False Colours

by Georgette Heyer

  Twelve

  He was permitted to dwell in this hopeful belief for rather less than twenty-four hours. Upon the following afternoon, driven indoors by a shower of rain, he was playing billiards with Cressy when Norton entered the room, and asked him in an expressionless voice if he might have a word with him.

  ‘Yes, what is it?’ Kit replied.

  Norton coughed, and directed a meaning look at him. Unfortunately, Kit was watching Cressy, critically surveying the balls on the table, her cue in her hand. Their disposition was not promising. ‘What a very unhandsome way to leave them!’ she complained. ‘I don’t see what’s to be done.’

  ‘Try a cannon off the cushion!’ he recommended. A second cough made him say, rather impatiently: ‘Well, Norton? What do you want?’

  ‘If I might have a word with your lordship?’ Norton repeated.

  Kit glanced frowningly at him. ‘Presently: you are interrupting the game.’

  ‘I beg your lordship’s pardon!’ said Norton, his meaning look becoming almost a glare. ‘A Person has called to see your lordship.’

  ‘Very well. Tell him I am at present engaged, and ask him to state his business!’

  Cressy, who had raised her eyes from the table to look at the�butler, said: ‘Do go, Denville! I’ll concede this game to you�gracefully and happily, having already been beaten all hollow!’ She smiled at Norton. ‘I collect the business is urgent?’

  ‘Well, yes, miss!’ replied Norton gratefully.

  By this time, Kit, his attention fairly caught, had realized that Norton was trying to convey an unspoken message to him. Since he had been assured by Fimber that the butler had no suspicion that he was not his noble master, he was puzzled to know why he was trying to warn him. He thrust his cue into the rack, made his apologies to Cressy, and preceded Norton out of the room. ‘Well? Who is it?’ he asked, as soon as the butler had shut the door behind him. ‘What’s his business with me?’

  ‘As to that, my lord, I shouldn’t care to say: the Individual being unwilling to divulge it to me.’ He met Kit’s questioning look woodenly, but added a sinister rider. ‘I should perhaps mention, my lord, that the Individual in question is not of the male sex.’

  Not by so much as the flicker of an eyelid did Kit betray his feelings. He asked curtly: ‘Her name?’

  ‘She calls herself Alperton, my lord,’ responded Norton, at once disclaiming responsibility and revealing to the initiated the social status of the visitor. ‘Mrs Alperton – not a young female, my lord.’ His gaze became fixed on some object over Kit’s shoulder as he made his next tactfully worded disclosure. ‘I thought it best to show her into the Blue saloon, my lord, Sir Bonamy and Mr Cliffe being in the library, as is their custom at this hour, and her not being willing to accept my assurance that you were not at home to visitors, but declaring to me her intention of remaining here until it should be convenient to you to receive her.’

  It was now apparent to Kit that when he entered the Blue saloon he would be facing guns of unknown but almost certainly heavy calibre. His first alarming suspicion that some Cyprian whom Evelyn had taken under his protection had had the effrontery to present herself at Ravenhurst had been banished by the information that Mrs Alperton was not a young female; and relief at the knowledge that he would not be confronted by a female quite so intimately acquainted with Evelyn made it possible for him to nod, and to say coolly: ‘Very well, I’ll see her there.’

  Norton bowed. ‘Yes, my lord. Would you wish me to tell the postboy to wait?’

  ‘Postboy?’

  ‘A job-chaise, my lord, and one pair of horses.’

  ‘Oh! Send him round to the stables: they’ll look after him there.’

  Norton bowed again, and led the way across the hall, and down a wide passage to the door leading into the Blue saloon. He held it open, and Kit walked into the room, his face schooled to an impassivity he was far from feeling.

  His visitor was seated on a small sofa. She greeted him with a basilisk stare, and said, with terrible irony: ‘Well, there! And so you was at home, after all, my lord!’

