False Colours

  ‘No,’ said her ladyship decidedly. ‘Not charming, Cressy! A good wife, I daresay – in fact, I am sure of it, and it does make me feel very low, because she sounds to me to be such an insipid girl!’

  Cressy patted her hand. ‘Oh no, I am persuaded you won’t think her so! I expect she is shy merely.’

  Lady Denville looked at her in an awed way. ‘Cressy, she has been reared on the strictest principles, and her mama is full of propriety, and Evelyn says that they are all of them truly good and saintly! Indeed, he described Patience to me as an angel! Well, dearest, I wouldn’t for a moment deny that that is – is most admirable, but I find saintly persons excessively uncomfortable, and I cannot live with an angel!’

  ‘But must you live with her, ma’am?’

  ‘No, and I don’t mean to. I told Evelyn so, when he offered for you, for it never answers! Only, when I began to think of living by myself – Cressy, do you think I could afford to do so? I should be obliged to buy a house, for I don’t feel I could hire one; and I will not live in some dreadful, shabby-genteel quarter of the town, or miles and miles from anywhere, like Upper Grosvenor Place, where poor Augusta Sandhayes removed to when Sandhayes lost a great deal of money on ’Change and said they must hold household. And only think of the cost of the servants, and the carriages, and – and all the things I never have paid for!’ Her eyes filled. ‘And when I consider that I have never been able to keep out of debt when I didn’t pay for such things, how could I possibly do so when I shall be obliged to?’

  The question was unanswerable. Cressy sat back on her heels, a very thoughtful expression in her eyes, but she said nothing. The truth of Lady Denville’s words had struck home. She had not previously considered the matter; but she was well enough acquainted with her ladyship to realize that the income necessary to maintain her in the style to which she was accustomed must be far in excess of even the most handsome jointure. She realized, too, having a great deal of commonsense, that it would be folly to suppose that she would reduce her expenditure: she was quite incapable of doing so.

  As though she had read the thought in Cressy’s mind, Lady Denville said: ‘It is of no use to tell me I must practise economy, because I can’t! Whenever I have tried to do so it has only led to much more expense. Denville’s sister – a most disagreeable woman, my love, besides being a nipcheese, which is much worse than being extravagant, because it makes everyone uncomfortable, on account of not employing a second footman, and serving horrid dinners – was used to prick at me, and instruct me in habits of economy, and I perceived then that I could never bring myself to practise such habits. I must own I could only be thankful when she died, for she never met me but what she asked me how much my dress had cost, and then said that I could have had one made for less than half the price. I know I could, but nothing would induce me to. You see, Cressy, ever since my come-out, people have said I was the best-dressed woman in London, and whenever I have gone to a party they looked to see what I was wearing, and how my hair was dressed, and – and copied me. I’ve led fashion, and I still do, so I couldn’t go to parties now, looking like a dowd! It is not that I am vain – at least, I don’t think I am – but – well, I can’t explain it to you! I daresay you might not understand – though you are always very well dressed yourself, dear one!’

  ‘I do understand,’ Cressy said. ‘Yes, and I couldn’t bear it if you were even the tiniest bit less – less exquisite, and nor could Evelyn and Kit! Godmama, you mustn’t set up your own establishment! Even if you could afford to do so, I am persuaded you wouldn’t like it. Consider how much you would miss having a gentleman to – to manage for you, and escort you to parties!’

  ‘Well, I shouldn’t miss that,’ said her ladyship candidly, ‘because I should still have plenty of gentlemen to escort me!’

  ‘Yes, but no host for your own parties!’ Cressy pointed out.

  ‘No,’ Lady Denville agreed. ‘That is the worst thing about being a widow. But in every other way it is most agreeable, I find. In fact, far more agreeable than being a wife! At least, it is for me, but not, of course, for you, dearest!’ she hastened to add, with one of her lovely smiles. It faded; she looked stricken all at once, and older; and said: ‘I was forgetting. You see, it is of no consequence.’ Two large tears welled over her eyelids, and rolled unheeded down her cheeks. She said sadly: ‘I have been such a bad mother, and I love them so very much!’

  Cressy burst out laughing. ‘Godmama! Oh, I beg your pardon, but it is too absurd! Why, they adore you.’

