False Colours

  Kit thanked her, but ventured to point out to her that her felicitations were a little premature, since several difficulties still blocked the way to a happy issue. She acknowledged the truth of this, but with unabated cheerfulness, saying: ‘To be sure, but they are only trifling ones! We shall be obliged to confess the whole to Lady Stavely, for one thing, and I don’t think we dare hope that she won’t cut up dreadfully stiff, do you? Of course, we could keep it a secret from her, but I am much inclined to think it would be wrong to do so.’

  ‘Yes, Mama, so am I!’ agreed Kit.

  She nodded. ‘I knew you would say so. Because if Evelyn is determined to marry Miss Askham it would be bound to put Lady Stavely in much worse pet when she saw the notice of his engagement in the Gazette, and had been thinking all the time that he was promised to Cressy! And, of course, Stavely may not be quite pleased, but you may depend upon it that that odious creature, Albinia Gillifoot, will take good care he gives his consent.’

  ‘Yes, Mama, very possibly. But there is a far worse obstacle confronting us,’ Kit said gently. ‘When you say that Evelyn’s marriage has nothing to do with my uncle, are you not forgetting the circumstances which prompted Evelyn to offer for Cressy?’

  She stared at him, the bewilderment in her face slowly changing to consternation. She looked stricken for an instant, but even as he stretched out his hand to her, in quick remorse, she made a recover. She clasped his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, and said, gallantly smiling at him: ‘Are you remembering my tiresome debts? Oh, my darling, you must neither of you waste a moment’s thought on them! As though I could be so monstrous as to set anything so paltry against the happiness of my sons! Besides, I’ve been in debt for years and years, and have grown to be perfectly accustomed to it! I shall bring myself about. Well, of course I shall! I have always contrived to do so, even when matters seemed to be quite desperate!’ She gave his hand a pat, and released it. ‘So now that we have settled that, dearest, you must go away, because it must be ten o’clock already, and I am not yet fully dressed.’

  Mr Fancot, never one to waste his time in argument which he knew to be futile, abandoned his attempt to bring his parent to a sense of the size and urgency of her embarrassments. Bestowing a fond embrace upon her, he informed her – just in case he might previously have omitted to do so – that he loved her very much; and left her to Miss Rimpton’s ministrations.

  He found the Cliffes and Cressy assembled in the breakfast-parlour; and it said much for his ability to shine in the world of diplomacy that not even Cressy suspected that while he responded with every appearance of interest and amiability to the various utterances of his relations his mind was preoccupied with two problems. The first, and more immediate, was how to gain access to Lord Silverdale, and to this he found a possible answer. The second seemed to be insoluble.

  Lady Denville, presently joining the party, bade everyone good-morning; hoped, in her pretty, solicitous way, that her sister-in-law had slept well; and said, as she took her seat at the table: ‘Dearest Cressy! This afternoon we must have a delightful cose together, you and I!’

  As the sparkling glance that accompanied these words was as eloquent as it was mischievous, Kit intervened, asking, with all the heartiness of a host bent on arranging every detail of the day, what his guests would like to do that morning.

  Attention was certainly drawn away from Lady Denville, but the responses Kit received must have disappointed such a host as he was trying to impersonate. But as his only desire was to snatch a private interview with Cressy, he was very well satisfied with them. His cousin said moodily that he didn’t know; Cosmo, whom the humdrum pattern of an ordinary day in a country house exactly suited, said that he would read, and write letters until the post came in; Cressy, who was having much ado not to laugh, kept her eyes lowered, and did not attempt to speak; and Mrs Cliffe, who was anxiously watching her son, returned no answer, but suddenly declared that Ambrose might say what he chose but she was persuaded that he had a boil forming on his neck. All eyes turned involuntarily towards Ambrose, who reddened, shot a glowering look at his mama, and said angrily that it was no such thing. He added that he had the headache.

  ‘Poor boy!’ said Lady Denville, smiling kindly upon him. ‘I daresay if you were to go for a walk it would soon leave you.’

  ‘Amabel, I must beg you not to encourage Ambrose to expose himself!’ said Mrs Cliffe. ‘There is a wind blowing, and I am positive it is easterly, for I myself have a touch of the tic, which I never get but when there is an east wind! It would be fatal for Ambrose to stir out of doors when he is already not quite the thing, for with his constitution, you know, any disorder is very likely to lay him up for a fortnight!’

