False Colours

by Джорджетт Хейер

  Cressy, blinking at the scrap of print held up before her, presented for a moment all the appearance of one wholly bewildered. Then her puckered brow cleared, and she fell into laughter. “Now I understand!” she said. “Do you know ma’am, I have been quite in a puzzle to know why you should have wished to talk to me? It seemed the oddest thing! But I see it all now! You have read that absurd paragraph in the Morning Post, which has had us all in whoops! Oh dear, was there ever anything so nonsensical? But it is a great deal too bad!” she said, resolutely schooling her countenance to an expression of gravity. “I beg your pardon, ma’am! Infamous of me to laugh, when the tattling wretch who wrote that ridiculous farrago has been the cause of your being put to so much pain and inconvenience! How very kind it was in you to have come to see me! Indeed, I am excessively obliged to you, and shockingly distressed to think you should have undertaken such a disagreeable task for nothing.”

  “Not going to marry him?” Mrs Alperton said incredulously. She looked from Cressy to Kit; and then, as she saw the smile in his eyes, as they rested on Cressy, said roundly: “Humdudgeon! And I collect he’s not nutty upon you either!”

  “Oh, no! At least, I sincerely trust he is not, for I am persuaded we should not suit.”

  “That’s a loud one!” ejaculated Mrs Alperton, with a scornful crack of laughter. “You won’t gammon me so easily! Why, anyone could see—”

  “Pray say no more!” begged Cressy, suddenly assailed by maidenly shyness. “There is no possibility of my marrying Lord Denville, ma’am, as you will understand when I tell you that my affections are—are already engaged!”

  There was a moment’s frozen silence, during which Mrs Alperton seemed to wilt where she sat. Kit, withdrawing his intent gaze from Cressy’s face, quietly left the room, feeling that she stood in no need of support, and that no time should be lost in summoning Mrs Alperton’s chaise to the door. He despatched a footman on this errand, desiring him at the same time to send Challow up to the house.

  That worthy arrived speedily. He evinced no surprise at the curt question which greeted him, but replied: “Yes, sir, I do know where it came from. According to what the postboy told me, it was hired in Tunbridge Wells. And a regular saucebox he is, but he’d got no reason to tell me a whopper, so we may as well believe him as not. Also according to him, Master Kit, the party which hired it had quite an argle-bargle with Norton before he let her into the house, saying as how his lordship would regret it to his dying day if he didn’t see her. Very full of it, the lad was! Well, it made me prick up my ears, as I don’t need to tell you, but by what the lad says, the party was naught but an old griffin: not by any manner of means one of his lordship’s convenients—asking your pardon, Master Kit, if I’m speaking too bold!”

  “Not one of his convenients: her mother!” said Kit, his brows knit.

  “You don’t say!” exclaimed Challow, shocked. “Whatever brought her here, sir?”

  “It seems his lordship hasn’t visited her daughter for nearly a month. She thinks he has abandoned her. I hoped that perhaps—But if she comes from the Wells we are no better off than we were before, for we know that wasn’t where he went!”

  “I’ll take my affy-davy it wasn’t,” asserted Challow. “And a very good thing too if he has abandoned that one! All the same, Master Kit, it looks like you’re in a case of pickles—if her ma’s half the archwife the postboy says she is! Seems to me you’ll have to hang up your axe.”

  Kit’s frown disappeared, and the ready laughter sprang into his eyes. “Yes, it looked like a case of pickles to me too,” he admitted. “In fact, I thought it was all holiday with me! But I was rescued in the very nick of time—and the arch-wife is about to depart: beaten at all points!”

  13

  When he re-entered the Blue saloon Kit gathered, from what he heard, that Mrs Alperton had been regaling Cressy with nostalgic reminiscences of her past glory. By the expression of sympathetic interest on Miss Stavely’s serene countenance he was encouraged to hope that Mrs Alperton’s frequently asserted regard for innocent girls had prompted her to withhold the more lurid details of her career, together with the information that she had been pretty well acquainted with Lord Stavely. Nor was he mistaken: Mrs Alperton had interrupted her narrative several times, with apologies for having allowed herself to run on more than was seemly; and she took care to assure Cressy that although she had more than once entertained Stavely at her parties their association had never ripened into anything beyond what she called company-acquaintance. She was describing these parties, explaining that however nobly born a gentleman might be there were times when he took a fancy for a bit of jollification, when Kit came in. Cressy had exercised a soothing influence upon her, but the sight of Kit brought her wrongs back to her mind. She cut short her reminiscences, and glowered at him.