  He advanced slowly into the middle of the room. His first thought was: Ewe-mutton! no bread-and-butter of Evelyn’s! his second, that, incredible though it seemed, Mrs Alperton was a member of a certain sisterhood of elderly females known inappropriately as Abbesses. For this uncharitable belief her attire was largely responsible. His notions of feminine apparel were vague; had he been asked to describe what his mother was wearing that day he would have been unable to do so; but it struck him forcibly that Mrs Alperton’s dashing and colourful raiment would never have been worn by a respectable, middle-aged female, and far less by a lady of quality. In spite of an elaborate array of metallic yellow locks, visible beneath a white satin cap, worn under a dome-crowned hat turned boldly up at the front, and with an ostrich plume curled over the brim to brush her forehead, he assessed her years at fifty. In fact, she was within a few months of Lady Denville’s age; but although it was easy to see that in her youth she must have been a very prime article indeed, an over-lavish use of cosmetics, coupled with an addiction to spirituous liquors, had sadly ravaged a once-lovely countenance. Captious persons might consider that the size and brilliance of her eyes was marred by an avaricious gleam, but only those who had a predilection for slender women could have found fault with her well-corseted and opulent figure.

  Whatever might have been her opinion of Mrs Alperton’s taste, any woman would have recognized that she had taken great pains over her toilet, and thought it proper to wear, on a visit to a nobleman’s seat, her bettermost dress and pelisse. Kit merely hoped, very devoutly, that he could succeed in getting rid of her before any of his guests set eyes on her; for a lilac pelisse, embellished with epaulets and cords, and worn over an open-bosomed robe of pink satin, struck him with horrifying effect. Pink kid half-boots and gloves, a lilac silk parasol, and a number of trinkets completed her costume; and she had lavishly sprayed her person with amber scent.

  Kit paused by the table in the middle of the room, and stood looking down at her. ‘Well, ma’am?’ he said. ‘May I know what brings you here?’

  Her bosom swelled. ‘May you know indeed! Of course, you haven’t a notion, have you? Oh, not the least in the world! Standing there, as proud as an apothecary, and holding up your nose at one which has kept company with gentlemen of the highest rank! And I’ve had grander servants than that niffy-naffy butler of yours waiting on me like slaves, my lord! I’m here to tell you that you can’t jaunter about breaking a poor, innocent female’s heart! Not without paying for it! Oh, dear me, no!’

  ‘Whose heart have I broken?’ asked Kit. ‘Yours, ma’am?’

  ‘Mine! That’s a loud one!’ she exclaimed. ‘If I didn’t break it for the Marquis, who treated me like a princess, never grudging a groat he spent on me, besides a handsome present when we parted, as part we did, and not a hard word spoken on either side, him knowing what was due to a lady –’ She stopped, unable to find the thread of her argument, and demanded: ‘Where was�I?’

  ‘You were saying,’ supplied Kit helpfully, ‘that you did not break your heart for the Marquis.’

  ‘And nor I did! So it ain’t likely I’d break it for a sprig scarce breeched, even if I were ten years younger than I am!’ said Mrs Alperton, taking a telescopic view of her age. ‘It’s not my heart you’ve broke, but Clara’s – though that’s not to say mine don’t bleed for her wrongs! Which is why I’m here today, my lord, and small pleasure to me, being jumbled and jolted in a yellow bouncer that has been used to travel in my own chaise, lined with velvet, and four horses, and outriders, besides, let alone the violence done to my feelings to think of being obliged to demean myself, which only a mother’s devotion could have prevailed upon me to do!’

  These last words effectually banished from Kit’s mind an irresistible desire to disc
over the identity of the Marquis who had supported Mrs Alperton in such magnificent style. He had begun to think that the affair, whatever it was, might not be very serious; but he now realized that he had been indulging optimism too far. When Mrs Alperton, after groping in the pocket of her pelisse, brandished before his eyes a scrap cut from a newspaper he had no need to read it to know what it must be. For an awful moment the thought that Evelyn, in a besotted state of mind, had made the unknown Clara an offer of marriage flashed through his brain, and the vision of an action for breach of promise assailed him. It was strengthened by Mrs Alperton’s next utterance. ‘You are a serpent!’ she told him. ‘A knavish, deceiving man of the town that seduced that poor innocent with false promises!’

  ‘Nonsense!’ said Kit, maintaining his calm.

  ‘Oh, so it’s nonsense, is it? And I suppose you’ll say next that you didn’t give her a slip on the shoulder?’

