out of countenance and bring a blush to her cheeks. She declined it, excusing herself on the score of being tired from her morning’s ramble about the town. He did not press it, but went off shortly after luncheon to seek other amusement. Mrs. Scattergood retired to her bedchamber, and Judith sat down in the drawing-room to occupy herself with her netting-box, and to look out of the window at the lively scene presenting itself on the parade.

She was not left long in silence. A caller was presently announced, and she got up in a little confusion to welcome Captain Audley.

It was hard to meet his eyes, but from his first question it was made apparent that Worth had not told him of the previous day’s escapade. He asked her if she had enjoyed a tolerably comfortable journey; he had too much delicacy of feeling, she was sure, to have put such a question had he been aware of the facts. She returned a rather constrained answer, and made haste to introduce some other topic for conversation. It was not difficult; as he sat down beside her on the window-seat he desired to know how she liked Brighton, and on that subject she could be animated enough, free from all agitating reflections.

“Oh, I am quite delighted with it!” she said. “To be sure, it is not so large, but it is a thousand times better than Scarborough. And I was used to think that nothing could be! But Brighton passes anything I have ever seen. I wish I might stay here for ever.”

“You would soon wish yourself back in London when the autumn came,” he replied, smiling. “It is very well on a bright summer’s day, but you will find after a while that there is a sameness that makes it all seem insipid.”

“I cannot believe it. Do you find it so?”

“I? No, indeed; did you tell me I had the happiest disposition? But every young lady is soon bored by Brighton, I assure you. It is not at all the thing to continue being pleased with it.”

“I daresay those same young ladies would declare themselves bored in London as easily. For my part, even though the balls and the assemblies palled I could gaze forever on such a prospect as this.”

“I venture to think that the first sober-looking morning will make you change your mind. Or do you refer not to the sea, after all, but to Golden Ball instead? That, I agree, is a prospect one cannot soon tire of.”

She leaned forward to look down into the road, and following the direction of the Captain’s eyes, looked with amused appreciation at a chocolate-coloured barouche, drawn by white horses, which was being driven slowly down the parade by a tall, thin gentleman, who had so exaggerated an air of fashion that he must in any company be remarkable.

“You forget,” she replied, “Mr. Hughes Ball is a sight I have enjoyed in London these six or seven months. He lives in Brook Street, you know, and once did me the honour of calling on me. Who is that queer old gentleman with powdered hair, and a rose in his button-hole? How odd he looks, to be sure!”

“What, do you not know Old Blue Hanger?” demanded the Captain. “My dear Miss Taverner, that is Lord Coleraine. You may know him by his green coat, and his powder. You must have met his brother in town.”

“Oh, Colonel Hanger! Yes, I have met him, of course.”

“And disliked him very thoroughly,” said the Captain, with a twinkle. “He is not such a bad fellow, but to tell you the truth, the Regent’s intimates are never excessively well-liked by the rest of the world. Here is one of them tittuping up the parade now. You must go far before you will find McMahon’s equal. There, the little man in the blue and buff uniform, bowing and scraping before Lady Downshire.”

She remarked: “So that is the Regent’s secretary! He is very ugly.”

“Very ugly, and up to no good.”

Colonel McMahon, having parted from Lady Downshire, was coming slowly along the parade. As though aware of the two pairs of eyes observing his progress, he glanced up as he passed the house, and seeing Miss Taverner, stared very hard at her with an expression of critical approval. She drew back at once, reddening, but the Captain merely said: “Do not be surprised at his quizzing you, Miss Taverner. He has very queer manners.”

Soon after he proposed escorting her for a stroll, to see Rossi’s statue of the Regent, which was placed in front of Royal Crescent;. and upon her agreeing readily to the expedition, it was not long before they had left the house, and were walking up the parade, enjoying on the one side the majestic grandeur of the sea, and on the other the rows of elegant habitations, adorned with columns, pilasters, and entablatures of the Corinthian order, which had been erected during the past dozen years. There was nothing to offend wherever the eye might chance to light: all was in the neatest style, and a series of well-kept squares and crescents saved the parade from too uniform an appearance, and relieved the eye with their welcome patches of verdure.

