This was maintained during most of the drive back to London, but when the open country was left behind, and the curricle was passing once more between rows of houses, it deserted her abruptly. In the middle of a narrow street, the grays took high-bred exception to a wagon with a tattered and flapping canvas roof, which was drawn up to one side of the road. There was barely room for the curricle to slip past this obstruction, and Mr Beaumaris, his attention all on his horses, failed to take notice of a group of youths bending over some object on the flag-way, or to heed the anguished yelp which made Arabella, casting aside the light rug which covered her legs, cry out: ‘Oh, stop!’ and shut her sunshade with a snap.
The grays were mincing past the wagon; Mr Beaumaris did indeed pull them up, but Arabella did not wait for the curricle to come to a standstill, but sprang hazardously down from it. Mr Beaumaris, holding his sidling, snorting pair in an iron hand, took one quick glance over his shoulder, saw that Arabella was dispersing the group on the flag-way by the vigorous use of her sunshade, and snapped: ‘Go to their heads, fool!’
His groom, still perched up behind, and apparently dumb-founded by Miss Tallant’s strange conduct, came to himself with a start, jumped down, and ran round to hold the grays. Mr Beaumaris sprang down, and descended swiftly upon the battleground. Having scientifically knocked two louts’ heads together, picked up the third lout by his collar and the seat of his frieze breeches, and thrown him into the road, he was able to see what had aroused Miss Tallant’s wrath. Crouched, shivering and whimpering, on the flag-way, was a small, sandy-coated mongrel, with a curly tail, and one ear disreputably flying.
‘Those wicked, brutal, fiends!’ panted Miss Tallant, cheeks and eyes in a glow. ‘They were torturing the poor little thing!’
‘Take care! He may snap at you!’ Mr Beaumaris said quickly, seeing her about to kneel down beside the dog. ‘Shall I thrash them all soundly?’
At these words, the two smaller boys departed precipitately, the two whose heads were still ringing drew circumspectly out of range of Mr Beaumaris’s long-lashed whip, and the bruised youth in the road whined that they weren’t doing any harm, and that all his ribs were busted.
‘How badly have they hurt him?’ Miss Tallant asked anxiously. ‘He cries when I touch him!’
Mr Beaumaris pulled off his gloves, and handed them to her, together with his whip, saying: ‘Hold those for me, and I’ll see.’
She obediently took them, and watched anxiously while he went over the mongrel. She saw with approval that he handled the little creature firmly and gently, in a way that showed he knew what he was about. The dog whined, and uttered little cries, and cowered, but he did not offer to snap. Indeed, he feebly wagged his disgraceful tail, and once licked Mr Beaumaris’s hand.
‘He is badly bruised, and has one or two nasty sores, but there are no bones broken,’ Mr Beaumaris said, straightening himself. He turned to where the two remaining youths were standing, poised on the edge of flight, and said sternly: ‘Whose dog is this?’
‘It don’t belong to no one,’ he was sullenly informed. ‘It goes all over, stealing things off of the rubbish-heaps: yes, and out of the butcher’s shop!’
‘I seen ’im in Chelsea onct with ’alf a loaf of bread,’ corroborated the other youth.
The accused crawled to Mr Beaumaris’s elegantly shod feet, and pawed one gleaming hessian appealingly.
‘Oh, see how intelligent he is!’ cried Arabella, stooping to fondle the animal. ‘He knows he has you to thank for his rescue!’
‘If he knows that, I think little of his intelligence, Miss Tallant,’ said Mr Beaumaris, glancing down at the dog. ‘He certainly owes his life to you!’
‘Oh, no! I could never have managed without your help! Will you be so obliging as to hand him up to me, if you please?’ said Arabella, prepared to climb into the curricle again.
Mr Beaumaris looked from her to the unkempt and filthy mongrel at his feet, and said: ‘Are you quite sure that you want to take him with you, ma’am?’
‘Why, of course! You do not suppose that I would leave him here, for those wretches to torment as soon as we were out of sight! Besides, you heard what they said! He has no master – no one to feed him, or to take care of him! Please give him to me!’
Mr Beaumaris’s lips twitched, but he said with perfect gravity: ‘Just as you wish, Miss Tallant!’ and picked up the dog by the scruff of its neck. He saw Miss Tallant’s arms held out to receive her new protégé, and hesitated. ‘He is very dirty, you know!’
