A Season at Brighton

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  “But what are we to do?” she asked, plaintively. “I can’t walk that distance in these shoes — and it’s so hot — and, oh, I’ll be dreadfully late, and Fanny will be nearly frantic —”

  He muttered under his breath some suggestion concerning Fanny which luckily Catherine could not catch.

  “Can you ride?” he asked. “Here’s a horse apiece, though I fear I can’t supply you with a lady’s saddle.”

  “Ride?” she almost shrieked. “Ride one of those frisky, high-stepping animals? Not for anything!”

  He shrugged. “As you wish. I fear, then, that there is no alternative —”

  He broke off as he heard another vehicle approaching by the way they had just travelled. In a few moments, a smart yellow curricle appeared, drawn by a pair of bay horses. The driver of the vehicle drew up immediately behind them; seeing their predicament, he passed the reins to a young groom who sat beside him, and, leaping down from the curricle, came to Crendon’s side.

  ‘Ditched?” he asked, sympathetically. “Anything I can do?”

  At the sound of his voice, Catherine started and turned her head away.

  “Very civil of you, sir,” began Crendon, then broke off as he recognized the newcomer. “But it’s Viscount Pamyngton, isn’t it? We met the other day — Crendon’s my name, Captain Crendon, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  Pamyngton nodded. “Yes, I recollect. Deuced uncomfortable business, this, what? Shall I give you a hand to get your vehicle back on the road?”

  Crendon grimaced in disgust. “No good, I fear. Wheel’s fairly wrenched off — another tug will finish the job. Best left where it is until I can get a blacksmith to it. The horses are all right, thank God.”

  “Glad to hear it. I trust you and your lady passenger” — with a quick glance at Catherine, who still kept her head turned away — “were also fortunate enough to escape injury?”

  “Oh, yes. A trifle of shock, possibly, in Miss Denham’s case, but nothing to signify.”

  Pamyngton removed his hat, and bowed in Catherine’s direction. “I thought I recognized Miss Catherine Denham,” he said, and she was certain that she could detect amusement in his voice. “Can I be of any service, Captain Crendon? Possibly I could convey the lady home, and leave a message for you at the nearest smithy?”

  “That might well be best,” said Crendon, slowly. “We were debating when you arrived on the scene whether Miss Catherine might manage to ride one of my horses, but she did not seem at all eager to make the attempt.”

  “Naturally not,” replied Pamyngton, with a gravity which Catherine knew very well was assumed. “Miss Catherine has already informed me that she does not care for equestrian exercise.”

  “No?” asked Crendon, shooting a look at Catherine. “Oh, well, it would have been difficult enough, anyway, without a lady’s saddle. What do you say, Miss Catherine? Are you willing to accept Lord Pamyngton’s offer of a lift back to Brighton?”

  Catherine had no choice but to turn her head and reply, though her answer bordered on the ungracious.

  “There seems no help for it. After all, I can’t stay here for ever, can I? Before long, my sister will be getting anxious about me, too. Oh, why did you have to drive so fast? I begged you not to!”

  He shrugged. “No use crying over spilt milk. You’d best get down this side — careful how you come, now.”

  The vehicle was certainly tilted at an alarming angle. Catherine moved cautiously over to the driver’s side, and put a tentative foot out towards the step, which was several feet higher than usual from the ground. The movement started the horses fidgeting again, and Crendon left Catherine to go to their heads.

  Pamyngton looked up beyond the trim ankle waving about somewhere in the region of his neckcloth, to the anxious face of its owner. He raised his arms.

  “If you will permit me,” he said, as he took her lightly by the waist and lifted her to the ground.

  Catherine blushed, although he released her instantly and with the gentlest of touches on her arm, guided her to his own vehicle. The groom had already leapt down, and Pamyngton handed Catherine up solicitously before settling himself beside her. A nod of the head sent the groom to the perch behind them, and Pamyngton took up the reins.

  “Can you get by?” asked Crendon.

  Pamyngton nodded, measuring the distance with his eye. With consummate skill, he guided the curricle past the ditched vehicle with barely an inch to spare. Catherine let out a gasp of relief.