  Lady Denville carefully wiped the tears away. ‘I know they do, and I can’t think why they should – though I don’t think I have ruined Kit’s life. But when I saw Evelyn today – then I knew what a detestable parent I am!’

  ‘He never said so!’

  ‘Oh no, poor darling! But he asked me to forgive him for – for having failed at such a crisis, and left me in the lurch, and it almost broke my heart, because if it weren’t for my crushing debts, he could marry Patience tomorrow. I begged him not to think of them, but although he laughed, and turned it off, he was obliged to own that he does think of them, and – and has no hope of being able to marry Patience for years and years – which is as good as to say Never! Because it would be folly to suppose that his Uncle Brumby will approve of such a match, you know. And then he tried to joke me, saying that it was not my fault at all, but his, for having made his father think him too volatile to be trusted to manage his affairs, and that was almost more than I could bear, Cressy! Only, when he saw how distressed I was, he rallied me, in his enchanting way, saying that we were both blue-devilled, and that things weren’t so very bad, because even though it might not be in his power to discharge my debts at present, he knew he could compound with my creditors, or some such thing, and so there was nothing for me to worry about, or him either. I daresay you will think it very foolish of me to have believed he could do it, but – but when Evelyn sets out to coax me out of the hips, he is so very gay and persuasive that one cannot help feeling reassured! And I did feel that perhaps something could be done, if people knew they would be paid back as soon as Evelyn is thirty, and I was quite cheerful when I left him. And then the post came in, and – and brought me a shattering letter!’ She ended on a sob and dabbed at her eyes again. ‘Mr – well, never mind his name! You wouldn’t know him, but he lent me rather a large sum of money some years ago, when I was quite at my wits’ end. I truly believed I should be able to give it back to him at the next quarter, when my allowance was paid, but it turned out to be otherwise. Indeed, it was wholly impossible, as I was obliged to explain to him. But I did contrive to pay him the interest, and invited his daughter to one of my parties, besides taking her for two drives with me in the Park, and introducing her to hosts of people, so what more could I do? And now he has written me a long letter saying that much as he sympathizes with me, he cannot afford to continue in this way, because he has had a great many expenses which have been a sad drain on his purse, and so he must, though with the utmost reluctance, beg me to refund the sum he lent me. And, which I find more upsetting than anything, and quite outweighs his civility, he didn’t even get a frank for his letter, so that I have had to pay two shillings for it! At least, someone did, probably Norton, but it is the same thing – except that it will be poor Evelyn who will pay it in the end, when he pays all the household accounts.’

  With only the faintest tremor in her voice, Cressy replied gravely: ‘A – a want of delicacy in him, to be sure, ma’am!’

  ‘Exactly so! And in general, you know, he is a very gentlemanlike person.’ She sighed. ‘I shall be obliged to repay him, but Evelyn is to know nothing about it. No, and not Kit either, mind that, Cressy! I trust you not to mention it to him!’

  ‘Very well, ma’am, but – but can you repay the sum?’ asked Cressy diffidently.

  ‘Yes,’ Lady Denville replied, ‘All my debts – all of them!’ She rose,
and picked up the offending letter, and carried it to her tambour-topped writing-desk, and put it away in one of the drawers. She said, in a constricted tone: ‘I have quite made up my mind to it. I ought to have done so when Denville died, but I could not bring myself to it. But now I can, and I will, because however bad a mother I have been there is nothing I wouldn’t do for my beloved sons! Now, pray, Cressy, don’t tell Kit that I cried a little!’

  Cressy got up from her knees. ‘I won’t tell him anything you don’t wish me to, Godmama, but won’t you tell me how you mean to pay your debts, and – and why it makes you so unhappy?’

  ‘Well, to own the truth, dearest, it utterly sinks my spirits only to think of going to live abroad, with a sensible female companion – but I daresay I shall soon grow accustomed!’ said her ladyship, gallantly smiling.

  ‘Going to live abroad with a – But why?’ demanded Cressy, in bewilderment.

