False Colours

  Watching him, Cressy said gently: ‘Vexed, sir?’

  His eyes, which had been looking frowningly ahead, travelled to her face, and smiled again. ‘No, far from it!’

  ‘In a little worry, then?’

  ‘A little,’ he acknowledged. ‘For reasons which I can’t, at present, explain to you. Bear with me!’

  ‘Why, of course!’ She strolled on beside him for a few paces. ‘Did you wish to say something of a particular nature when you asked me to come into the garden?’

  ‘No – that is, I have much to say to you of a very particular nature, but not yet!’ He broke off, as the evils of his situation came home to him more forcibly than ever before. He felt himself to be at a stand, for, although every impulse urged him to disclose the truth to Cressy, to do so under the existing circumstances, and while he was uncertain of her mind, would be to run the risk of flooring not only himself but Evelyn as well.

  That she was inclined, for some inscrutable reason, to prefer him to his twin, he knew; but he was no self-flatterer: he thought Evelyn his superior in all the qualities that might be supposed to captivate a lady; and he knew that in position and fortune Evelyn wholly eclipsed him. Cressy’s affections were not engaged – that had been made plain to him at the outset, when he had consented to impersonate his twin for one, vital evening. Under no other circumstance would he have lent himself to such a hoax, but this now seemed to make the situation worse rather than better. Cressy, entering into a marriage of convenience, had shown herself willing to accept an offer which the ton would certainly think splendid. In Kit’s view, that was a sensible thing to do: one could not have everything in an imperfect world, so if one was denied the best thing of all it would be foolish not to accept an offer that carried with it the promise of ease and social distinction. Kit’s own affections might be very thoroughly engaged, but it seemed incredible to him that Cressy, apparently impervious to Evelyn’s charm, had fallen in love with him. She certainly liked him, but it would take more than mere liking to overcome the revulsion she must surely feel if he told her how outrageously she had been deceived. It did not so much as cross his mind that she need never be told: he was going to tell her the whole truth just as soon as he could do it, with Evelyn’s knowledge, and when Cressy was no longer in the intolerable position of being a guest at Ravenhurst. The hoax, at no time acceptable to him, had begun to assume the colour of an unforgivable piece of chicanery. He would not have thought it surprising if Cressy, learning the truth, shook the dust of Ravenhurst from her feet with no more delay than would serve to put her grandmother in possession of the facts. Setting aside his own prospects, he thought there was scarcely a worse turn he could serve Evelyn. Such a break-up to the party would inevitably set tongues wagging, and wits to work; and though the Stavelys would be unlikely to repeat the story there was no dependence to be placed on the reticence of the servants. If only one amongst the score at Ravenhurst guessed the truth, the scandal, probably garbled out of recognition, would spread with the rapidity of a forest-fire. Better by far would it have been to have left Evelyn to make what excuses he could for his defection than to have set out to rescue him, and then to draw back from a task which proved to be harder and more distasteful than had been foreseen, leaving him in very much more serious straits. There was no intention of furthering his pretensions to Cressy’s hand in Kit’s head: loyalty to his twin might be strong, but it stopped short of helping Evelyn to marry, for expedience’s sake, the girl he himself loved. Evelyn would never expect that of him; but Evelyn would expect – only that was the wrong word to use for what each of them knew to be a certainty – that in all other predicaments his twin would stand buff.

  Cressy’s voice intruded upon these reflections, telling him that the arrival that morning of the post with the previous day’s London papers had ruffled the temper of one of his guests. She said this very gravely, but he was not deceived, and replied promptly: ‘You terrify me! Tell me the worst!’

  Her mouth quivered. ‘It is very bad, I warn you! Your uncle has seen that the Gazette and the Morning Post have received the information that your mama has left London for Ravenhurst Park, and he is very much put out.’

  He knew that Lady Denville had sent this notice to the two journals Evelyn was most likely to read; but what concern it was of Cosmo’s he had no idea. Cressy, meeting the surprised question in his eyes with a decided twinkle in her own, said reproachfully: ‘One would have supposed that dear Godmama would have thought it proper to have mentioned that she was entertaining visitors to Ravenhurst, amongst whom –’

  ‘– are the Hon. Cosmo and Mrs Cliffe, and Ambrose Cliffe, all of whom their host wishes otherwhere!’