‘Oh, what does that signify? I have soiled my dress already, with kneeling on the flag-way!’ said Arabella impatiently.
So Mr Beaumaris deposited the dog on her lap, received his whip and gloves from her again, and stood watching with a faint smile while she made the dog comfortable, and stroked its ears, and murmured soothingly to it. She looked up. ‘What do we wait for, sir?’ she asked, surprised.
‘Nothing at all, Miss Tallant!’ he said, and got into the curricle.
Miss Tallant, continuing to fondle the dog, spoke her mind with some force on the subject of persons who were cruel to animals, and thanked Mr Beaumaris earnestly for his kindness in knocking the horrid boys’ heads together, a violent proceeding which seemed to have met with her unqualified approval. She then occupied herself with talking to the dog, and informing him of the splendid dinner he should presently be given, and the warm bath which he would (she said) so much enjoy. But after a time she became a little pensive, and relapsed into meditative silence.
‘What is it, Miss Tallant?’ asked Mr Beaumaris, when she showed no sign of breaking the silence.
‘Do you know,’ she said slowly, ‘I have just thought – Mr Beaumaris, something tells me that Lady Bridlington may not like this dear little dog!’
Mr Beaumaris waited in patient resignation for his certain fate to descend upon him.
Arabella turned impulsively towards him. ‘Mr Beaumaris, do you think – would you – ?’
He looked down into her anxious, pleading eyes, a most rueful twinkle in his own. ‘Yes, Miss Tallant,’ he said. ‘I would.’
Her face broke into smiles. ‘Thank you!’ she said. ‘I knew I might depend upon you!’ She turned the mongrel’s head gently towards Mr Beaumaris. ‘There, sir! That is your new master, who will be very kind to you! Only see how intelligently he looks, Mr Beaumaris! I am sure he understands. I daresay he will grow to be quite devoted to you!’
Mr Beaumaris looked at the animal, and repressed a shudder. ‘Do you think so indeed?’ he said.
‘Oh, yes! He is not, perhaps, a very beautiful little dog, but mongrels are often the cleverest of all dogs.’ She smoothed the creature’s rough head, and added innocently: ‘He will be company for you, you know. I wonder you do not have a dog already.’
‘I do – in the country,’ he replied.
‘Oh, sporting dogs! They are not at all the same.’
Mr Beaumaris, after another look at his prospective companion, found himself able to agree with this remark with heartfelt sincerity.
‘When he has been groomed, and has put some flesh on his bones,’ pursued Arabella, serene in the conviction that her sentiments were being shared, ‘he will look very different. I am quite anxious to see him in a week or two!’
Mr Beaumaris drew up his horses outside Lady Bridlington’s house. Arabella gave the dog a last pat, and set him on the seat beside his new owner, bidding him stay there. He seemed a little undecided at first, but being too bruised and battered to leap down into the road, he did stay, whining loudly. However, when Mr Beaumaris, having handed Arabella up to the door, and seen her admitted into the house, returned to his curricle, the dog stopped whining, and welcomed him with every sign of relief and affection.
‘Your instinct is at fault,’ said Mr Beaumaris. ‘Left to myself, I should abandon you to your fate. That, or tie a brick round your
neck, and drown you.’
His canine admirer wagged a doubtful tail, and cocked an ear. ‘You are a disgraceful object!’ Mr Beaumaris told him. ‘And what does she expect me to do with you?’ A tentative paw was laid on his knee. ‘Possibly, but let me tell you that I know your sort! You are a toadeater, and I abominate toadeaters. I suppose, if I sent you into the country, my own dogs would kill you on sight.’
The severity in his tone made the dog cower a little, still looking up at him with the expression of a dog anxious to understand.
‘Have no fear!’ Mr Beaumaris assured him, laying a fleeting hand on his head. ‘She clearly wishes me to keep you in town. Did it occur to her, I wonder, that your manners, I have no doubt at all, leave much to be desired? Do your wanderings include the slightest experience of the conduct expected of those admitted into a gentleman’s house? Of course they do not!’ A choking sound from his groom made him say over his shoulder: ‘I hope you like dogs, Clayton, for you are going to wash this specimen.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said his grinning attendant.