  ‘Henry will insist on it. I know he will! Once before, when the twins were babies, he and Louisa – his sister – persuaded Denville that that was the only thing to be done with me, because – Oh, there were so many reasons, but it is a long time ago now, and it never happened, because the continent became quite unsafe, on account of Napoleon, which is why I never could dislike him as much as others did! But now the war is over, and people who find themselves run off their legs, like poor Brummell, go and live at horridly cheap places, where there are no parties, or gaming, or races, or anybody one knows!’

  Cressy said indignantly: ‘Lord Brumby couldn’t be so inhuman!’

  ‘Yes, he could,’ answered her ladyship. ‘Either that, or the Dower House here – and very likely he won’t even offer me the Dower House, because he will think it is situated too close to Brighton, or that he couldn’t stop me going up to London, once my debts were paid.’

  ‘Well, one thing is certain!’ said Cressy, her eyes kindling. ‘Neither Evelyn nor Kit would countenance such an arrangement!’

  ‘No,’ agreed her ladyship. ‘Not if they know about it, and that is a very comforting thought! But I shall say that I would like to go abroad for a time, when Evelyn is married. And perhaps I shall be able to visit you and Kit, so it won’t be so very bad!’

  After a slight pause, Cressy said slowly: ‘I think it would be very bad. Not at all the thing for you, Godmama! You would find living with a respectable female a dead bore.’

  ‘I know I shall,’ sighed Lady Denville. ‘And if it has to be my sister Harriet, it will be worse than a bore!’

  ‘Oh no, that wouldn’t do at all!’ Cressy said decidedly. She glanced at her ladyship, and gave a little laugh. ‘You mustn’t live with any female, ma’am! Consider, you have been used always to live with a gentleman! I know myself that one can’t easily accustom oneself to female companionship when that has been the case. That was why I was ready to accept Evelyn’s offer, even though I didn’t love him.’

  ‘Yes, but –’ Lady Denville broke off, an arrested expression on her face. Watching her, Cressy saw the mischievous look creep into her eyes. Suddenly she gave a tiny gurgle of laughter, and turned, and impulsively embraced Cressy. ‘Dearest, you have put a – a notion into my head! It is too absurd, and I am not at all sure – or even if – Well, I must think! So go away now, dear child, and don’t say a word to anyone about the talk we’ve had!’

  ‘No, I won’t, I promise you,’ Cressy said. ‘I am going to drive out with Grandmama for an hour. Papa’s letter has wonderfully restored her! She is aux anges, and is even prepared to forgive Albinia for having married him. I am strongly of the opinion that now is the moment to tell her that Kit is Kit, and not Evelyn, and if she continues in this benign humour I mean to do it!’

  Nineteen

  Sir Bonamy, waking from his afternoon nap, yawned, sighed, and refreshed himself with a pinch of snuff. He then picked up the Morning Post, which Norton, tiptoeing into the room, had laid on a table at his elbow, and cast a lacklustre eye over its columns. The only items of interest to him were contained on the page devoted to the activities of the ton; and, since London, in July, was almost deserted, these consisted mostly of such arid pieces of information as that Lady X, with her three daughters, was visiting Scarborough; or that the Duchess of B— was taking the waters at Tunbridge Wells. Brighton news occupied most of the space; and Sir Bonamy read, nostalgically, that His Royal Highness the Prince Regent had entertained a party of distinguished guests at the Pavilion, dinner, to which a select company had been invited, having been followed by a brilliant soirée, with music. Sir Bonamy could not have been said to have shared his royal crony’s taste for music, but he would have enjoyed the dinner, to which he would most certainly have been bidden. Then he read that His Royal Highness the Duke of York was expected to arrive at the Pavilion at the end of the week; and this so painfully sharpened his nostalgia that he decided that the end of the week should also see the return of Sir Bonamy Ripple to the Pavilion.

  He had responded without hesitation to Lady Denville’s summons, flattered by it, and willing, in his goodnatured way, to do her least bidding. He had looked forward to some agreeable tête-à-têtes with his hostess; he knew that her cook was second only to his own; and he vaguely supposed that the rest of the company would consist of congenial persons with whom he would be able to play whist for high stakes every evening. His devotion to her ladyship had become so much a habit that he would not have refused her invitation even if he had known that his fellow-guests would be unfashionable people with whom he had nothing in common; but he had been as much daunted as surprised when he discovered that one of the ton’s most successful hostesses had invited to Ravenhurst such a small and dull collection of guests.