  “Denville, Mrs Alperton, as you may suppose, is anxious to return to her daughter,” said Cressy, before that lady could re-open hostilities. “She has been telling me, too, how very ill-able she is to afford the post-charges, and I have ventured to say that I am persuaded you will see the propriety of discharging that obligation for her—since all the trouble and expense she has been put to was caused by your stupid forgetfulness!”

  “I do indeed,” Kit replied. “So much so that I have already attended to the matter. The chaise is at the door, ma’am: you will allow me to do myself the honour of escorting you to it!”

  Mrs Alperton, rising from the sofa, favoured him with a stately inclination of her head, but observed with a good deal of bitterness that this was the least she had a right to expect, and pretty scaly at that. She then took gracious leave of Cressy, sniffed audibly at Kit, who was holding open the door, and stalked from the room.

  He accompanied her out of the house, and very civilly handed her up the steps of the chaise, begging her, as he did so, to assure the afflicted Clara that she was not forgotten, and should not be left to starve.

  But Mrs Alperton, somewhat exhausted by so much effort and emotion, had lost interest in her daughter’s sorrows, and she merely cast Kit a look of loathing before sinking into a corner of the chaise, and closing her eyes.

  Kit went back to the Blue saloon. Cressy was still there, standing where he had left her, with her back to the fireplace. She said seriously, as soon as he came in: “She ought to have been offered some refreshment, you know. I did think of it, but I was in dread that at any moment someone might hear voices in here, and come in—Lady Denville, perhaps, or Mrs Cliffe.”

  “I don’t think Mama would have been any more perturbed than you were, but God forbid that my uncle should get wind of it!” He shut the door, and stood looking across the room at her. “Cressy, what did you mean when you told that harridan that your affections were engaged?”

  The colour deepened a little in her cheeks, but she replied lightly: “Well, she talked so much like someone in a bad play that I became carried away myself! Besides, I had to say something to convince her! I could see she didn’t quite believe me when I said I wasn’t going to marry your brother.

  He let his breath go in a long sigh, and walked forward, setting his hands on her shoulders, and saying: “You don’t know how much I have wanted to tell you the truth! Cressy, my dear one, forgive me! I’ve treated you abominably, and I love you so much!”

  Miss Stavely, who had developed an interest in the top button of his coat, looked shyly up at this. “Do you, Kit?” she asked. “Truly?”

  Mr Fancot, preferring actions to words, said nothing whatsoever in answer to this, but took her in his arms and kissed her. Miss Stavely, who had previously thought him unfailingly gentle and courteous, perceived, in the light of this novel experience, that she had been mistaken: there was nothing gentle about Mr Fancot’s crushing embrace; and his behaviour in paying no heed at all to her faint protest could only be described as extremely uncivil. She was wholly unused to such treatment, and she had a strong suspicion that her grandmother would condemn her conduct in submit
ting to it, but as Mr Fancot seemed to be dead to all sense of propriety it was clearly useless to argue with him.

  Several minutes later, sitting within the circle of Kit’s arm on the sofa lately occupied by Mrs Alperton, she said: “Why did you do it, Kit? It seems quite fantastic!”

  “Of course it was—infamous as well! I beg your pardon, even though I can’t be sorry I did it. If I hadn’t come home that night, I might never have known you—or have known you only as Evelyn’s wife!”

  This terrible thought caused him to tighten his arm involuntarily. She soothed him by softly kissing his cheek, and by saying, as soon as she had recovered her breath: “But I don’t think I should have married Denville. I had so very nearly made up my mind not to when I met you! Then I thought—being so grossly deceived—that perhaps I would, after all. But why was I deceived?”