  “I never thought we should do it without scraping the side!”

  He smiled indulgently, and raised his hand in salute to Crendon, who replied by removing his hat and waving it in cheery fashion at Catherine.

  “How did it happen?” asked Pamyngton, as they continued down the lane.

  “Oh, he was driving neck or nothing,” she replied, in disgust. “I begged him to desist, but he would not take the slightest heed! I really feel it served him right!”

  “I collect you were anxious to reach home again.”

  “That wasn’t the reason why he decided to spring his horses, I can assure you. I don’t believe he has the slightest regard for other people’s anxieties at all. He is the most selfish kind of man!”

  “I am reassured to see,” remarked Pamyngton, with a smile, “that you are no better pleased with him than you are with me.”

  “Well, no, for I consider he served me shabbily!” she retorted. “And then to suggest that I should either walk or — or ride one of those odiously high-spirited horses!”

  “It was not very gallant, certainly. He ought at least to have offered to carry you himself.”

  She turned a smouldering look on him. “I might have known you would find it amusing!” she said, scathingly. “I wonder why it is that Fate decrees you should always be the one to come along when I am in some silly fix or other? I don’t mind telling you I had far rather have someone else come to my assistance!”

  “Anyone in particular?” he queried, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “Or is your meaning that almost anyone would be preferable to myself?”

  “The latter!” she snapped, quite out of temper.

  He sighed gently. “Ah, dear, I feared that. You seem to have a very unforgiving nature, ma’am.”

  “Well, perhaps I have. I am not so angelic as my sister Louisa,” she said, with meaning.

  He looked at her thoughtfully, for a moment. “Now what can I possibly say to that?” he demanded, in mock dismay. “If I disagree with you, you will accuse me, I know, of insincerity; while if I agree, you will be justifiably incensed. At such times, a sensible man should say nothing.”

  At that she burst out laughing, restored to her usual good humour. “Oh, you are absurd, sir! Do you mean to say nothing for the rest of our journey home, then?”

  “Willingly, if it would restore me to your good books,” he replied, smiling.

  Catherine reflected suddenly how much Lord Pamyngton could manage to convey with one of his smiles. He could use them to flatter, tease, admonish or, as now, to express regret; but whatever the mood, there was always an underlying gentleness which could not give offence. She remembered what Louisa had said about him earlier that morning, and grew silent.

  “You don’t answer,” he said, after a moment. “They do say that silence is golden, but I am inclined to think my good fortune depends on your words.”

  “I was thinking,” she replied, with an air of abstraction.

  “Whether to forgive me or not? And what, may I venture to ask, is the verdict? Behold me in fear and trembling.”

  “Nothing of the kind!” laughed Catherine. “And I’m very thankful you’re not, for you would not manage these horses so well if you were; and I’ve had quite enough of a shaking-up for one day, I can tell you.”

  “That I can believe.” He glanced at her solicitously. “You were not hurt at all, I trust? I should have asked you before, but that Crendon seemed to dismiss the subject airily enough, and you yourself made no c
omplaint.”

  “No, I suffered no injury. As for the Captain, he would dismiss anything airily, I feel sure.”

  “That commends itself to you?”

  She shrugged. “Not particularly. Why should you think so?”

  He hesitated. “You consented to dance with him yesterday evening, and went driving with him this morning. He was favoured above myself, so naturally I assumed that you found his style more congenial.”

  “He’s amusing,” she said, consideringly. “And certainly not just in the style of most gentlemen one meets.”

  “While I am.” He bowed ironically. “I see I must study to be different.”

  “You don’t need to do so.” she said, with her usual frankness. “You are not like Captain Crendon, but you have a style that is all your own. My sister was remarking on it this morning.”

  “Mrs. Hailsham? Or one of your other sisters?” he queried.

  “It was Lou — that is, my sister Louisa.”

  ‘She is a charming young lady, and not, I think, very happy just at present,” he remarked, quietly.

  “No. You may remember I told you about that when” — she hesitated, and coloured a little — “when we first met.”