  ‘Is it?’ said Lady Denville, gazing at her nephew with the awed interest of one confronted with some rare exhibit. ‘Poor boy, how awkward it must be for you, to be obliged to remain indoors whenever the wind is in the east! Because, so often it is!’

  ‘Well, well, we need not make mountains out of molehills!’ said Cosmo testily. ‘I don’t deny that his constitution is sickly, but –’

  ‘Nonsense, Cosmo, how can you talk so?’ exclaimed his sister. ‘I’m sure he isn’t sickly, even if he has got a little headache!’ She smiled encouragingly at Ambrose, sublimely unconscious of having offended all three Cliffes: Ambrose, because, however much he might dislike having an incipient boil pointed out, he was proud of his headaches, which often earned for him a great deal of attention; Cosmo, because he had for some years subscribed to his wife’s view of the matter, finding in Ambrose’s delicacy an excuse for his sad want of interest in any manly sport; and Emma, because she regarded any suggestion that her only child was not in a deplorable state of debility as little short of an insult.

  ‘I fear,’ said Cosmo, ‘that Ambrose has never enjoyed his cousins’ robust health.’

  ‘Your sister cannot be expected to understand delicate constitutions, my dear,’ said Emma. ‘I daresay the twins never suffered a day’s illness in their lives!’

  ‘No, I don’t think they did,’ replied Lady Denville, with a touch of pride. ‘They were the stoutest couple! Of course, they did have things like measles and whooping-cough, but I can’t recall that they were ever ill. In fact, when they had whooping-cough, one of them – was it you, dearest? – climbed up the chimney after a starling’s nest!’

  ‘No, that was Kit,’ said Mr Fancot.

  ‘So it was!’ she agreed, twinkling at him.

  ‘But how terrible!’ exclaimed Emma.

  ‘Yes, wasn’t it? He came down looking exactly like a blackamoor, and brought so much soot down with him that everything in the room seemed to be covered with it. I don’t think I ever laughed so much in my life!’

  ‘Laughed?’ gasped Emma. ‘Laughed when one of your children was in danger of falling, and breaking his neck?’

  ‘Well, I don’t think he could have done that, though I suppose he might have broken his legs, or got stuck in the chimney. I do remember wondering how we were to get him out if he did stick tight. However, it would have been a great waste of time to get�into a worry about the twins, because they were forever falling out of trees, or into the lake, or off their ponies, and nothing dreadful ever happened to them,’ said Lady Denville serenely.

  Mrs Cliffe could only shudder at such callous unconcern; while Ambrose, quite mistakenly supposing that these reflections were directed at his own, less adventurous, career, fell into obvious sulks.

  Lady Denville, having disposed of the tea and bread-and-butter which constituted her breakfast, then excused herself, saying, as she got up from the table: ‘Now I must leave you, because Nurse Pinner seems not to be very well, and it would be too unkind in me not to visit her, and perhaps take her something to tempt her appetite.’

  ‘Some fruit!’ said Kit hastily.

  She gave a little chuckle, and said, i
rrepressible mischief in her voice: ‘Yes, dearest! Not quails!’

  ‘Quails!’ ejaculated Cosmo, shocked beyond measure. ‘Quails for your old nurse, Amabel?’

  ‘No, Evelyn thinks some fruit would be better.’

  ‘I should have thought that some arrowroot, or a supporting broth would have been more suitable!’ said Emma.

  That set her incorrigible sister-in-law’s eyes dancing wickedly. ‘Oh, no, I assure you it wouldn’t be! Particularly not the arrowroot, which – which she abominates! Dear Emma, how uncivil it is in me to run away, as I must! But I am persuaded you must understand how it is!’ Her lovely smile embraced her seething younger son. ‘Dearest, I leave our guests in your hands! Oh, and I think a bottle of port, don’t you? So much more supporting than mutton-broth! So will you, if you please, –’

  ‘Don’t tease yourself, Mama!’ he interrupted, holding open the door for her. ‘I’ll attend to that!’

  ‘To be sure, I might have known you would!’ she said, wholly unaffected by the quelling look she received from him. ‘You will know just what will be most acceptable!’

  ‘I sometimes wonder!’ said Cosmo, in accents of the deepest disapproval, as Kit shut the door behind her ladyship, ‘whether your mother has taken entire leave of her senses, Denville!’