  He had no hesitation in answering this, for whatever folly Evelyn had committed, it was impossible to believe that he had seduced an innocent damsel – or, indeed, that a daughter of Mrs Alperton’s answered to that description. ‘Most certainly I shall!’ he said.

  ‘When you took my Clara under your protection, my lord, you promised you’d care for her!’

  ‘Well?’

  The colour rose in her cheeks, causing them to assume a hue that nearly matched her pelisse, but which was at peculiar variance with the rouge she favoured. Her eyes narrowed; and she said menacingly: ‘Trying to come crab over me, are you? Well, you won’t do it, my fine sir, and so I tell you! You was able to put the change on that sweet, pretty lamb, but I’ll have you know I’m more than seven, and I’m up to all the rigs!’

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ he said, smiling a little.

  Her colour mounted still more alarmingly; but after glaring at him for several seconds she managed to get the better of her temper, and to say, abruptly abandoning her dramatic style for a more business-like approach: ‘We’ll have a round tale, if you please! You haven’t been next or nigh Clara for close on a month, and when she wrote to you, as write she did, not a word did she get in reply from you, and her sick with apprehension, thinking you was ill, or had met with an accident! Not so much as a whisper did you see fit to vouchsafe, to warn her of the shocking sight which was to meet her poor, deluded eyes in this paper! She fell into hysterics on the instant, never dreaming but what you’d have told her, if you was meaning to get riveted, and acted gentlemanly by her!’

  Considerably relieved to learn from this that Miss Alperton had apparently had no expectation of marrying Evelyn herself, Kit replied: ‘That piece of gossip, ma’am, was published without my knowledge.’ He was about to add that it was also without foundation, but he bit the words back, too uncertain of Cressy’s intentions to venture to utter them. He said instead: ‘Clara must know that I’m a poor hand at letter-writing, but I should have written to reassure her had I not meant to answer her letter in person. Circumstances intervened which have obliged me to postpone my visit to her –’

  ‘Yes, and everyone knows what they are!’ interrupted Mrs Alperton. ‘What’s more, anyone that isn’t a knock-in-the-cradle knows better than to believe that bag of moonshine! Trying to shab off without paying down your dust, that’s what you’re doing, and you living as high as a coach-horse!’

  ‘I don’t, but you may tell Clara –’

  ‘Oh, yes, you do!’ said Mrs Alperton, a steely light in her eyes. ‘No use thinking you can bamboozle me into believing your pockets ain’t well-lined, my lord! for that’s where you’ll be made to turn short about! Full of juice your father was, and I’ll be bound he cut up warm. And don’t think I wasn’t acquainted with him, because I was used to know all the swells, and very well pleased most of them were to get their legs under my mahogany, I can tell you!’ She added, with dignity: ‘Before I retired, that was. My dinners were thought to be first-rate, which I promise you they were, with a French chef, and no expense spared, the Marquis never grudging a penny, but telling me always to buy the best, and keeping the cellar stocked with his own wines.’

  Breaking into this reminiscent spate, Kit said: ‘You are labouring under a misapprehension, ma’am. I have not the remotest intention of shabbing off; nor shall I fail, when I contemplate matrimony, to inform Clara.’

  ‘Why, that’s just what you have done!’ she exclaimed indignantly. ‘Leaving her to read it in the newspaper, which only a heart of stone would have done!’

  ‘I’ve told you already that what she read was mere gossip, and�–’

  ‘Yes, and I’ll thank you not to waste your breath telling me again!’ said Mrs Alperton fiercely. ‘Nor to tell me that it’s mere gossip that you’ve got Miss Stavely staying here with you at this very moment!’

  ‘Miss Stavely, ma’am, is my mother’s goddaughter, and is staying here as her guest, not mine!’

  ‘Fancy that, now! Not that I thought other, for it’s not to be supposed she’d have come if your mama hadn’t invited her. And mighty fortunate she must think herself, for she must be twenty, if she’s a day, and if Stavely means to come down handsomely it’s more than I’d bargain for! I never knew him to be beforehand with the world! But whether she’d treated herself so fortunate if she was to know the way you’ve treated my Clara is another pair of shoes, my lord!’

