Contrary Cousins

by Judith Harkness

  “ ’Tis true,” said Freddy thoughtfully. “Were it not for Aunt Winnie, I should long ago have gone bonkers—or at least bankrupt!”

  “Speaking of which,” put in Cuffs, between mouthfuls of a succulent pheasant under glass, “I suppose you have found yourself less hard-pressed than you thought. I came prepared to offer the proverbial shoulder for your troubles, but find you are too much improved to need it. Theonia been speaking to you again?”

  “No, indeed,” responded Freddy shortly. To his friend’s inquiring glance, he returned a deep look, and held up a finger to his lips.

  “Don’t tell anyone I said so, old fellow, but poor Theonia has been outshadowed!”

  Cuffs, looking mystified, put down his fork. “Poor Theonia?”

  “Yes,” affirmed Freddy, rather airily waving his fork. “Poor girl—and now I see how she needed me at the nonce, it does not enter my head to think anything but pityingly of her.”

  “I cannot imagine how even Lady Pendleton could have had so salubrious an effect upon you in a mere two hours, Frederick.”

  Freddy returned his friend’s ironical smile with a mysterious wink. “Oh, not only Aunt Winifred, I assure you! Lady P. is full of surprises, mark my words. She has now produced a most remarkable specimen of womankind—the very charming Miss Antonia Powell, a very distant, and very—shall I say, intriguing, cousin? Ask me, Cuffs, who she is, I beg of you!”

  “Very well then: who is this distant, and intriguing, Miss Powell?”

  “My American cousin!”

  Cuffs put his wine glass thoughtfully to his lips and drank.

  “I had no idea you possessed any American cousins, Freddy. They are said to be a much underrated tribe.”

  “Oh! Very underrated, mark my words. At least, if Miss Antonia Powell is any indication of her nation, it proposes to be a most enchanting country!”

  Freddy, enjoying his mystery, chewed slowly his next bite of pheasant, before continuing. “The reason you have never heard me mention her, Cuffs, is that I have only seldom heard any of my American relations spoken of. The subject is taboo at home. Father would sooner starve than hear the dreaded people mentioned.”

  “Another skeleton?” inquired Cuffs, who came from one of England’s oldest families, one which had oftentimes been known to hide away a scandal. “Dear me, are there no respectable people left in the kingdom? Well, which is it—murder, incest, or insanity?”

  Freddy choked slightly. His friend had a way, sometimes, of taking his breath away.

  “Why, none of those! Nothing so heinous, in fact—though some of my ancestors would not agree. It was a question of succession, and rather complicated.”

  “Money!” cried Cuffs, much to the astonishment of the gentlemen at the next table. “Always the cause of trouble. Who ran off with what?”

  “Really, Cuffs!” responded Freddy, “I don’t know that anyone ran off with anything. Quite to the contrary—someone ran off without anything. You see, my grandfather was not in line for the title—he was a second son, like myself. But his elder brother, who was the sixth Earl of Cumberford, suddenly decided at the age of twenty-eight that he loathed England, and titles, and all that, and that he wished to see the New World. It was just before the American Revolution, you know, and I suppose he got rather drunk over the whole atmosphere of revolt. In any case, he set sail for the Colonies, and before six months were out, had forfeited his inheritance and titles, and married an American.”

  “How romantic!” cried Cuffs. “And I suppose the delightful Miss Powell is his granddaughter?”

  “Right-o,” replied Freddy, imbibing more champagne. “And the title passed out of his line, and into my own family, making my father the seventh Earl. Of course, everyone was perfectly scandalized, as they always were in the old days. My father won’t hear any of them spoken of.”

  “But why on Earth not? Surely it only improved his own lot!”

  “True.” Freddy looked thoughtful for a moment, and then shrugged. “Well, who knows? Perhaps he fears someday they shall come back to haunt him—demand the title back, or at least part of the lands.”

  “If they have not by this time, old boy, I hardly think he need worry himself. Why, by the bye, did they never? If I recollect aright, your papa owns some of the best lands in Leicestershire. Were they such patriots?”

