‘What, and walk along Piccadilly unattended? You cannot mean it!’
‘Stop!’ commanded Miss Wraxton, in almost shrill accents.
‘On no account. Dear me, what a lot of traffic! Perhaps you had better not talk to me until I have weaved my way through all these carts and carriages.’
‘For heaven’s sake, at least slacken your pace!’ Miss Wraxton besought her, in the liveliest alarm.
‘I will, when we come to the turning,’ promised Sophy, passing between a wagon and a mail-coach, with a matter of inches to spare. A moan from her companion caused her to add kindly: ‘There is no need to be in a fright: Sir Horace made me drive through a gateway until I could be trusted not even to scrape the varnish.’
They were now ascending the rise in Piccadilly. With a strong effort at self-control, Miss Wraxton demanded: ‘Tell me at once where you are taking me!’
‘Down St James’s Street,’ replied Sophy coolly.
‘What?’ gasped Miss Wraxton, turning quite pale. ‘You will do no such thing! No lady would be seen driving there! Amongst all the clubs – the object of every town saunterer! You cannot know what would be said of you! Stop this instant!’
‘No, I want to see this Bow Window I hear so much of, and all the dandies who sit there. How wretched that Mr Brummell has been obliged to go abroad! Do you know, I never saw him in my life? Are you able to point out the various clubs to me? Shall we recognize White’s, or are there other houses with bow windows?’
‘This is your notion of raillery, Miss Stanton-Lacy! You are not serious!’
‘Yes, I am. Of course, I should not have dared to do it without you sitting beside me, to lend me credit, but you have assured me that your position is unassailable, and I see that I need have no scruple in gratifying my ambition. I daresay your consequence is great enough to make it quite a fashionable drive for ladies. We shall see!’
No argument that Miss Wraxton could advance, and she advanced many, had the power to move her. She drove on inexorably. Wild ideas of springing from the phaeton crossed Miss Wraxton’s mind, only to be rejected. It was too dangerous to be attempted. Had she been wearing a veil she might have pulled it over her face, and hoped to have escaped recognition, but her hat was a perfectly plain one, and bore only a modest bow of ribbon. She had not even a parasol, and was obliged to sit bolt upright, staring rigidly ahead of her the length of that disgraceful street. She did not utter a word until the horses swung round into Pall Mall, and then she said in a low voice, unsteady with rage and chagrin: ‘I will never forgive you! never!’
‘How uncharitable of you!’ said Sophy lightly. ‘Shall I set you down now?’
‘If you dare to abandon me in this locality –’
‘Very well, I will drive you to Berkeley Square. I do not know whether you will find my cousin at home at this hour, but at all events you may complain of me to my aunt, which I am sure you must be longing to do.’
‘Do not speak to me!’ said Miss Wraxton throbbingly.
Sophy laughed.
Outside Ombersley House she broke the silence. ‘Can you get down without assistance? Having cast off my groom, together with your maid, I must drive the phaeton round to the stables myself.’
Miss Wraxton, vouchsafing no answer, climbed down, and walked up the steps to the front-door.
It was half an hour later before Dassett admitted Sophy into the house. She found Mr Rivenhall at that very moment coming down the stairs, and said at once. ‘Ah, so you were at home! I am so glad!’
He was looking very stern, and replied in a level tone: ‘Will you come into the library for a few minutes?’
She accompanied him there, and began to drag off her driving-gloves with hands that were not quite steady. Her eyes were still sparkling, and a not unbecoming flush mantled her cheeks.
‘Cousin, what, in God’s name, possessed you?’ demanded Mr Rivenhall.
‘Oh, has not Miss Wraxton told you? I have realized an ambition!’
‘You must be mad! Don’t you know how improper it was of you to do such a thing?’
‘Yes, indeed I knew, and should never have dared to do it without the protection of Miss Wraxton’s presence! Do not look so dismayed! She assured me that even though I did something outrageous in her company her credit was good enough to carry me off ! Surely you cannot doubt it!’
‘Sophy, she cannot have said such a thing!’
She shrugged, and turned away. ‘No? Have it as you will!’