‘Be very kind to him!’ commanded Mr Beaumaris. ‘Who knows? He may take a liking to you.’
But at ten o’clock that evening, Mr Beaumaris’s butler, bearing a tray of suitable refreshments to the library, admitted into the room a washed, brushed, and fed mongrel, who came in with something as near a prance as could be expected of one in his emaciated condition. At sight of Mr Beaumaris, seeking solace from his favourite poet in a deep winged chair by the fire, he uttered a shrill bark of delight, and reared himself up on his hind legs, his paws on Mr Beaumaris’s knees, his tail furiously wagging, and a look of beaming adoration in his eyes.
Mr Beaumaris lowered his Horace. ‘Now, what the devil – ?’ he demanded.
‘Clayton brought the little dog up, sir,’ said Brough. ‘He said as you would wish to see how he looked. It seems, sir, that the dog didn’t take to Clayton, as you might say. Very restless, Clayton informs me, and whining all the evening.’ He watched the dog thrust his muzzle under Mr Beaumaris’s hand, and said: ‘It’s strange the way animals always go to you, sir. Quite happy now, isn’t he?’
‘Deplorable,’ said Mr Beaumaris. ‘Down, Ulysses! Learn that my pantaloons were not made to be pawed by such as you!’
‘He’ll learn quick enough, sir,’ remarked Brough, setting a glass and a decanter down on the table at his master’s elbow. ‘You can see he’s as sharp as he can stare. Would there be anything more, sir?’
‘No, only give this animal back to Clayton, and tell him I am perfectly satisfied with his appearance.’
‘Clayton’s gone off, sir. I don’t think he can have understood that you wished him to take charge of the little dog,’ said Brough.
‘I don’t think he can have wanted to understand it,’ said Mr Beaumaris grimly.
‘As to that, sir, I’m sure I couldn’t say. I doubt whether the dog will settle down with Clayton, him not having a way with dogs like he has with horses. I’m afraid he’ll fret, sir.’
‘Oh, my God!’ groaned Mr Beaumaris. ‘Then take him down to the kitchen!’
‘Well, sir, of course – if you say so!’ replied Brough doubtfully. ‘Only there’s Alphonse.’ He met his master’s eye, apparently had no difficulty in reading the question in it, and said: ‘Yes, sir. Very French he has been on the subject. Quite shocking, I’m sure, but one has to remember that foreigners are queer, and don’t like animals.’
‘Very well,’ said Mr Beaumaris, with a resigned sigh. ‘Leave him, then!’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Brough, and departed.
Ulysses, who had been thoroughly, if a little timidly, inspecting the room during this exchange, now advanced to the hearth-rug again, and paused there, suspiciously regarding the fire. He seemed to come to the conclusion that it was not actively hostile, for after a moment he curled himself up before it, heaved a sigh, laid his chin on Mr Beaumaris’s crossed ankles, and disposed himself for sleep.
‘I suppose you imagine you are being a companion to me,’ said Mr Beaumaris.
Ulysses flattened his ears, and gently stirred his tail.
‘You know,’ said Mr Beaumaris, ‘a prudent man would draw back at this stage.’
Ulysses raised his head to yawn, and then snuggled it back on Mr Beaumaris’s ankles, and closed his eyes.
‘You may be right,’ admitted Mr Beaumaris. ‘But I wonder what next she will saddle me with?’
Ten
When Arabella had parted from Mr Beaumaris at the door of Lady Bridlington’s house, the butler who had admitted her informed her that two gentlemen had called to see her, and were even now awaiting her in the smaller saloon. This seemed to her a trifle unusual, and she looked surprised. The butler explained the matter by saying that one of the young gentlemen was particularly anxious to see her, since he came from Yorkshire, and would not be unknown to her. A horrid fear gripped Arabella that she was now to be exposed to the whole of London, and it was with an almost shaking hand that she picked up the visiting-card from the salver the butler was holding out to her. But the name elegantly inscribed upon it was unknown to her: she could not recall ever having heard of, much less met, a Mr Felix Scunthorpe.
‘Two gentlemen?’ she said.
‘The other young gentleman, miss, did not disclose his name,’ replied the butler.