  “I did it to get Evelyn out of a scrape,” he confessed. “No one but Mama, and Fimber, and Challow knew I wasn’t in Vienna; and in the old days, when we were prime for any lark, we often did exchange identities, and only those who knew us very well ever found us out. So I was pretty certain I could carry it off. But when I took Evelyn’s place at that first dinner-party it was in the belief that it would be for one occasion only. If I had known that I should be obliged to maintain the hoax, nothing would have prevailed upon me to have yielded to Mama’s persuasions!”

  Her eyes danced. “I knew it! She did persuade you!”

  “Yes, but I must own,” said Kit scrupulously, “that I put the notion into her head—not in the least meaning to do so, but by saying, in a funning way, that if Evelyn didn’t come back in time to attend that party I should be obliged to take his place. Only to make her laugh! You see, I found her in the deuce of a pucker, because Evelyn was still absent, although he had been expected to return to London days earlier. I thought then that he had been delayed by some trifling hitch, so I consented to run that rig, though it went very much against the pluck with me. Can you understand, Cressy? The circumstances—the intolerable slight offered you if Evelyn failed to appear at a gathering assembled to make his acquaintance—!”

  “Indeed I can!” she responded instantly. “I don’t blame you at all—I am even grateful to you for having spared me such a daunting humiliation! What did delay Evelyn?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She had been leaning against his shoulder, but she sat up at this. “You don’t know? But—Where is Evelyn?”

  “I don’t know that either. That’s the devil of it!” he said frankly. “At the outset, I thought merely—not that he had forgotten his engagement in Mount Street, but that he had confused the date of it.”

  “Very likely,” she agreed. “He does forget, you know! People joke him about his shocking memory, and I am acquainted with one hostess who makes it a rule to send him a reminder on the day of her party!” The rueful smile lit his eyes. “Yes, but that’s not it. He has been absent for too long. I think some accident befell him. That’s why I came home in such a bang. I can’t explain that to you, but we do know, each of us, when the other has suffered an injury. He knew it, a year ago, when I broke my leg—not the nature of the accident, but that I had sustained some hurt—and the express I sent him arrived only just in time to stop him posting off to Dover to board the next packet!”

  “I remember,” she said. “Godmama said it was the uncomfortable part of being a twin! And you felt that?”

  He frowned slightly. “Yes, I did. For several days, I—But it left me, that feeling, so completely that I wondered if my imagination had been playing me false. Something must have happened to him, but it wasn’t a fatal accident, and I don’t think he is any longer troubled in mind.”

  “Ashe was when he steeled himself to make me an offer?” said Cressy, unable to resist temptation. “Ah, well! I have been for too long at my last prayers to feel the least surprise at that!”

  “Yes, love, indeed!” agreed Mr Fancot, unhandsomely refusing the gambit. “So old cattish as you are!”

  “Odious wretch!” Her brows drew together. “Yes, but I still don’t understand! Having so steeled himself, why did he go away at just that moment?”

  “As far as we know,” replied Kit carefully, “he went to redeem from Lord Silverdale, who was said to be in Brighton, a brooch which my mama had lost to him at play.”

  “Oh!” said Cressy doubtfully. “I see. That is,—yes, of course!”

  “I should perhaps explain to you,” said Kit, in a kind voice, “that when Mama staked this bauble, for a cool monkey, she had forgotten that it was merely a copy of one of the pieces she sold years ago.” He added, as she gasped: “But pray don’t think that Evelyn went off to Brighton so hurriedly at her instigation! Nothing could be farther from the truth! She considers that to redeem, for the sum of £500, a brooch worth only a few guineas is grossly improvident.”

  Cressy struggled with herself for a desperate moment, but her feelings overcame her, and she went into a peal of mirth. “Of course she does! I can almost hear her saying it! Oh, was there ever anyone so absurd and enchanting as Godmama?”

  “Let me tell you, Miss Stavely,” said Kit severely, “that this is not a diverting story! Are you ever serious?”