  ‘I don’t think that was precisely how he feels the notice should have been phrased,’ she said, in a considering tone.

  He laughed. ‘I’m very sure it’s not! Feels he has been slighted does he? What the deuce does it matter to him? You’d think he must be some trumped up April-squire, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I daresay it may come of his being a younger son.’

  ‘No, that it does not!’ he exclaimed, revolted.

  She glanced speculatively at him. ‘A younger son jealous of his elder brother’s position, and one who has made no mark in the world,’ she amended.

  He had by this time recollected himself, and merely said: ‘No, it comes from having a maggoty disposition and a vast quantity of self-importance.’

  She told him that he was too severe, and passed easily to an indifferent subject. They continued chatting companionably on a variety of topics until Cressy, hearing the stable-clock strike the hour, remembered her promise to her hostess, and was conscience-smitten by the realization that she must have kept her waiting for at least twenty minutes. This, she exclaimed, was the height of bad manners; and despite all Kit’s amused assurances that his mother was more likely to have forgotten that she had planned to send out her invitation cards that morning than to complain of her young guest’s want of conduct, she insisted on hastening back to the house. Kit went with her, offering her handsome odds against the chance that his mother would be found, as expected, in her own drawing-room. But she was found there, though with no thought of directing invitations in her head. She was standing in front of the gilded mirror hanging above the fireplace, surveying, with every sign of disapprobation, her own delightful reflection. A litter of crumpled wrapping-paper on the floor, an open box on the table, with a necklace composed of fine topazes set in filigree lying beside it, indicated that she had received a valuable package from London; sent, possibly, and at a moderate charge, through the medium of the Newhaven Mailcoach, and deposited, with the post, at the receiving office in Nutley; and more probably, as Kit knew, by a special messenger, at large cost.

  It was difficult to perceive why Lady Denville was dissatisfied with her appearance, for she was attired in an underdress of deep gold, which matched her hair, veiled by a tunic of pale muslin, and the effect was at once dashing, and extremely becoming, but she speedily explained the matter. ‘Was there anything ever more provoking?’ she demanded. ‘I purchased these horrid beads, because it struck me that they were just the thing to wear with this dress, and I even had them restrung to the exact length I required, and now I don’t like them at all! In fact, I think them hideous!’

  ‘Oh, no, no!’ exclaimed Cressy. ‘The most beautiful clear amber! How can you call them hideous, ma’am? You look charmingly!’

  ‘No, Cressy, I do not look charmingly!’ said her ladyship firmly. ‘I don’t know how it is, but no matter how dear they may be, there is something about beads which makes one look shabby-genteel. If I were to wear these, even Emma would think I bought made-up clothes in Cranbourne Alley!’

  This seemed an unlikely contingency, but neither Kit nor Cressy ventured to say so. Kit, picking up the topaz necklace, asked, with a sinking heart, if she had bought it at the same time.

/>   ‘Oh, no, dearest! I bought that long before!’ she replied, elevating his spirits for a brief moment. ‘Weeks ago, when I chose the silk for this underdress! But you may see for yourself that the stones are made to look insipid, worn with this particular shade of yellow. I was afraid they would, but it is such a pretty necklace that I don’t regret having purchased it. If I had some earrings made to match it, I could wear it with a pale yellow evening gown, couldn’t I? But those amber beads I will not wear!’

  ‘No, don’t!’ said Kit. ‘Send them back to the jeweller!’

  She considered this suggestion, but decided against it. ‘No, I have a better notion! I shall give them to your cousin Kate! I don’t suppose you remember her, but she is Baverstock’s second daughter, and never has anything pretty to wear, because your odious Aunt Amelia won’t spend a groat more than she need on her until she has snabbled a husband for Maria – which I shouldn’t think she will ever do, for she’s a plain girl, and has been out for three Seasons already.’ She unclasped the amber string, and laid it aside, and said, smiling brilliantly upon her audience: ‘So it turns out to be for the best, after all, and I must wear my pearls, until I find just what I have in mind! Did you want me particularly, my dears?’