Mrs. Scattergood met them upon their return to the house, and having exclaimed at seeing her young cousin (whom she had not expected to be in Brighton for some days), extended a cordial invitation to him to accompany them to the play that evening. He accepted with evident pleasure, and after sitting with the ladies for a little while, took his leave of them with a promise of meeting them again later at the theatre.

The theatre, which Mrs. Scattergood and Miss Taverner had passed during the course of their morning’s walk, was situated in the New Road, and though not large, was a handsome building, fitted up with every attention to comfort. The pit and gallery were roomy, and two tiers of lofty boxes, ornamented with gold-fringed draperies, provided ample accommodation for the more genteel part of the audience. The Regent’s box, on the left of the stage, which was separated from the others by a richly gilt iron lattice-work, was empty, but nearly all the others were occupied. Miss Taverner’s time, before the curtain went up, was fully engaged in bowing to those of her acquaintance who were present; Mrs. Scattergood’s in closely observing every cap and turban in the house, and preferring her own to them all.

During the first interval several gentlemen visited their box, among them Colonel McMahon, who came in on the heels of Mr. Lewis, and begged leave to recall himself to Mrs. Scattergood’s memory. She was obliged to introduce him to Miss Taverner, to whom he at once attached himself, remaining by her side throughout the interval, and alternately diverting and disgusting her with the obsequiousness and affectation of his manners. He professed himself to be all amazement at not having met her before, and upon hearing that she had not yet had the honour of being presented to the Prince Regent, assured her that she might depend on receiving a card of invitation to the Pavilion in the very near future.

“I venture to think,” he said impressively, “that you will be pleased alike by the interior of the Pavilion, and by its Royal owner. Such manners are not often met with. You will find His Highness condescending to the highest degree. No one was ever more affable! You will like him excessively, and I am emboldened to say that I can engage for him being particularly pleased with you.”

She could hardly keep her countenance as she thanked him, and was glad that the interval was nearly over. It was time for him to return to his place; he made her a low bow, and went away rubbing his hands together.

During the second interval a circumstance occurred to destroy all Miss Taverner’s pleasure. She became aware of being closely scrutinized, and glancing towards the opposite boxes found that the Earl of Barrymore was fixedly regarding her through his quizzing-glass.

She recognized him at once, and knew from the slight smile on his lips that he had recognized her. He nudged his companion, pointed her out, and very palpably asked a question. Miss Taverner could guess its import, and with a heightened colour turned away.

She took care not to glance in that direction again, but Peregrine, chancing to look round the house, exclaimed suddenly: “Who is that fellow who keeps staring into our box? I have a very good mind to step round and ask him what he means by it!”

“I do not think I should notice his impertinence, if I were you,” replied the Captain. “It is only Cripplegate, and the Barrymores, you know, cannot be held accountable for their odd manners. If you had known Hellgate, the late Earl, you would think nothing of this man.”

Peregrine was frowning across the house. “Yes, but he seems actually to be trying to catch our attention. Ju, you do not know him, do you?”

She looked fleetingly towards the opposite door. The Earl kissed his hand to her, and Captain Audley turned to her with a surprise question in his eyes. “My dear Miss Taverner, are you acquainted with Barrymore?”

She said in a good deal of confusion: “No, no! I have never spoken to him in my life.”

“Well, I think perhaps I will go round and inform him of it,” said the Captain, rising from his chair.

She laid her hand on his sleeve, and said with strong agitation: “It is of no consequence! I am persuaded he mistakes me for another. See, he has found his error for himself, and is no longer looking this way! Pray sit down again, Captain Audley!”

Civility obliged him to comply, though he looked to be far from satisfied. But the third act commenced almost immediately, and as the Earl went away before the farce no further annoyance was suffered that evening.

But the effects of his having recognized in Miss Taverner the curricle-driver at Horley were soon felt. Knowledge of her identity did not prevent him from describing the circumstances under which he had first met her, and by the time she entered the Assembly-rooms at the Old Ship with Mrs. Scattergood on the following evening her name was being bandied about pretty freely, and two ladies who had hitherto treated her with marked amiability bowed with such cold civility that she felt almost ready to sink.