  Freddy nodded. “I suppose so. My great-uncle’s eldest son became one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence, and his wife was the daughter of a rabid Whig. They hated King George, and all he stood for. There were only two other children—daughters, who both married well. Oddly enough, they married brothers—hence the presence here of the delightful Miss Antonia Powell, and her cousin, Miss Serena Powell, who are both my distant cousins. I do not know if there are any extant Howards left.”

  “Then it seems unlikely they should seek compensation of your father,” Cuffs pointed out.

  “And why should they?” cried Freddy. “I cannot impute any such vile intentions to Miss Powell! She is too fine!”

  Lytton-Smythe smiled wryly up from his glass of claret, which had come to replace the champagne. He had often enough heard Freddy speak in such a way. The fellow was an irrepressible lover of womankind, and they, for the most part, responded in full. It was very pleasant to see that his friend was over that little affair with Theonia Ulridge, who, to Cuff’s mind, had never been more than a very pretty, and tolerably sweet, doll. But to have chosen his own cousin as the replacement—and the very cousin least calculated to be approved by his family, was rather foolhardy, to be sure. And exactly like him!

  “You need not persuade me of that, Freddy! I am all agog to meet her! But your father may not be so open-minded.”

  “With any luck,” replied Freddy soberly, “he shan’t hear of it. I am determined they have come for nothing more than a visit, to see where half their family heralds from. In any case, I am in love!”

  “So soon?” inquired Cuffs, with one eye brow raised. “This is very sudden, even for you.”

  “The only trouble,” continued Freddy, unheeding, “is the cousin. I believe where one goes, so goes the other.”

  Cuffs looked sympathetic. “That is very hard. It is nearly impossible to woo two ladies at once—however adorable.”

  “Oh, she’s not adorable,” replied Freddy cheerfully. “Looks like a witch. All brown and lanky. However, I was hoping—”

  “Yes?”

  “That you might be persuaded to come along with us, so to speak—to leave me a chance to get at Miss Antonia.”

  “Accompany a witch, all brown and lanky? Charming thought!” murmured Lytton-Smythe.

  Thus passed the dinner hour, and in conversation not dissimilar. The two young men, mindful of the time, rose at half past seven, in order that they might arrive at the Opera in time for the first curtain. They had discussed in some detail the charms of Miss Antonia Powell—or rather, Freddy had discussed them, while Cuffs patiently listened. The latter gentleman, being an extremely amiable fellow, had agreed to accompany the brown witch, at least for one evening, in order to allow his friend time to “get a word in edgewise” with the lovely Antonia. The following Thursday had been settled upon, as the night of the opera Fidelio, which had just come from its renaissance. The two were making their way toward the door of the Club, when a passing figure caught Cuff’s eye.

  “I say!” exclaimed Lytton Smythe. “Did you see who that was?”

  Freddy’s face seemed to have frozen. “Blandford,” replied he shortly. “Didn’t know he was in England.”

  “Oh, I did! I heard yesterday from Fortnum that he was crossing over. Seems the Continent did not suit him.”

  “He may well find England suits him very little better!”

  Cuffs eyed his friend with half a smile, and whistled under his breath. “Come now, Freddy! You cannot hold a grudge so long!”

  “Can’t I?” murmured Freddy softly.

  Chapter V

  “Poor boy!” said L
ady Pendleton, when Freddy had left them. “I expect he is out of favor again. And no doubt Theonia Ulridge has jilted him. Aggravatin’.”

  Antonia, setting down her teacup upon a little inlaid incidental table by her side, looked up. “Oh, is he engaged, Auntie?”

  Lady Pendleton snorted. “Heaven, no! Can’t afford to be. He is Cumberford’s second son, and has been left out of everythin’. Haven’t the vaguest idea what he shall do, poor dear.”

  “He seems a very sympathetic young man,” put in Serena, who had listened in silence to the others converse. “And I have no doubt that he shall not long regret Miss Ulridge—” This with a little smile at her cousin, who pretended not to have heard.

  “It is a most unkind custom you have, Auntie, to give everything away to the eldest, and leave the others deprived,” remarked Antonia. “If I had several children, I should divide everything equally. Simply because one is the first-born, does not necessarily make one more deserving.”

  “I know. And Freddy is much better, in my opinion, than his brother. Aggravatin’! But what is one to do?”