‘What had occurred? What reason had you for causing her such mortification?’
‘I will leave Miss Wraxton to tell you what she chooses. I have said too much already: I do not like tale-bearers, and will not sink to that level! My actions are no concern of yours, Cousin Charles, and even less are they Miss Wraxton’s.’
‘What you have just done is very much her concern!’
‘True. I stand corrected.’
‘It is also my concern to see that you come to no harm while you are a guest in this house. Such conduct as you indulged in this afternoon might do you a great deal of harm, let me tell you!’
‘My dear Charles, I am past praying for, as intimate as I am with rakes and rattles!’ she flashed.
He stiffened. ‘Who said that?’
‘You, I understand, but you had too much delicacy to say it to my face. You should have known better than to think I should listen meekly to Miss Wraxton, however!’
‘And you should know better than to imagine that I would deliver my strictures through Miss Wraxton, or anyone else!’
She lifted a hand to her cheek, and he saw that it was to dash away a tear-drop. ‘Oh, be quiet! Cannot you see that I am too angry to talk with any moderation? My wretched tongue! But though you did not desire Miss Wraxton to scold me for you, you did discuss me with her, did you not?’
‘Whatever I may have said I did not mean to be repeated. It was, however, extremely improper of me to have criticized you to Miss Wraxton. I beg your pardon!’
She pulled out her handkerchief from the sleeve of her habit, and blew her nose. Her flush died down; she said ruefully: ‘Now I am disarmed. How provoking of you! Why could you not have flown into one of your rages? You are so disobliging! Was it so very bad to have driven down St James’s Street?’
‘You knew it was, for Miss Wraxton told you so. You have caused her a great deal of distress, Sophy.’
‘Oh dear! I do such dreadful things when I lose my temper! Very well, it was wrong of me – very wrong! Must I beg her pardon?’
‘You must see that you owe her an apology. If anything she may have said to you angered you, at least she had no such intention. She meant nothing but kindness, and is very much upset by the outcome. Mine is the blame, for having led her to suppose that I wished her to take you to task.’
She smiled. ‘That’s handsome of you, Charles! I am sorry: I have created an uncomfortable situation. Where is Miss Wraxton? In the drawing-room? Take me up to her, then, and I will do what I may to mend things!’
‘Thank you,’ he said, opening the door for her.
Miss Wraxton was found to have recovered from her agitation, and to be glancing through the pages of the Gentleman’s Magazine. She glanced coldly at Sophy, and lowered her eyes again to the periodical. Sophy walked across the room, saying in her frank way: ‘Will you forgive me? Indeed, I beg your pardon, and am very sorry! It was shocking conduct!’
‘So shocking, Miss Stanton-Lacy, that I prefer not to speak of it.’
‘If that means that you will try to forget it, I shall be very grateful to you.’
‘Certainly I shall do so.’
‘Thank you!’ Sophy said. ‘You are very kind!’
She turned and went quickly to the door. Mr Rivenhall was holding it, and detained her for a moment, saying in a much warmer voice than she had yet heard him use: ‘If anyone should mention the affair to me, I shall say that having bought those bays of yours against my advice you were well served, for they got away wit
h you!’
She smiled, but said: ‘I wish you will do what you can to undo any harm I may have caused.’
‘My dear girl, don’t refine too much upon it! There is no need, I assure you.’
She cast him a look of gratitude, and left the room.
‘You were not very generous, were you, Eugenia?’ said Mr Rivenhall.
‘I consider her behaviour unpardonable.’
‘It is unnecessary to tell me so: you made it plain enough that you thought so.’
Her bosom swelled. ‘I did not think to hear you take her part against me, Charles!’
‘I have not done so, but the fault was not all hers. You had no right to take her to task, Eugenia, much less to repeat whatever ill-considered words I may have uttered! I am not surprised she was so angry: I have a temper myself !’
‘You do not seem to consider the agony of mortification I have been obliged to suffer! What Mama would say if she knew –’
‘Oh, enough, enough!’ he said impatiently. ‘You make too much of it! Let us, for heaven’s sake, forget it!’