The rooms were full, and a large part of the gathering was composed of officers, with whom, from the circumstance of a Cavalry barracks being situated a little way out of the town on the Lewes road, Brighton always teemed. The Master of Ceremonies presented several of the younger ones to Miss Taverner, but she stood up for the first two dances with Captain Audley.

It might have been her fancy, but she thought that she could detect a shade of reserve in his manner, a grave look in his usually merry eyes. After a little while she said as lightly as she could: “I daresay you have heard by this time of my shocking conduct, Captain Audley. Are you disgusted? Do you think you should stand up with such a sad character as myself?”

“You refer to your drive from town, I collect. I should not have described it in such terms.”

“But you do not approve of it. I can see that you think ill of me for having done it.”

He smiled. “My countenance must be singularly deceptive, then. I think ill of you! No, indeed, I do not!”

“Your brother is very angry with me.”

He returned no answer, and after a moment or two she said with a little laugh: “It was not so very bad, after all.”

“Certainly not. What you do could never be bad. Let us say rather that it was not very wise.”

She was conscious of a constriction in her throat; she overcame it, and replied: “I am sure I do not care. Such an excessive regard for public opinion is what I have no patience with. Your brother is not here to-night, I think.”

“He was engaged to dine with some friends, but I daresay he will be here presently.”

They went down the dance at this moment, and when they stood opposite to each other again another topic for conversation came up, and continued to occupy them for the rest of the time they were together.

As she walked back beside the Captain to where they had left Mrs. Scattergood, Miss Taverner saw that Worth had entered the room, and was standing talking earnestly to her chaperon. From the glance Mrs. Scattergood cast in her direction she felt sure that she was the subject under discussion, and it was consequently in a very stiff manner that she greeted her guardian.

His bow was formal, his countenance unsmiling; and for the few minutes that he remained beside them he talked the merest commonplace. Tuesday’s events were not referred to, but that they held a prominent place in his thoughts Miss Taverner could not doubt. All the mortifications of her last meeting with him were vividly recalled to her memory by the sight of him, and no softening in his manner, no kinder light in his eyes came to alleviate her discomfort. Upon her civility being claimed towards an officer who approached to lead her out for the next dance, the Earl walked away to the other end of the room, and presently took his place in another set opposite a young lady in a diaphanous gown of yellow sarcenet. He left the ballroom before tea, and without once having asked his ward to stand up with him. She saw him go, and was wretched indeed. As for his taste, she thought very poorly of it, for she could not perceive the least degree of beauty in the lady in yellow sarcenet—nothing, in fact, to have made it worth the Earl’s while to have attended the ball.

The evening provided her with a fair sample of what she guessed she would be obliged to endure until her escapade was forgotten. Several dowagers eyed her with a good deal of severity, and her particular friends seemed to have agreed amongst themselves to behave towards her as though nothing had happened, which they did so carefully that her spirits sank lower than ever. The gentlemen saw the affair as a famous joke; they were ready enough to talk of it, and to applaud her daring; and the boldest amongst them quizzed her with a kind of familiar gallantry which galled her pride beyond bearing.

To make matters worse Mrs. Scattergood bemoaned the results of her imprudence all the way home, and prophesied that the evils of such conduct would be felt for many a long day.

At the end of the week the Regent arrived in Brighton, accompanied by his brother the Duke of Cumberland; and somewhat to Miss Taverner’s surprise a card was received by Mrs. Scattergood inviting them both to an evening party at the Pavilion on the following Tuesday. The royal brothers were seen in church on Sunday: the elder stout, with a sallow sort of handsomeness, and an air of great fashion; the younger lean, extremely tall, and with his black-avised countenance disfigured by a scar from a wound received at Tournai.

Miss Taverner could not forbear looking at him with a good deal of interest, for the scandals attaching to his name were many, and he was generally credited with nearly every form of vice, including murder. Only a couple of years before his valet had committed suicide, and there were still any number of persons who did not scruple to hint that the unfortunate man had not met his end in the way that was officially given out. The Duke of Clarence, who, like every one of his brothers but Cumberland himself, was an invincible and an indiscreet talker, had referred to that particular scandal upon one occasion, and while assuring Miss Taverner that there was no truth in it, had added: “Ernest is not a bad sort, only if he knows where you have a tender spot on your foot he likes to tread on it.” Looking at the Duke of Cumberland’s face, Miss Taverner could well believe this to be true.

