A Regency Scandal

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  He sounded amused, and she coloured a little but determined to pursue her theme.

  “Well, I daresay you may think me an impertinent busybody, but — but forgive me for asking — you’re not in any kind of fix, are you?”

  “Fix?” He repeated the word in some astonishment. “What on earth can you mean, ma’am?”

  “Only that” — she hurried on now, obviously embarrassed as she realised that her tongue was running away with her, yet she was powerless to stop it — “that I saw Durrant after you’d been staying with us at the Rectory last month, and he told me that you would soon be finding yourself with some unpleasant problems to face. I did not at all care for his tone! You must remember how he used to speak in that way when we were children together, as though he knew of something to the disadvantage of one or other of us and was glad of it? So, you see, putting two and two together—”

  “You made eight or nine of it!” he exclaimed, laughing. “Oh, my dear N — Miss Somerby, how refreshing you are! I think I may safely promise you that if Durrant does know of something to my disadvantage, I don’t care a rap for it. I daresay my credit will survive.”

  Her eyes flashed with sudden indignation. “I am glad you find it amusing, my lord,” she said, with frosty dignity. “I can only beg your pardon for what may seem to you an impertinence. It was kindly meant, however.”

  He bent closer to her, a contrite expression on his face. “No, it is I who should beg your pardon, Miss Somerby. Believe me, I do appreciate your kindly concern for my welfare — it’s a deal more than I deserve. But if I venture to tease you a little, it’s only because I cannot entirely put by the habit of years gone by, when we were almost as brother and sister. Say I’m forgiven?”

  She gave a reluctant smile and had just time to murmur an assent to this plea, when they were interrupted by Philip. He had not quite liked to see them talking so intimately together, and determined to break in on the conversation.

  “Oh, Miss Somerby, I’ve just brought back a set of volumes from Hookham’s which I’m confident you’ll wish to read.”

  She looked up, a little flushed and disordered, and not altogether sorry for the interruption.

  “Indeed? But you must tell me what the work is, Mr. Chetwode, for I cannot hazard a guess, I fear.”

  “It’s a new novel from the pen of the author of Pride and Prejudice, the lady whom we know is a Miss Jane Austen,” he said, smilingly. “Now confess yourself intrigued, ma’am!”

  “Indeed I am, and cannot wait to read it.”

  “If only it may be as lively as Pride and Prejudice!” exclaimed Catherine, with shining eyes. “I enjoyed all three of the novels Miss Austen has already published, but that is my favourite, so far!”

  “Oh, dear,” said Melissa, humbly, “I must admit I haven’t read any of them. I’m not such a prodigious reader as you two.”

  “I also must plead ignorance,” interposed Shaldon. “I don’t read many novels.”

  “Never say that you despise them!” Helen said, accusingly.

  “Not if you forbid it, certainly,” he replied promptly, a twinkle in his eye.

  “Oh, I am not to be forming your taste, I hope,” she said quickly, a trifle disconcerted.

  He laughed softly. “A formidable setdown, ma’am.”

  She judged it wiser to ignore this. He seemed to be trying to flirt with her now, yet only a moment ago he had spoken of their brother and sister relationship. She recalled what Cynthia had said of him, and wondered if he could not help trying to flirt with every young lady he met. She, at any rate, would offer him no encouragement in this direction. She turned to Philip.

  “But you haven’t told me the title of this new novel, Mr. Chetwode.”

  “It’s called Emma, and I have great hopes of it,” he replied promptly. “By the way, it may amuse you to hear an anecdote concerning the author that was recounted to me by someone acquainted with the Prince Regent’s librarian, a Mr. Clarke.”

  He paused diffidently, fearful of boring his audience; but the young ladies at once urged him to continue, while Shaldon appeared interested.

  “This same Mr. Clarke is rather a prosy fellow,” he continued. “It seems he suggested to Miss Austen that she might like to write a historical romance illustrative of the House of Cobourg for her next, and dedicate it to Prince Leopold. I wonder can you guess at her answer?”

  “No, but I’m certain it would be vastly amusing!” replied Helen, laughing.

  “For my part, I hope she refused,” said Catherine, decidedly. “I prefer the kind of novel which she writes at present, and I wouldn’t have her change her style for the world!”

  “Which is precisely what the lady did reply,” said Philip, amused by this vehemence. “She told Mr. Clarke that she could never write a book of that kind under any other compulsion than to save her life; and that if she could never relax into laughing at herself or other people, she was sure she’d be hanged before she’d finished the first chapter! She saw nothing for it but to keep to her own style, even though she might never succeed again in that.”