  Mr Fancot might be incensed by his wayward parent’s behaviour, but no more than the mildest criticism was needed to make him show hackle. ‘Do you, sir?’ he said, dangerously affable. ‘Then it affords me great pleasure to be able to reassure you!’

  Mr Cliffe’s understanding was not superior, but only a moonling could have failed to read the challenge behind the sweet smile that accompanied these words. Reddening, he said: ‘I imagine I may venture, without impropriety, to animadvert upon the conduct of one who is my sister!’

  ‘Do you, sir?’ said Kit again, and with even more affability.

  Mr Cliffe, rising, and going towards the door with great stateliness, expressed the hope that he had rather too much force of mind to allow himself to be provoked by the top-loftiness of a mere nephew, who was, like many other bumptious sprigs, too ready to sport his canvas; and withdrew in good order.

  Mindful of the charge laid upon him, Kit then turned his attention to his aunt, with polite suggestions for her entertainment. She received these with a slight air of affront, giving him to understand that her day would be spent in laying slices of lemon-peel on her son’s brow, burning pastilles, and – if his headache persisted – applying a cataplasm to his feet. He listened gravely to this dismal programme; and with a solicitude which placed a severe strain upon Miss Stavely’s self-command, and caused Ambrose to glare at him in impotent rage, suggested that in extreme cases a blister to the head was often found to be beneficial. Apparently feeling that he had discharged his obligations, he then invited Miss Stavely to take a turn in the shrubbery with him. Miss Stavely, prudently refusing to meet his eye, said, with very tolerable composure, that that would be very agreeable; and subsequently afforded him the gratification of realizing (had he been considering the matter) that she was eminently fitted to become the wife of an Ambassador by containing her bubbling amusement until out of sight of the house, when pent-up giggles overcame her, and rapidly infected her somewhat harassed escort.

  Mr Fancot, the first to recover, said: ‘Yes, I know, Cressy, but there is nothing to laugh at in the fix we are now in, I promise you! I imagine you’ve guessed already that my abominable twin has reappeared?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ she managed to utter. ‘F-from the moment G-Godmama said – said: Not quails! with such a quizzing look at you!’

  Mr Fancot grinned, but expressed his inability to understand why no one had ever yet murdered his beloved mama. Miss Stavely cried out upon him for saying anything so unjust and improper; but she became rather more sober as she listened to the tale of Evelyn’s adventure. She did indeed suffer a slight relapse when kindly informed of her noble suitor’s relief at learning that he had been released from his obligations; but she was quick to perceive all the difficulties of a situation broadened to include an alternative bride for his lordship of whom so rigid a stickler as his uncle would certainly not approve.

  ‘Oh, dear!’ she said distressfully. ‘That is unfortunate! What is to be done?’

  He responded frankly: ‘I haven’t the least notion! Do you bend your mind to the problem, love! My present concern is to recover that confounded brooch!’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, indeed! I do feel that that is of the first importance. I am not myself acquainted with Lord Silverdale, but from anything I have ever heard said of him I am much afraid that your brother is very right: he is – he is shockingly malicious! Papa told me once that he is as hungry as a church mouse, but can always command a dinner at the price of the latest and most scandalous on-dit. And if he is one of the Prince Regent’s guests – Kit, do you know how to obtain a private interview with him?’

  ‘No,’ replied Kit cheerfully, ‘but I fancy I know who can supply me with the answer to that problem!’

  ‘Sir Bonamy!’ she exclaimed, after an instant’s frowning bewilderment.

  ‘Exactly so!’ said Kit. He added proudly: ‘Not for nothing am I Mama’s son! I too have nacky notions!’

  Seventeen

  A luncheon, consisting of sundry cold meats, cakes, jellies, and fruit, was always served at noon in the apartment known as the Little Dining-room; and it had been Kit’s intention to have lain in wait for Sir Bonamy to issue forth from his bedroom, in the hope of being able to exchange a few words with him before he joined the other guests downstairs. But owing to the extraordinarily swift passage of time it was not until the stable-clock had struck twelve that either Mr Fancot or Miss Stavely could believe that they had been in the shrubbery for over an hour. A glance at Kit’s watch, however, sent them hurrying back to the house, where they found the rest of the party, with the single exception of the Dowager, already discussing luncheon. Although Mr and Mrs Cliffe later agreed that modern damsels were permitted a regrettable freedom which would never have been countenanced when they were young, no one made any comment on the tardy and simultaneous arrival of the truants, Lady Denville even going so far as to smile at them.