  Antonia was eager to lead her aunt into a deeper discussion of the subject—not from any great fascination with Mr. Freddy Howard, whom she had thought a pleasant enough sort of young man, but from a desire to hear everything she could about Lord Cumberford and his heirs.

  “What is the eldest like?” she inquired innocently.

  “Oh! Like his father, I suppose.”

  Antonia smiled. “You say it as if that were not a great recommendation, Auntie.”

  Lady Pendleton, caught in the midst of brushing cake crumbs from her ample bosom, met her young guest’s gaze, and then continued the operation.

  “Cumberford is not my favorite relation, dear. He is provokin’ and single-minded, and a great swollen peacock besides. I should not speak so violently against my own flesh and blood, I know, but then you are one of the family, so I may. His son is very little better. He rides about the countryside with his nose high up in the air, and when he is in town, drives four in-hand as if he were a Royal Duke at least, instead of the fattish young cub he is.”

  Even Serena could not help smiling at her ladyship’s vehemence. Seeing so much passion come from so small and plump a source was a little like watching a volcanic eruption from a plum pudding. Her ladyship’s ringlets waggled, and her chins bobbed with dislike. She emitted several disgusted sounds, and continued. “Roland used to say he was a remarkably ugly baby, and though I don’t as a rule press villainy upon small children, I more than once saw him steal cakes from out of Freddy’s mouth. Villainy in the nursery, I always say, will inevitably lead to frightenin’ conduct in later life!”

  Antonia and Serena exchanged a look; the former inquired if he was actually so bad as all that. “Has he become frightening, Auntie?”

  Lady Pendleton snorted. “St. John is too fat to do anythin’ really alarmin’, my dear. That is, if you mean murderin’ and so forth. But I shouldn’t put it past him, if he was a highway robber, for which we may all thank heaven he is not. But as to cheatin’ at the card table, it is not far beyond him, nor some other little antics of the kind. I have myself beheld him hide a card up his sleeve, when we were only eight for dinner! But, child—you shall think we are all a lot of thievin’ rascals. I mustn’t go on thus. It is only that I cannot bear to hear so much lecturin’ from such a one. To hear him go on, you would think he had no seat in Parliament from which to dispense his actions.”

  “Axioms, Auntie?” inquired Antonia lightly. She was fast learning the art of interpreting her hostess’s queer forms of speech.

  “That’s it, my dear. So confusin’.”

  “So he sits in the House of Lords, Auntie?” persisted Antonia.

  “Promenades about, rather, though I’ve never seen it, but that’s how I imagine he deports himself. Couldn’t be any worse than at supper, however. There is some comfort in that!”

  Serena and her cousin exchanged smiles. Lady Pendleton’s vehemence upon this subject was rather an abrupt turn from her amiability upon every other.

  “And are we to meet them soon, Auntie?” inquired Antonia politely. “They do not sound perfectly agreeable, but I should like very much to be acquainted with all our English cousins.”

  At this, Lady Pendleton gave her a queer, rather piercing look, and suddenly exclaimed, “Strikin’!”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Strikin’! You looked like Roland just then. Somethin’ about the mouth. D’you know, Serena—Roland was at Baltimore in the War?”

  “No, your ladyship.”

  “Call me Auntie—though I suppose we are only cousins. Well, he was! Put up at a house there called Whitney, or Winslow, somethin’ very like. Ever heard of it?”

  Both Lady Pendleton and Antonia had turned toward the elder Miss Powell, and Antonia, at least, was amazed to see all the colour drain out of Serena’s face.

  “Wilton, Auntie?”

  “That’s it! Great family, name of Fairfax, I believe. I suppose you must know ’em. A deal of daughters, all exceeding handsome. Roland never did stop speakin’ of the eldest. Georgiana, her name was. Said she was the loveliest thing he ever saw. Don’t imagine he ever really stopped lovin’ her.”