Before the party at the Pavilion took place Judith had the comfort of knowing that her cousin was in Brighton. He and her uncle arrived at the Castle inn on Monday at four o’clock, having come down from the White Horse Cellar, in Piccadilly, in a little under six hours, travelling post; and called at Marine Parade after dinner. Peregrine had driven out to Worthing earlier in the day, and was not yet back, but both the ladies were at home, and while Mrs. Scattergood was engaged with the Admiral, Judith was able to take her cousin apart, and pour into his ears an account of her disgrace and its cause.

He listened to her with an expression of concern, and twice pressed her hand with a look of such sympathetic understanding that she was hard put to it not to burst into tears of self-pity. The relief of being able to unburden her heart was great; and the knowledge that there was one at least who did not condemn her induced her to show a more marked degree of preference for her cousin than she was aware of doing.

“You see how bad I have been,” she said with a trembling smile. “But I should never have done it if Lord Worth had not laid it down so positively that I was not to go with Perry.”

“The impropriety of your behaviour is nothing when compared with the total want of delicacy he has shown!” he replied warmly. “You were at fault; your action was ill-judged, but I can readily perceive how you were provoked into doing it. Lord Worth will be content with nothing less than a complete ascendancy over your mind! I have watched with alarm his growing influence over you; it is evident that he thought you would meekly obey his arbitrary commands. Do not be unhappy! He has been betrayed into showing himself to you in his true colours, and that must be of benefit. He is autocratic; the mildness of manner which he has lately assumed towards you is as false as his pretended regard for you. He cares nothing for you, my dear cousin; no man could who could address you in the humiliating terms you have described to me!”

She was considerably taken aback by the vehemence of this speech, nor did its import produce any of that comfort which was presumably its object. The evils of her situation seemed to become greater; she said in a desponding tone: “He has never given me any reason for suspecting him of having a regard for me.”

He looked at her intently. “To me it has seemed otherwise. I have sometimes been afraid that you were even inclined to return his partiality.”

“Certainly not!” she said emphatically. “Such a notion is absurd! I care nothing for his good opinion, and look forward to the day when I shall be free from his guardianship.”

He said with meaning: “And I, too, look forward to that day, Judith.”

Upon the following evening Mrs. Scattergood and Miss Taverner drove in a closed carriage to the Pavilion, and were set down at the domed porch punctually at nine o’clock, and ushered through an octagonal vestibule, which was lit by a Chinese lantern suspended from the centre of the tented roof, into the entrance hall, a square apartment with a ceiling painted to represent an azure sky with fleecy clouds. Here they were able to leave their shawls, and to peep anxiously at their reflections in the mirror over the marble mantelpiece.

Mrs. Scattergood gave their names to one of the flunkeys who stood on either side of the door at the back of the hall; the man announced them, and they passed through the door into the Chinese Gallery.

A numerous company was gathered here, and the Prince Regent was standing in the central division of the gallery in a position to welcome his guests as they came in. His resplendent figure instantly caught the eye, for he had a great inclination towards finery, and his girth, which was considerable, did not prevent him from wearing the most gorgeous waistcoats and coloured coats. His doctors had forbidden him on pain of death to remedy the defects of his figure with tight-lacing, and since he was always very anxious over the state of his own health, he obeyed them. But in spite of his corpulence, and the lines of dissipation that marred his countenance, there were still some traces to be found of the Prince Florizel who had captivated the world thirty-odd years before.

As Mrs. Scattergood, rising from a deep curtsy, begged leave to present Miss Taverner, he smiled, and shook hands with a good-humoured condescension which had often endeared many people to him whom he afterwards contrived without the least difficulty to alienate. With that easy courtesy he knew so well how to assume he insisted that he remembered Mrs. Scattergood well, was happy to see her again (and in such looks), and very glad to make the acquaintance of her young friend. It was difficult to realize that so affable a prince had done what he could to assist in oversetting his father’s precarious reason, had discarded two wives, and heartlessly abandoned any friend of whom he had happened to tire. Miss Taverner knew him to be selfish, capricious, given over to every form of excess, but she could not remember it when he turned to her and said with his attractive smile and air of kindness: “You must know, Miss Taverner, that from one member of my family I have heard so much in your praise that I have been anxious indeed to meet you!”