  Ambrose had allowed himself to be persuaded by his mother to partake of a few morsels of food, to keep up his strength; but the Dowager had sent down a message by her maid, excusing herself from putting in an appearance until later in the day. ‘Nothing to cause alarm!’ Lady Denville told Cressy. ‘Her maid says that she passed a wakeful night, and so finds herself just a trifle down pin today.’

  ‘I thought she would,’ said Sir Bonamy, putting up his quizzing-glass the better to inspect a raised chicken-pie. ‘Too much cross-and-jostle work last night!’ He looked up to shake his head in fond reproof at his hostess. ‘You shouldn’t have invited Maria Dersingham, my lady!’

  ‘I am so very sorry, Cressy!’

  But Cressy, with a cheerfulness which Mrs Cliffe considered to be very unbecoming in a granddaughter, assured Lady Denville that, although the excitement of encountering her ancient ally and present enemy might have been a little too much for her, Grandmama had much enjoyed the evening.

  ‘So she did!’ nodded Sir Bonamy. ‘Mind you, it was touch-and-go until we came to the calves’ ears! That’s when she took the lead in milling. Wonderful memory your grandmama has, my dear Miss Stavely!’ His vast bulk shook with his rumbling laugh. ‘Popped in as pretty a hit as I hope to see over Maria Dersingham’s guard! By the bye, my lady, that was a capital Italian sauce your cook served with the calves’ ears!’

  It was left to Lady Denville to express the sentiments of the rest of the company, which she promptly did, saying: ‘Yes, but what happened about calves’ ears, Bonamy?’

  ‘No, no!’ he replied, still gently shaking. ‘I’m not one to go on the high gab, my lady, and I’ll tell no tales! I’ll tak
e a mouthful of the pie, Denville, and just a sliver of ham!’

  Interpreting this in a liberal spirit, Kit supplied him with a large wedge of pie, and flanked it with half-a-dozen slices of ham. Mrs Cliffe, who had never ceased to marvel at his appetite, turned eyes of mute astonishment towards her sister-in-law, who told Sir Bonamy severely that a little fruit, and a biscuit (if he was ravenous), was all he ought to permit himself to eat in the middle of the day. She added that she herself rarely ate any nuncheon at all.

  ‘Yes, yes, but you have not so much to keep up!’ said Sir Bonamy, blenching at the thought of such privation.

  ‘Well, if you didn’t eat so much you wouldn’t have so much to keep up either!’ she pointed out.

  Her brother, strongly disapproving of this candid speech, directed a quelling look at her, and pointedly changed the subject, saying that he trusted she had found Nurse Pinner suffering from no serious disorder. ‘Nothing infectious, I hope?’

  ‘Oh, no! Just a trifle out of sorts!’ she replied.

  ‘Infectious!’ exclaimed Mrs Cliffe. ‘My dear sister, how can you tell that it is not? How imprudent of you to have visited her! I wish you had not done so!’

  ‘Nonsense, Emma! A mere colic!’

  Mrs Cliffe’s fears seemed to have been allayed. Kit saw, with some foreboding, that his mama had become suddenly a little pensive, and quaked inwardly. Never, he reflected, did she look more soulful than when she was hatching some outrageous scheme. He tried to catch her eye, but she was looking at Cressy, who had finished her nuncheon, and was sitting with her hands folded patiently in her lap.

  ‘Dear child, you wish to go upstairs to see your grandmama!’ she said. ‘You know we don’t stand on ceremony, so run away immediately! Give her my love, and tell her how much I hope to see her presently; and then come to my drawing-room – that is, if Lady Stavely can spare you, of course!’ She waited until Cressy had left the room, and then addressed herself to Kit. ‘Dearest, your uncle’s asking me if Pinny’s disorder is infectious puts me in mind of something I think I should tell you – oh, and Ambrose too, perhaps! I wouldn’t mention it in Cressy’s presence – not that I think she would have taken fright, for she has a great deal too much commonsense, but she might speak of it to Lady Stavely, and I would not for the world cast her into high fidgets! It is all nonsense, but I wish you will neither go into the village just at present! Though you may depend upon it if there is an epidemic disease there one of servants will contract it, and spread it all over the house. However –’