  Kit stiffened imperceptibly, realizing, from the gloating smile on Mrs Alperton’s lips, that this was not mere recrimination. Her object in coming to Ravenhurst was blackmail. This placed him in a position of extreme peril; for although a denunciation of his supposed perfidy would destroy the end she had in view he had seen enough of her to know that her hold over her temper was not strong; and he had little doubt that if he refused to comply with whatever demand she was about to make she would not hesitate to carry her threat into execution. Probably, since her voice became strident under the influence of emotion, Cressy would be by no means the only person at Ravenhurst to hear her disclosures. How to get rid of her without affording her the opportunity to kick up such a scene as he shuddered even to contemplate was a problem to which he could discover no certain answer. With the best will in the world to do it, he was powerless to silence her by presenting her with any such sum as she was likely to consider adequate: he could neither give her a draft on Evelyn’s account, nor upon his own. The will, moreover, was entirely lacking. He had no means of discovering the extent of Evelyn’s obligation; or whether Mrs Alperton was acting at her daughter’s instigation. He suspected that no money given into her hand would ever reach Clara; and he was pretty sure that she had played no part in whatever bargain Evelyn might have struck with Clara. Not only would it be very unlike Evelyn to enter into sordid negotiations with his Aspasia’s parent: it had been noticeable that throughout her discourse Mrs Alperton had refrained from making any such claim. Kit was determined to make no rash promises on his twin’s behalf.

  Something of this must have shown itself in his face, for Mrs Alperton, who had been closely watching him, said, on a rising note: ‘And know it she shall, and so I warn you, my lord!’

  ‘Tell me, Mrs Alperton,’ said Kit, on a gentle note of mockery, ‘am I expected to believe that you are Clara’s mouthpiece? It seems strangely unlike her!’

  It was a bow drawn at a venture, since, for anything he knew, Clara had inherited her mother’s temper, but he saw from Mrs Alperton’s face that he had hit the target. She looked angrily at him, but hardly hesitated before replying: ‘Oh, dear me, no! Well do you know that the sweet creature, loving you so truly as she does, would allow herself to be trampled to death rather than throw the least rub in the way of anything you wanted to do, even if it killed her, which I am afraid for my life it will do, for never have I seen her so low and disordered – scarcely able to raise her head from the pillow, and done-up with weeping! I shouldn’t wonder at it if she was to dwindle into a decline.’

  Kit
shook his head. ‘You shock me, ma’am. Do you know, I had no notion she suffered from such a profound sensibility?’

  He felt himself to be on safe ground, for his imagination boggled at the vision of Evelyn developing the smallest tendre for so lachrymose a female. Apparently he had again hit the target, for Mrs Alperton informed him, in a voice of suppressed fury, that he little knew how much Clara sank under agitating reflections, or how hard it was for her to wear a smiling face whenever he chose to visit her.

  ‘If that’s so, I should suppose her to be thankful to be rid of me,’ he remarked, unable to repress an involuntary chuckle. He saw that Mrs Alperton was about to burst into further recriminations, and flung up a hand. ‘No, no, enough, ma’am! You’ve performed your errand! I am excessively sorry to hear of Clara’s distressing state, and I beg you will return to her bedside with all possible speed. Convey my deepest regrets to her that I have been the unwitting cause of her disorder, and assure her that as soon as it may be possible for me to do so I shall hasten to visit her.’

  The issue seemed for a few moments to hang in the balance; but Mrs Alperton was made of resilient stuff. Abandoning all semblance of concern for her daughter’s broken heart, she said roughly: ‘Not till you come down with the derbies! I know your sort! A regular bounce, that’s what you are, but you won’t nurse my girl out of her due, not while I’m alive to protect her!’

  ‘Mrs Alperton,’ said Kit coldly, ‘you are making a mistake! I don’t run thin, but I am not a pigeon for your plucking! Clara will not find me ungenerous, but whatever may be the arrangement agreed upon it will be between her and me, and no one else.’

  ‘Oh, will it indeed?’ she ejaculated. ‘Will it? If that’s your tone, my Lord Brass-face, I don’t leave this house until I’ve opened my budget to Miss Stavely! Try to have me put out if you dare! And don’t tell me she’s gone out, and won’t be back till nightfall, because if I believed you, which I don’t, I’d wait till midnight, and longer!’