She hardly knew where to look, but chancing to meet his eyes, which were twinkling archly, she was emboldened to return his smile, and to murmur that he was very kind.

“Is this your first visit to Brighton?” he inquired. “Do you make a long stay? It is a town I have come to regard as so peculiarly my own that it will not be out of place for me to bid you welcome to it.”

“Thank you, sir. It is my first visit. If I could indulge my inclination I believe I should stay here for ever.”

“That is famous!” he said jovially. “That is how I feel, I can tell you, Miss Taverner. It is many years since I first came to Brighton—we called it Brighthelmstone in those days, you know—but you see what a hold it took on my fancy! I was constrained to build myself a little summer palace here, and I give you my word that whenever I can I come down to live in it.”

“And I am sure it is no wonder, sir!” said Mrs. Scattergood, to whom this speech was partially addressed. “I have frequently been describing to Miss Taverner the beauty and elegance of the Pavilion. Nothing could ever equal it!”

He smiled, and seemed pleased, though he deprecated her praise with a protesting movement of his hand. “I believe it to be a little out of the common,” he acknowledged. “I do not wish to say that it is by any means perfect, but it suits me, and has been admired by those whose taste and judgment I depend upon. Miss Taverner will be interested, I daresay, in some of the examples of Chinese art she will find here. The light immediately above us, for instance, ma’am,” he continued, pointing upwards to a horizontal skylight of stained glass set in the middle of the ceiling, “represents Lin-Shin, the god of thunder, surrounded, as you see, by drums, and flying.”

Miss Taverner looked, and admired; he invited her cordially to inspect whatever she had a mind to, and seemed as though he would have volunteered to guide her round the gallery himself, had he not been obliged to turn away from her to receive another guest who had just been announced.

Mrs. Scattergood and Miss Taverner withdrew to where an acquaintance of the former was standing, and while the two elder ladies stood chatting together Miss Taverner had leisure to look about her and to be astonished.

Her view of the exterior of the Pavilion had led her to expect the interior to be of more than ordinary splendour, but she had not been prepared for what met her gaze. The gallery in which she stood was of immense length, and partially separated into five unequal divisions by a trellis-work of what looked to be bamboo, but which, upon closer inspection, turned out to be painted iron. The central division was surrounded by a Chinese canopy of similar trellis-work, hung with bells. Above, a coved ceiling projected through the upper floor, and had set in it the light towards which the Regent had directed her notice. A chimney-piece in brass and iron, worked in further imitation of bamboo, was placed directly facing the middle entrance, and on either side of it two niches, lined with yellow marble, contained cabinets. There seemed, as far as Miss Taverner could see, to be corresponding niches in the other divisions, as well as two recesses with a porcelain pagoda in each. Stained glass lanterns hung from the angles of the ceiling, and in addition to these a soft light was thrown by branches concealed in the glass tulips and lotus-flowers which adorned the three mantelpieces in the gallery. The extreme compartments were occupied by two staircases, also made in imitation of bamboo, and two doors, which, being fronted with looking-glass, made the perspective of the gallery seem interminable. The walls were battened and covered with canvas painted with peach-blossom as a ground-colour, on which rocks, trees, shrubs, birds, and flowers were pencilled in pale blue. All the couches and chairs were of ivory figured with black, and the daylight was admitted only through the lights in the several coved roofs, and through the stained-glass window above one of the staircases. The corresponding window over the other staircase was merely imitative.

While she was looking about her, and wondering at what she saw, a footman had come up with a tray of refreshments; she took a cup of coffee from it, and turned to find Mr. Brummell at her elbow, dressed in the plainest of black coats and knee-breeches, and looking singularly out of place in the midst of such splendid surroundings. “Spellbound, Miss Taverner?” he inquired.