  ‘What did I tell you?’ asked Kit, mocking Cressy. ‘No, Mama: Cressy would have it that it was you who wanted her, to direct invitations for you.’

  ‘I knew there was something I must attend to this morning!’ said her ladyship, pleased with this feat of memory. ‘Oh, dear, what a dead bore it is! I can’t think why I didn’t bring Mrs Woodbury with me, except, of course, that I shouldn’t have known what to do with her here, for one couldn’t expect her to dine in the housekeeper’s room, precisely, and yet – But she is an excellent person, and writes all the invitations, and answers letters for me, and never forgets to remind me of the things I’ve arranged to do!’

  Her eyes dancing, Cressy said: ‘Never mind, ma’am! Only tell me the various directions, and I’ll engage to be quite as excellent a secretary! You made out a list, didn’t you, of all the people you wished to invite?’

  ‘So I did! Not that I wish to invite any of them, because of all the tedious things imaginable Public Days are the worst! However, it would be very uncivil not to hold one, so we must make the best of it. Dear Cressy, how fortunate that you should have remembered that I made up that list! We have only to discover where I put it, and everything will be very simply accomplished – though I hope you don’t think that I mean to let you do more than assist me! I wonder where I did put that list? Not in a safe place, for that is always fatal. Dearest K – kindest Evelyn!’ she said, correcting herself with aplomb, ‘perhaps, if you are not engaged elsewhere, you could direct some of the cards for me!’

  ‘Nothing would afford me greater pleasure, love!’ he replied, wondering how long it would be before his irresponsible parent unwittingly exposed him. ‘But I am engaged elsewhere, and you know well that only you and Kit seem to be able to decipher my handwriting.’

  Eleven

  The rest of the day passed without untoward incident. Cressy, assisted spasmodically by Lady Denville, directed the invitation cards; Sir Bonamy and Cosmo, after consuming a substantial nuncheon, slept stertorously in the library all the afternoon, their handkerchiefs spread over their faces; the Dowager enjoyed her usual drive with Mrs Cliffe; and Kit, finding his young cousin idling disconsolately in one of the saloons, ruthlessly bore him off for an inspection of the stables, and a tramp across the fields to the stud-farm, where one of my lord’s brood mares had the day before given birth to a promising colt.

  The evening was enlivened by the presence of the Squire, Sir John Thatcham, with his lady, and his two eldest offspring: Mr Edward Thatcham, just down from his second year at Cambridge; and Miss Anne, a lively girl, who had gratified her well-wishers by retiring from her first modest Season with a very respectable parti to her credit.

  It might have been supposed that a party which included such ill-assorted persons as the Dowager, Sir John and Lady Thatcham, and Sir Bonamy Ripple was foredoomed to failure, for the Dowager, who arrogated to herself an old lady’s privilege of being as uncivil as she chose to anyone whom she considered to be a bore, could almost certainly be depended on to snub the Thatchams; and Sir Bonamy was too much the idle man of fashion to meet with Sir John’s approval. But, in the event, and due, as Cressy recognized with deep respect, to Lady Denville’s unmatched qualities as a hostess, the party was very successful, the only member of it to feel dissatisfaction being Cosmo, who pouted a good deal when he discovered that his sister had excluded him from the whist-table, set up for the Dowager’s edification in a small saloon leading from the Long Drawing-room. Having elicited the information that the Thatchams were very fond of whist, but liked to play together, Lady Denville settled them at the table with the Dowager and Sir Bonamy. No one could have guessed from Sir Bonamy’s good-humoured demeanour that he was in the habit of playing whist in the Duke of York’s company, for five pound points, with a pony on the rubber to make it worth while.

  The rest of the party, with the single exception of Cosmo, who said that he was too old for such pastimes, gathered round a large table in the Long Drawing-room to play a number of games which the three youngest members of the party would, in their own homes, have condemned as being fit only for the schoolroom. But Lady Denville, who combined a genius for making her guests feel that she was genuinely happy to entertain them with an effervescent enjoyment of her own parties, rapidly infected the company with her own zest for such innocent pastimes as Command, Cross-Questions, and even Jack-straws. It was all very merry and informal, and when it culminated in a game of speculation Ambrose surprised everyone by displaying an unexpected aptitude for the game, making some very shrewd bids, and quite forgetting the languid air he thought it proper for a young man of mode to assume; and Cosmo, unable to bear the sight of his wife’s improvident play, drew up his chair to the table so that he could advise and instruct her.