She was offended, but she saw that to persist would lower her in his eyes. It annoyed her to think that she had shown to less advantage than Sophy in the little scene that had been enacted. She forced herself to smile, and to say magniloquently: ‘You are right: I have allowed myself to be too much moved. Please assure your cousin that I shall not think of the matter again!’
She had her reward, for he grasped her hand at once, saying: ‘That is more like you! I knew I could not be mistaken in you!’
Eight
The two ladies did not meet again until the day of the expedition to Merton, Miss Wraxton, convinced that she had become notorious, having decided to pay a long deferred visit to her elder sister, who lived in Kent, and was famous for turning her guests to good account. Eugenia was not fond of running Lady Ealing’s errands, or of playing with her numerous offspring, but she was strongly of the opinion that she would be wise to absent herself from London until the inevitable whisperings had died down. The Rivenhalls thus enjoyed immunity from her punitive descents upon them for seven whole days, which was felt by almost all to be an advantage far outweighing the ills of Sophy’s indiscretion. This did not reach the ears of Lady Ombersley, but was naturally known to the younger members of the household, some of whom were much shocked, while others, notably Hubert and Selina, considered that their cousin had taken a splendid lark. No apparent repercussions followed her exploit, and although she was obliged to endure much chaffing from her young relatives, even this very soon took a turn in another direction. A much more fruitful topic for jests presented itself in the shape of young Lord Bromford, who swam suddenly into the Rivenhall’s ken, and was regarded by them as so much manna dropped from heaven.
Lord Bromford, who was almost unknown to the Polite World, had but lately, upon the death of his father, succeeded to a modest barony. He was the only surviving child of his parents, every one of his brothers and sisters (varying in number, according to popular report, from seven to seventeen) having died in infancy. It may have been for this reason that his mother had from the start deemed him unfit to be wrested from her care. No other reason was observable; although, as Sophy fair-mindedly pointed out to her cousins, a florid complexion and a full habit of body were not infallible signs of a robust constitution. He had been educated at home, and although there had been a project afoot to send him up to Oxford, a providential chill had intervened to save him from the perils of University life. It was well known to Lord Bromford that his heir’s lungs were delicate, and it was only necessary for Lady Bromford to point out to him every day for several weeks the evils that would accrue from exposing Henry to the rigours of Oxford to induce him to give his consent to an alternative plan. Henry, accompanied by a clerical gentleman in whom Lady Bromford reposed the greatest confidence, was sent to Jamaica, on a visit to his uncle, the governor. The climate was said to be beneficial to persons with weak lungs, and it was not until Henry had been four days at sea that his Mama discovered that the island was periodically devastated by hurricanes. It was then too late to recall Henry, who proceeded on his voyage, being extremely sea-sick, but arriving at Port Royal without any trace of the cough which had cast his Mama into such a fever of anxiety. No hurricane occurred during his visit to sweep him away, and when he returned to England, a few months before attaining his majority, he was so stout that his Mama was able to congratulate herself on the success of her scheme. She did not immediately perceive that his eighteen-month sojourn apart from her had had the effect of making him occasionally disinclined to submit to her benevolent rule. On her advice, he changed his socks, wound mufflers round his neck, swathed his legs in warm rugs, and eschewed all harmful forms of sustenance; but when she advised him not to subject his person to the racket of London, he said, after due consideration, that he rather thought he should like to live in London; and when she proposed a very eligible match for him, he said he was much obliged to her, but had not yet made up his mind what sort of female he wished to marry. He did not argue: he merely turned his back on the eligible match, and took up his residence in London. His mother began to tell her friends that Henry could be led, but not driven; his valet, a plain-spoken man, said that his lordship was as obstinate as a pig.