“Mr. Brummell! I did not know you were in Brighton! Yes, indeed: it is all very—very beautiful—quite extraordinary!” She saw the faint, incredulous smile he used to check applause, and gave a relieved sigh. “You do not like it either!” she said.

“I thought you had decided it was all very beautiful?”

“Well, I expect it is. It must be, of course, for everyone is in raptures over it.”

“Have you heard me express myself rapturously over it?”

“No, but—”

“Then there is no reason for you to be sure of its beauty.”

She smiled. “Pray do not snub me, Mr. Brummell! If you are to do that I shall be left without any support in this horrid censorious world. You must know that I am a little in disgrace.”

“I have heard rumours. If you think my advice of value I have some for you.”

“Yes?” she said eagerly.

He flicked open his snuff-box in his inimitable way and took a pinch. “Drive your phaeton,” he said. “You are really very stupid not to have thought of it for yourself.”

“Drive my phaeton?” she repeated.

“Of course. Upon every occasion, and where you would be least expected to do so. Did I not tell you once, Miss Taverner, never to admit a fault?”

She said slowly: “I see. You are right; that is what I should have done at once. I am in your debt.”

People were beginning to move down the gallery towards the looking-glass doors at the north end. These had been flung open into the Music Room, where a concert was to be given. The Regent called to Mr. Brummell, desiring his opinion on a piece of Sevres he had been showing to one of his guests; Miss Taverner rejoined her chaperon, and taking her place in the procession soon found herself in a huge room which cast anything she had yet seen into the shade.

At first sight it was all a blaze of red and gold, but after her first gasp of astonishment she was able to take a clearer view of the whole, and to see that she was standing, not in some fantastic dream-palace, but in a square apartment with rectangular recesses at each end, fitted up in a style of Oriental splendour. The square part was surmounted by a cornice ornamented with shield-work, and supported by reticulated columns, shimmering with gold-leaf. Above this wad an octagon gallery formed by aseries of elliptical arches, und pierced by windows of the same shape. A convex cove rose over this, topped by leaf ornaments in gold and chocolate; and above this was the central dome, lined with a scale-work of glittering green and gold. In the middle of it a vast foliated decoration was placed, from whose calyx depended an enormous lustre of cut-glass in the shape of a pagoda. To this was attached by chains a lamp made to resemble a huge water-lily, coloured crimson and gold and white. Four gilded dragons clung to the under-side of the lamp, and below them hung a smaller glass water-lily.

The recesses at the north and south ends of the room were canopied by convex curves of imitation bamboo, bound by ribands, and contained the four doorways of the apartment, each one of which was set under a canopy of crimson and gold, embellished with bells and dragons. These canopies were held up by gilt columns, entwined by yet more dragons. The walls were hung with twelve views of the neighbourhood of Pekin, executed in bright yellow on a crimson background, and set in frames enwreathed by dragons. Still more dragons writhed above the window draperies, which were of blue and crimson satin and yellow silk. The floor was covered by a gigantic Axminster carpet where golden suns, stars, serpents, and dragons ran riot on a pale blue ground; and the sofas and chairs were upholstered in yellow and dove-coloured satin.

A fire burned in the fireplace of statuary marble on the western wall, and above it, on the mantel-shelf, a large clock presented an appearance of the most striking incongruity, for although its base was entwined by an inevitable dragon, upon the top were grouped, rather surprisingly, Venus and Cupid, with the Peacock of Love, and Mars climbing up to them.

Miss Taverner was quite overpowered, and could only blink at what she saw. The heat of the room was oppressive; all the ladies were fanning themselves. Miss Taverner began to feel a little faint; dragons and lights started to dance oddly before her eyes, and had she not at that moment found a chair to sink into she believed she must have lost possession of her senses.

She recovered in a few minutes, and was able to enjoy the concert. The Regent, who had been taught to play the violoncello in his youth by Crossbill, and was very musical, beat time with one foot; the Duke of Cumberland stared all the prettiest women out of countenance; Mr. Brummell gazed before him with an air of weary patience; and Sir John Lade, who looked for all the world like a stage-coachman strayed by mistake into the Pavilion, went to sleep in the corner of a sofa, and snored gently till it was time to go home.