  He pretended not to have noticed her slight confusion. “Yes, I do recollect. You said she had fallen in love with someone unsuitable, and your parents had forbidden the match. Can there be no hope for them?”

  “Not that anyone can see. Oliver Seaton is a clergyman and well liked personally by my parents — we’ve known his family all our lives — but his living will be a meagre one, and there is no prospect of advancement for him. He has told Lou that she must try and forget him, and somehow one can’t help feeling it’s the sensible thing to do, though quite odiously unromantic, of course.”

  He was silent for a moment, then said, “It’s not easy to forget a strong attachment.”

  “No, and although Oliver says it, he does not practise what he preaches, for only this morning I saw him, and he asked me to keep him informed of how Lou goes on —”

  “This Mr. Seaton is staying in Brighton?” he asked, in surprise.

  “Oh, no,” she exclaimed, alarmed at her indiscretion, “and please you are to say nothing to Lou of my meeting him! It was quite by chance. I did not know — none of us did — that he had taken a post as tutor in Rottingdean until his living falls vacant; and it was such a surprise to see him there when Captain Crendon and I drove into the village. I have promised to meet him sometimes, and the Captain has undertaken to drive me there for the purpose.” She paused, frowning. “I did not wish to let the Captain into the secret, but I was obliged to explain why I wished to be private with Oliver for a while. He — Captain Crendon — thought Oliver was one of my beaux! Imagine!”

  “A natural enough assumption. You certainly did not lack for partners last night,” he said, smiling. Then, in a more serious tone — “I collect that you think it wiser for your sister not to know that this gentleman is so close at hand?”

  “Well, you see, they have given their word that they will neither meet nor correspond. Oliver did not know that we were to come to Brighton, or no doubt he would have found a post elsewhere.”

  “One feels for them,” he said, sincerely.

  “Yes, indeed.” She was pensive for a while, then burst out — “if only I could think of something to do that would help! And the stupid thing is, as I was telling Captain Crendon, that Lou has an easy competence of her own that would be more than enough for them to live on, without Oliver needing to possess a penny. Only that will not do for Oliver, of course.” She paused, then turned impulsively towards him. “What do you think, Lord Pamyngton? Do you believe that it’s of no account who has the fortune, so long as there is affection between two people?”

  He pursed his lips and pondered for a while. “I do, in theory,” he answered, eventually, “but not, I fear, in practice. I should not care to feel that I was living on my w — in short I would prefer not to marry a woman of greater fortune than myself.”

  She nodded, satisfied. “Yes, I am confident that most gentlemen would think as you do. But Captain Crendon does not, I must tell you. He says that there is no harm at all in fortune-hunting where there is also affection.”

  “He has the reputation of being a — somewhat unorthodox man,” he said, mildly. “And he may have been in jest, you know.”

  “I am not such a cloth-head that I don’t realize when someone is joking me!” she exclaimed, with feigned indignation.

  “Oh, dear! I fear I have offended you again. It is, of course, none of my business; and you must not hesitate to say so if you feel I am exceeding the bounds of our uncertain — dare I say friendship? But do you think your sister, Mrs. Hailsham, is at all likely to permit you to take the frequent drives to Rottingdean with Crendon, which will no doubt be necessary if you are to keep your clergyman friend informed in this way?”

  “No, she certainly would not, and especially not at the hour when Oliver is able to meet me, which is between eight and nine o’clock in the evening. I shall be obliged to slip away in secret,” she said, with a certain relish, “and contrive to send a message to Captain Crendon to pick me up somewhere or other. It will be prodigious fun, don’t you think?”

  “Undoubtedly.” His tone was dry. “But — forgive me — perhaps not very wise? You are placing a great deal of trust in Crendon, whom you have not known very long, after all.”

  “Long enough to discover that we are the same kind of people,” she replied, tartly. “Anyway, as you said yourself, it is no business of yours. After all, I haven’t known you very long, either — and at least the Captain did not try to deceive me about his name!”