He had been upon the town for some time before the Rivenhalls were more than vaguely aware of his existence. His intimates (whom Hubert stigmatized as a dull set of gudgeons) were not amongst their particular friends, and it was not until he met Sophy at Almack’s, and stood up with her in a country dance, that the full glory of his personality burst upon them. For Lord Bromford, impervious alike to Cecilia’s beauty, and to the eligibility of his Mama’s choice, had made up his mind that Sophy would make him a suitable wife. He called in Berkeley Square, and at a moment when Hubert and Selina were with Lady Ombersley. He stayed for half an hour, imparting information to his hosts on such varied topics as the vegetation in Jamaica, and the effect of paregoric draughts upon the human system, and the Rivenhalls listened to him in stunned indignation until Sophy entered the room. Then the scales fell from before their eyes, and they perceived why his lordship had honoured them with a morning-call, and their boredom changed to unholy glee. Sophy’s beau became in a trice the solid foundation upon which a lively set of young persons built the most preposterous of fabrications. No street-singer could lift his voice in the Square but what Hubert or Cecilia would declare it to be Lord Bromford, serenading Sophy; when he was confined to his house for three days with an internal disorder he was held to have fought a duel for the sake of her fine eyes; and the serial story of his adventures in the West Indies, conceived, added-to, and improved upon by three fertile brains, grew so outrageous as to draw protests from Lady Ombersley and Miss Adderbury. But Lady Ombersley, though she might deprecate such an excess of high spirits, could not help but be amused by the determination shown by Lord Bromford in his pursuit of her niece. He was for ever calling in Berkeley Square on the most slender of pretexts; he daily promenaded in the Park only to waylay Sophy, and be taken up into her phaeton; he even purchased a showy hack, and rode solemnly up and down the Row every morning in the hope that she might be exercising Salamanca there. More wonderful still, he prevailed upon his Mama to cultivate the acquaintance of Lady Ombersley, and to invite Sophy to go with her to one of the Concerts of Ancient Music. He was impervious to snubs, and when his Mama hinted to him that Sophy would scarcely make a suitable wife for a serious man, being wholly given over to frivolity, he said that he was confident that he would be able to direct her thoughts into more sober channels.
The cream of the jest, thought the young Rivenhalls, was that Charles, in general so impatient of pretensions, was, for inscrutable reasons, encouraging his lordship. Charles said that there was a great deal of good in Lord Bromford. He said that Lord Bromford’s conversation showed him to be a sensible man, and that his descriptions of Jamaica were extremely interesting. Only Selina (who was growing up, Char
les said, to be disagreeably pert) ventured to observe that Lord Bromford’s entrance into the house seemed to be the signal for Charles’s departure for his club.
What with his lordship’s courtship, the plans for the ball, the stream of visitors to the house, even Sophy’s indiscretion, life in Berkeley Square had become all at once full of fun and excitement. Even Lord Ombersley was aware of it. ‘By God, I don’t know what’s come over you all, for the place was used to be as lively as a tomb!’ he declared. ‘I’ll tell you what, Lady Ombersley: I daresay I can prevail upon York to look in on your party. Nothing formal, y’know, but he’s fixed in Stableyard for the present, and will very likely be pleased enough to drop in for half an hour.’
‘Prevail upon the Duke of York to come to my party?’ echoed Lady Ombersley, in the greatest astonishment. ‘My dear Ombersley, you must be out of your senses! Ten, or perhaps twelve couples, getting up a dance in the drawing-room, and a couple of card-tables set out in the Crimson Saloon! I beg you will do no such thing!’
‘Ten or twelve couples? No, no, Dassett would not be talking of red carpets and awnings for such a paltry affair as that!’ said his lordship.
These ominous words struck a chill into his wife’s soul. Beyond fixing the date for the party, and warning Cecilia not to forget to send a card to a very dull girl, who was her Goddaughter, and must be invited, she had not as yet thought much about the engagement. She now nerved herself to ask her niece how many people were expected on the fatal night. The answer almost brought on one of her spasms. She was obliged to drink a little hartshorn and water, thoughtfully pressed into her hand by Cecilia, before she could recovered herself sufficiently to protest. She sat, alternately sipping the hartshorn, and sniffing her vinaigrette, and moaning that she shuddered to think what Charles would say. It took Sophy twenty minutes to convince her that since he was not to be asked to defray the expenses of the entertainment, it was no concern of his; and even then Lady Ombersley dreaded the inevitable moment of discovery, and could scarcely see him walk into the room without giving a nervous start.