‘Well, I suppose I must see them,’ Arabella decided. ‘Pray tell them that I shall be downstairs directly! Or is her ladyship in?’
‘Her ladyship has not yet returned, miss.’
Arabella hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry. She went up to her room to change her soiled gown, and came down again some few minutes later hoping that she had schooled her face not to betray her inward trepidation. She entered the saloon in a very stately way, and looked rather challengingly across it. There were, as the butler had warned her, two young gentlemen standing by the window. One was a slightly vacuous looking youth, dressed with extreme nicety, and holding, besides his tall hat, an ebony cane, and an elegant pair of gloves; the other was a tall, loose-limbed boy, with curly dark hair, and an aquiline cast of countenance. At sight of him, Arabella uttered a shriek, and ran across the room to cast herself upon his chest. ‘Bertram!’
‘Here, I say, Bella!’ expostulated Bertram, recoiling. ‘Mind what you are about, for the lord’s sake! My neckcloth!’
‘Oh, I beg your pardon, but I am so glad to see you! But how is this? Bertram, Papa is not in town?’
‘Good God, no!’
‘Thank heaven!’ Arabella breathed, pressing her hands to her cheeks.
Her brother found nothing to wonder at in this exclamation. He looked her over critically, and said: ‘Just as well he ain’t, for he’d be bound to give you one of his scolds for dressing-up as fine as fivepence! I must say, Bella, you’re turned out in prime style! Slap up to the mark, ain’t she, Felix?’
Mr Scunthorpe, much discomposed at being called upon to give an opinion, opened and shut his mouth once or twice, bowed, and looked despairing.
‘He thinks you’re complete to a shade,’ explained Bertram, interpreting these signs. ‘He ain’t much of a dab with the petticoats, but he’s a great gun, I can tell you! Up to every rig and row in town!’
Arabella looked at Mr Scunthorpe with interest. He presented the appearance of a very mild young man; and although his fancy waistcoat bespoke the man of fashion, he seemed to her to lack address. She bowed politely, which made him blush very much, and fall into a fit of stuttering. Bertram, feeling that some further introduction might be considered desirable by his sister, said: ‘You don’t know him: he was at Harrow with me. He’s older than I am, but he’s got no brains, y’know: never could learn anything! I ran into him in the High.’
‘The High?’ repeated Arabella.
‘Oxford, you know!’ said Bertram loftily. ‘Dash it, Bella, you can’t have forgot I
’ve been up to take my Smalls!’
‘No, indeed!’ she said. ‘Sophy wrote that you were gone there, and that poor James was unable to accompany you, because of the jaundice. I was so sorry! But how did you go on, Bertram? Do you think you have passed?’
‘Lord, I don’t know! There was one devilish paper – but never mind that now! The thing is that I met old Felix here, the very man I wanted!’
‘Oh, yes?’ Arabella said, adding with a civil smile: ‘Were you up for Smalls too, sir?’
Mr Scunthorpe appeared to shrink from such a suggestion, shaking his head, and making a sound in his throat which Arabella took to be a negative.
‘Of course he wasn’t!’ said Bertram. ‘Don’t I keep telling you he can’t learn anything? He was visiting some friends in Oxford! He found it pretty dull work, too, didn’t you, Felix? They would take him to blue-parties, all professors, and Bagwigs, and the poor fellow couldn’t follow the stuff they talked. Shabby thing to do to him, for he was bound to make a cake of himself in that sort of company! However, that’s not what I want to talk about. The thing is, Bella, that Felix is going to show me all the sights, because he’s at home to a peg in London – been on the town ever since they threw him out of Harrow.’
‘And Papa gave his consent?’ exclaimed Arabella.
‘As a matter of fact,’ said Bertram airily, ‘he don’t know I’m here.’
‘Doesn’t know you’re here?’ cried Arabella.
Mr Scunthorpe cleared his throat. ‘Given him the bag,’ he explained. He added: ‘Only thing to do.’
Arabella turned his eyes wonderingly towards her brother. He looked a little guilty, but said: ‘No, you can’t say I’ve given him the bag!’
Mr Scunthorpe corrected himself. ‘Hoaxed him.’
Bertram seemed to be about to take exception to this too, but after beginning to refute it he broke off, and said: ‘Well, in a way I suppose I did.’
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