  At ten o’clock, the Dowager, who had been behaving with great energy and acumen, winning several shillings, and sharply censuring Sir Bonamy for what she considered faults of play, suddenly assumed the appearance of extreme decrepitude, and broke up the game, saying that she was tired, and must go to bed. As soon as she emerged from the saloon, leaning on Sir Bonamy’s arm, Lady Denville rose from the table, and went towards her, saying in her pretty, caressing voice: ‘Going to retire now, ma’am? I hope you are not being driven away by the noise we have been making!’

  ‘No, I’ve had a very agreeable evening,’ replied the Dowager graciously. ‘No need to leave your game on my account!’ She nodded at Cressy. ‘Stay where you are, child! I can see you’re enjoying yourself, and I don’t want you.’

  ‘Enjoying myself! Nothing of the sort, Grandmama! I’ve fallen amongst sharks, and have lost my entire fortune! What Mr Ambrose Cliffe hasn’t robbed me of has passed into Denville’s possession: I wonder that you should abandon me to such a hard-bargaining pair!’ said Cressy gaily.

  ‘I daresay you’ll come about,’ said the Dowager. She allowed Lady Denville to take Sir Bonamy’s place, and nodded generally. ‘I’ll bid you all goodnight. Happy to have made your acquaintance, Lady Thatcham: you play your cards very tolerably – very tolerably indeed!’ She then withdrew, her ebony cane gripped in one claw-like hand, the other tucked in Lady Denville’s arm. She favoured Kit, who was holding open the door for her, with a jocular command not to knock Cressy into horse-nails, but said somewhat snappishly to Lady Denville, as they went slowly along the broad corridor, that she didn’t know why she troubled to escort her to her bedchamber.

  ‘Oh, it isn’t a trouble,’ said Lady Denville. ‘I like to go with you, ma’am, to be quite sure that you have everything just as you prefer it. One never knows that they won’t have sent up your hot milk with horrid pieces of skin in it, or warmed the bed far too early!’
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  ‘Lord, Amabel, my woman takes good care of that!’ said the Dowager scornfully. She added, in a grudging tone: ‘Not but what you’re a kind creature – and that I never denied!’ She proceeded for some way in silence, but when the upper hall was reached, said suddenly: ‘That was a good notion of yours, to set the young people to playing silly games. It ain’t often I’ve seen that granddaughter of mine in such a glow of spirits. It’s little enough fun she gets at home.’

  ‘Dear Cressy! I wish you might have heard some of her drolleries! She had us all in whoops, and even succeeded in captivating that dismal nephew of mine!’

  The Dowager uttered a crack of mirth. ‘Him! I’ve no patience with whipstraws, playing off the airs of exquisites.’ She paused outside the door of her bedroom. ‘I’ll tell you this, though, Amabel! I like your son.’

  ‘Thank you!’ Lady Denville said. Tears sparkled in her eyes. ‘No one – no one! – was ever blessed with two such sons as mine!’

  ‘Now, don’t be a pea goose!’ said the Dowager bracingly. ‘I should like to know what there is to cry about in that! I shall be very well satisfied if Cressy likes him well enough to marry him, for he’ll make her the kind of husband most of us wish for, and few of us have the good fortune to catch. Now, you be off, for whatever the rest of ’em want you may depend upon it that Ripple’s thinking of nothing but his supper!’

  Whatever secret longings Sir Bonamy may have been cherishing, he was far too well-mannered to allow these to appear. Lady Denville found him chatting urbanely with Lady Thatcham, who, under his benign influence, was fast coming to the conclusion that her husband’s freely-expressed contempt of him (and every other member of the Prince Regent’s set) was unjust. The game of speculation was coming to an end, with Cressy recovering some of her losses: a circumstance which she owed to the intervention of Cosmo, who had moved round the table to sit at her elbow. The stakes might be infinitesimal, but Cosmo could not bear to see her squandering her counters from what he called want of judgement, and what his disrespectful nephew later described as a want of huckstering instinct.