  Antonia heard only part of this, for she was watching her cousin, with a queer sensation in her stomach. Poor Serena! It must have been that same Fairfax family which had so recently been the cause of her unhappiness. Antonia, living very far away, had not heard the whole tale, and that little she did know had been recounted in a letter from Serena herself. Humiliated as she must have been by the sudden desertion of her lover, on the very eve of her becoming Mrs. Fairfax, the narrator had not included many details. And shortly afterward, the death of her father seemed to have obscured that first grief. In any case, when Antonia had next seen her cousin, the subject was not mentioned. It was never touched upon again after that brief letter, but in the months that followed, Serena seemed to have sunk into herself more than ever. Her soft languidness had given way to a sort of determined spinsterhood, her shyness had become positive self-consciousness, and she had ceased confiding in her cousin as she had been used to do as a young girl. Not till that moment of seeing her cousin’s face grow pale did Antonia realize the full weight of grief Serena had suffered—must, from her look, still suffer!

  Determined to distract their hostess from any further pursuit of so unhappy a subject, Antonia forced herself to say lightly, “Why, Auntie! I’m sure no one could love anyone else, after once seeing you!”

  She saw, out of the corner of her eye, that Serena gave her a grateful look, and seemed to be taking hold of herself.

  “Hmph!” replied Lady Pendleton. “They all do! Though Roland was a little better than most. Be careful, my dear, that you pick a loyal husband when it comes your turn. Soldierin’ is very improvin’ in that way. Must be the discipline.”

  “I shall endeavor to find a soldier, then, Auntie!”

  “Don’t: it is most aggravatin’ bein’ a soldier’s widow.”

  Antonia was not sure how to reply to this. Her ladyship did not somehow resemble the grieving widow, in her puce satin gown, her multitude of ringlets, and her general twinkling mein.

  “It must have been very dreadful for you,” murmured Serena. Her cousin, glancing in that direction, was relieved to hear her voice and see that the elder girl’s pallor had been a little driven off. “He died at Waterloo, did he not?”

  “Oh, that! Noo-o-o, it was at Aix La-Chapelle, my dear. I meant, so tryin’ to be a soldier’s widow before they die. Worse, I think. He was at home a total of three years, ten months. And I was such a pretty bride, too! Had a gown all made up of Belgian lace, hand-tooled for my grandmother. Roland wore faun breeches, I recollect. So handsome! This black and white is very tirin’.”

  Serena blinked.

  “Brummell did it, you know,” continued her ladyship, toddling toward the bell-cord and giving it a tug. “I hoped when he was out of fa
vor color would come back. But now they say he’s dyin’ in France, quite penniless, and still they are all wearin’ those dreadful trousers, with no hint of anythin’ save jet in ’em. Horrid! I am very partial to color, you know.”

  Antonia, glancing about the drawing room, with its blinding profusion of yellows, pinks, crimsons, and aquamarines, smiled to herself. She gave Serena a little wink, and was relieved to see her cousin smile faintly in reply. Just then the butler appeared, seeming a most incongruous spot of sobriety amidst the frivolities of the room.

  “Yes, my lady?”

  “Dinner early, Bentley. I want my young ladies to have a good sleep.”

  “Yes, my lady. Seven o’clock?”

  “Half past six. And tell Cook to give us a hot soup before the salmon. There’s such a chill in the air!”

  “Very good, my lady. Shall I build up the fires upstairs?”

  “Do, Bentley. Mustn’t let them catch a chill, must we?”

  “No, my lady,” replied Bentley, and bowing, he withdrew.

  “Such a treasure, Bentley!” sighed her ladyship, when the door had closed. “I hope he didn’t frighten you?”

  Antonia laughed, and replied, “Not very badly, Auntie. I thought at first he was a duke.”

  “I know. All the good ones look it. My mother used to say one oughtn’t to hire a butler if he is not distinguished-lookin’. Roland hated it, you know. Said it was no good havin’ two handsome devils about. He was a jealous man, of course. They all are.”

  Pondering a moment, Antonia determined that her ladyship was referring to her late husband, and not the butler.

  “I wish I had met him,” she offered up.

  Lady Pendleton looked amazed. “Why, my dear! He was just in the room, did not you see him?”

  This remark was left to hang a moment in the air, while Antonia stared at her cousin, and Serena stared back. The latter seemed to fight down a giggle, then, resuming her grave countenance, followed Lady Pendleton’s plump figure with her eyes. Her ladyship was toddling toward the row of gilt chairs before the potted fern, where her nephew had found her earlier, all in a heap.