  Sir Bonamy was no lover of the pastoral scene, in general confining his visits to the country to several weeks spent during the winter at various great houses, where he could be sure of meeting persons who were congenial to him, and of being amused by such diversions as exactly suited a grossly fat and elderly dandy of his sedentary disposition; and a very few days spent at Ravenhurst had been enough to set him hankering after the delights of Brighton. There had been few opportunities for elegant dalliance with Lady Denville; playing indifferent whist for chicken-stakes bored him; and the discovery that he had unwittingly stepped into a masquerade made him feel profoundly uneasy. There was no saying what devilry the Fancot twins might be engaged in, and to become involved in what bore all the appearance of a major scandal was a fate which he shuddered to contemplate.

  He had laid aside the Morning Post, and was wondering what excuse he could offer Lady Denville for bringing his visit to an end, when the door was softly opened, and she peeped into the room.

  As soon as she saw that he was awake, she smiled, and said: ‘Ah, here you are! Dear Bonamy, do let us go for a stroll together! I don’t believe I’ve had as much as five minutes alone with you since the day you arrived.’

  As he hoisted himself out of his chair, she came across the room with her light, graceful step, looking so youthful that he exclaimed: ‘Upon my word, Amabel, you don’t look a day older than you did when I first saw you!’

  She laughed, but said wistfully: ‘You always say such charming things, Bonamy! But, alas, you’re offering me Spanish coin!’

  ‘Oh, no, I’m not!’ he assured her, kissing her hand. ‘Never any need for that, my pretty! Not an hour older!’

  ‘So many years older!’ she sighed. ‘I daren’t reckon them. Do you care to come into the garden with me? Cressy has driven out with her Grandmama, so at last I am free to do what I choose! My dear, how prosy and dreadful Cosmo has become! Thank you for bearing with him so nobly! I don’t know what I should have done without you!’

  ‘Oh, pooh, nonsense!’ he said, beaming fondly down at her. ‘Always a joy to me to be able to serve you! As for Cosmo – well, thank you for ridding me of him!’ He rumbled a laugh. ‘Scarlet fever indeed, you naughty puss! I
thought you were pitching it a trifle too rum, but, lord, he’s the biggest flat I ever knew, for all he thinks himself up to everything!’ He drew her hand through his arm and patted it. ‘If he knew you as well as I do, my pretty, you’d have been gapped!’

  ‘But he doesn’t,’ she pointed out. ‘I don’t think anyone does.’

  He was so much gratified by this that he could only heave an eloquent sigh, squeezing her arm, and growing pink in the face. Lady Denville guided him out of the house, and disengaged her hand to open her frivolous parasol. She then slipped it back within his crooked arm, and walked slowly along the terrace with him to the shallow steps, saying: ‘How delightful this is! I have been so much harassed that it is a struggle to support my spirits, but it always does me good to talk to you, my best of friends.’

  ‘It does me good only to look at you, my love!’ he responded gallantly, but with a slightly wary look in his eye.

  ‘Dear Bonamy!’ she murmured. ‘Such a detestably dull party to have invited you to! I knew you wouldn’t fail, too, which makes it quite shameless of me to have made such a demand on your good nature! I do beg your pardon!’

  ‘No, no! Happy to have been of assistance to you!’ he said, quite overcome.

  ‘I expect you are longing to get back to Brighton,’ she sighed. ‘I don’t wonder at it, and only wish I were going there too, for I do not like the country, except for a very little while!’

  ‘Come, come, Amabel, what’s this?’ he expostulated. ‘Of course you are going to Brighton! Why, you told me yourself that Evelyn had hired the same house on the Steyne which you had last year!’

  ‘Yes, and doesn’t it seem a waste? But Evelyn cannot go there until his shoulder has mended – he was in an accident, you know, which is why Kit was obliged to take his place – and he says he shall go to Leicestershire, to Crome Lodge, and only think how dismal for him, poor lamb, at this season! I must accompany him. Besides, he is in low spirits, because – but I don’t mean to burden you with my troubles!’