  He said no more. She stole a look at his face, and saw that it was grave, with the lips set in a hard line. She had never seen him look like this before, and did not like it. All at once, her strongest wish was to see him smiling again. She placed her hand on his arm in an impulsive, almost childlike gesture.

  “I’m a nagging wretch,” she said, contritely, “and ungrateful, too, for you’ve come to my rescue countless times. Come, we’ll quarrel no more.”

  His hand came out to cover hers for a brief moment. She coloured and quickly drew her own away.

  “Willingly,” he said, quietly, giving her one short, serious look.

  Then he turned his attention to the road ahead, and chatted light-heartedly on trivial matters until they reached the house in West Street.

  Chapter Twelve

  AN EXCURSION TO DEVIL’S DYKE

  The Denhams had their first glimpse of Mrs. Fitzherbert a few days later, when they were walking to Donaldson’s library. She was sitting with the Prince of Wales on the iron-work balcony of her house, in full view of the crowds strolling up and down the Steyne.

  “They often sit there together,” remarked Colonel Hailsham. “In fact, there are those who will have it that there’s a secret underground passage between the house and the Pavilion, as Prinney usually does not part from the lady until late at night in his own house, and yet is often on view seated on the balcony at hers soon after breakfast the next morning.”

  In view of his audience, he refrained from adding that there could be a more simple explanation of this.

  “They are both very fat,” said Eleanor, in disgust.

  “Yes, but she is attractive in a way, don’t you think?” asked Frances. “For a woman of fifty, I mean?”

  “Her colouring’s so pretty,” declared Catherine, after a discreet look. “It’s like yours, Lou, but, of course, without the appeal of youth. She’s like a slightly overblown rose.”

  “Are they really and truly married?” asked Eleanor in a hushed voice.

  “Legally, no,” replied the Colonel, in a similarly low tone. “But there was a valid religious ceremony, which is recognized by the Pope. For Mrs. Fitzherbert is of the Catholic faith,” he added, in explanation.

  “Then,” said Louisa, firmly, “she is the true wife of the Princ
e of Wales.”

  “That’s as may be,” put in Frances, “but at any rate she’s treated almost like a Queen here in Brighton. They may not quite go so far as to ‘Highness’ her in the domestic circle; but they ‘Madam’ her prodigiously, and stand up longer for her arrival than they do for most other people.”

  “Almost the only person who doesn’t accord her a near Royal respect is George Brummell,” remarked the Colonel. “She shows her dislike of him, too, for it, although he’s by far the best influence on Prinney of anyone in his intimate circle, as she knows very well.”

  “Oh, you mean Beau Brummell?” asked Catherine, with interest. “I saw him once, when we were in London last year. I’d heard that he was the arbiter of male fashion, and imagine my surprise to find him quietly, almost soberly, dressed compared to some of the other gentlemen! I must admit though,” she added, “that there was an air of great elegance about him.”

  John Hailsham laughed. “There would be. A man who won’t hesitate to return a coat to his tailor for the most trifling fault, and who will spend a whole morning on the tying of a cravat, should at least be able to achieve an air of elegance.”

  “For my part,” scoffed Eleanor, “I think such dandyism absurd! Oh, look, Katie, there is Captain Crendon coming out of Raggett’s Club, and Captain North with him. I must say” she added, smiling across at the two officers, who bowed on recognizing the Colonel’s party, “that Captain Crendon doesn’t look very cheerful.”

  “No more would you,” said John Hailsham, in a low tone, as he replied to the officers’ salutations, “if you were in low water, as he is at present. I heard the young fool dropped a cool five thousand at play the other evening, not for the first time. I’m not quite sure how he’s placed, but few men can afford a run of that kind of luck.”

  “Ought you not to speak to him, John?” asked Frances. “After all, he is one of your junior officers, and you are in some sort responsible for him.”

  “He’s scarce likely to thank me for interfering,” replied the Colonel, dryly. “He’s not a green ’un, my love — he’s eight and twenty, and more up to snuff than most of ’em. Now, if it had been young North —” He broke off as they turned into the doorway of Donaldson’s library, and paused to chat with some of his acquaintances who were gathered there.