  “Yes, in my own home. Amongst the Fancots, never! No one could be! I have had a—a bubble of laughter inside me ever since I came to Ravenhurst, and you have no idea how much I enjoy it! And when I recall that Godmama told me once that you are the sober twin, and think of this crazy masquerade—”

  “But it is perfectly true!” he assured her. “I am the sober twin! Mama would tell you that I am becoming prim and prosy, in fact, like my Uncle Brumby! “I couldn’t help myself: what else could I do than help Evelyn out of a scrape?”

  There was a warm twinkle in her eyes, but she responded gravely: “Naturally you were obliged to do it. And did he recover the brooch?”

  “We don’t know. He certainly went to Brighton, and as certainly returned here, for one night. He then sent Challow off to Hill Street, with all but his nightbag, saying that he would follow him within the next two days. He left Ravenhurst for an unknown destination, driving himself in his phaeton—and that is the last anyone has heard of him.”

  She was startled, and exclaimed: “Good God, what can have happened to him? Can you discover no trace?”

  “I haven’t tried to. When I came here it was with the intention of searching for him, not realizing what Challow lost no time in pointing out to me: that I’m hamstrung! So are we all. How can any of us set inquiries afoot for Evelyn while I am believed to be Evelyn?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. But is there nothing to be done?”

  “Nothing that I can think of. I hoped I might be able perhaps to discover some clue from Mrs Alperton, but that scent was false, and leads only to Tunbridge Wells, where Challow has already hunted for him. Cressy, I haven’t thanked you for rescuing me from that harpy! I don’t know what I should have done if you hadn’t intervened—though I wouldn’t have exposed you to such a scene for the world! What made you come into the room?”

  “Well, I heard her ranting at you. I own, I suspected something of the sort when Norton looked so meaningly at you, and was so insistent that he must speak to you alone!”

  “Good God! Did you?” he exclaimed, surprised.

  She smiled faintly. “Why, yes! I’m not quite without experience, you see. Oh, I don’t mean that I have associated with women like Mrs Alperton—though I did once have an encounter with a—a lady of easy virtue! But that was quite by accident, and Papa never knew anything about it. The thing was that when my mother died Papa wouldn’t permit any of my aunts to take charge of me, because he had always been so fond of me, and we were such good friends, ever since I can remember. So I stayed in Mount Street, with Miss Yate, who was my governess, and the dearest creature; and as soon as I was sixteen I came out of the schoolroom, and managed things, and looked after Papa—keeping him company, when he was at home, and comfortable, which he w
asn’t, after Mama died. So I pretty soon grew to know about—oh, the things girls don’t, in general, know!” She laughed suddenly. “If I had been the greatest nickninny alive, I must have guessed, from the veiled warnings of my aunts, that Papa’s way of life was not—not perfectly respectable! I believe they thought that he might, at any moment, install one of his fancies in Mount Street! Grandmama knew better, and was a great deal more blunt, when she explained matters to me, and told me how very improperly gentlemen of even the first consideration too often conduct themselves, and exactly how a lady of quality should behave in all circumstances—however mortifying these might be! I must own,” she added reflectively, “that it gave me a very poor notion of my grandfather! And although I dearly love Papa I do know now why my mother was subject to fits of dejection, and—and I would prefer not to be married to anyone of a rakish disposition!”

  “That’s dished me!” observed Kit despondently.

  “Yes, I was afraid you’d be sadly cast down!” she retorted. Her eyes narrowed in amusement. “I wish you might have seen your own face, when I came into the room! Did you think I might add to the confusion by falling into a fit of the vapours?”

  “Not quite that,” he answered, smiling, “but I did think you must be very much shocked.”

  “Oh, no! I knew that Denville had been a trifle in what Papa calls the petticoat line! What I did feel was that since you were not Denville you might very easily have found yourself in a fix—”

  “Which I most certainly did!” he interjected.

  She smiled at him, and said, quoting his own words: “So what could I do but help you out of a scrape?”

  He caught her hand to his lips. “Oh, Cressy, you are such a darling!” he told her. “Don’t think badly of my twin! I know it must seems as though he’s a shocking loose-screw, but I promise you he’s not!”