  “So you may both congratulate yourselves on having guessed aright,” remarked Shaldon, smiling at both Helen and Catherine. “Evidently you’ve managed to learn a good deal of the author’s own character from the pages of her novels — but so, I suppose, one might.” He glanced at the clock and rose to his feet.

  “And now I hope you will forgive me, ladies, if I take my leave of you, though reluctantly. I fear I have another engagement.”

  Philip, too, was obliged to make his excuses, and the two gentlemen quitted the room together.

  “Oh, dear, and I must go, too!” exclaimed Catherine, with a dismayed glance at the clock. “I hadn’t intended to stay so long. Mama will be wondering what can have become of me.”

  “You’ll be home in a trice,” said Melissa. “I’ll ring for the carriage. Mama said I was to do so when you were ready. Oh, and I tell you what, Catherine, Helen and I will go with you for company. Pray let us go up and ask Mama.”

  Lady Chetwode, still seated in her bedchamber indulging in a pleasant forty winks, roused herself sufficiently to give the required permission and bid Catherine good-bye; and presently the three girls were seated in the carriage chattering away as though they had only just met. The distance to Bruton Street was all too short for them, and they parted with many expressions of regret and resolutions to meet frequently in the future.

  “I shall be driving in the Park with Mama tomorrow afternoon,” Catherine said, as she left the others. “Do come, if you can. I’ll look out for you.”

  They promised, and with a final wave of the hand, she mounted the steps to the house.

  The coachman took them back by way of Berkeley Square. As they were turning from Berkeley Street into Piccadilly, Helen suddenly uttered an exclamation and sat forward in her seat, gazing earnestly out of the window at the crowd which thronged the pavement.

  “What is it?” demanded Melissa. “Have you seen someone you know?”

  “Yes — no, not precisely,” Helen replied at random. “Melissa! Pray desire the coachman to set me down!”

  “Set you down?” repeated Melissa, amazed. “Here, in all this crowd? Besides, he can’t stop here, you know. It’s by far too busy! What in the world can you be thinking of?”

  “I’ve just seen someone. Quick, or I shall lose sight of him, and I most particularly wish to see where he goes! Melissa, please!”

  Melissa, a softhearted girl, could not withstand the urgent pleading in her friend’s voice. She gave the order to the coachman; but almost before the coach had time to pull up, Helen had flung open the door and leapt out. Melissa started to follow her, but was waved back.

  “No, no!” said Helen, in an urgent undertone. “You stay there, or better still, go home and I’ll make my own way back.”

  “But whatever will Mama say?” almost wailed Melissa. “It’s most improper to walk about unattended, and—”

  �
�Wait for me in the Square — the carriage can stand there — I may not be long! Don’t worry.”

  So saying, Helen dashed off into the crowd. Her friend stared anxiously after her for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders, directing the coachman to return to Berkeley Square. There was no use in trying to argue with Helen when she was in the grip of an impulse, thought Melissa philosophically; but all the same it would never do for this escapade to come to Mama’s ears.

  Meanwhile more than one person in the crowd stared in shocked disapproval at the young lady in a fashionable cherry velvet pelisse and bonnet with curled feathers who was pushing her way past them with ill-bred haste, and who, moreover, appeared to be completely unescorted. One or two bucks ogled her hopefully; but Helen was oblivious of all this as she quickened her steps until she had all but come up with the man whose red hair had first attracted her attention from the carriage, and who she felt convinced was the clown she had seen with Durrant at Astley’s.

  Suddenly, he crossed over towards the Green Park. She darted after him, narrowly avoiding a Stanhope gig which was being driven by a very dashing buck who shouted a protest, and a hackney whose driver favoured her with a less inhibited opinion of her behaviour. Reaching the other side of the road safely through good fortune rather than judgment, she followed her quarry into the Park. With deer and cattle grazing beneath the trees, this presented a pleasing rural scene in sharp contrast to the road she had just left; but she had no eyes for anything but the man she was following. He walked purposefully on for a little way, then stopped suddenly and looked about him. She just had time to conceal herself behind the solid trunk of an old oak before his glance travelled in her direction; but she could tell from his lack of interest that he had not noticed her. Nevertheless, she had obtained a sufficiently good look at his face to know that she was not mistaken. This was certainly the man in clown’s attire whom she had seen with Durrant at Astley’s Amphitheatre.

  Even as she confirmed this, she saw another man approaching the spot where her quarry was standing, fortunately from the opposite direction. And as the new arrival came up with the other, she was not at all surprised to recognise Durrant himself.

  But now for the first time she began to wonder what she had achieved by this discovery; and what in the world would happen if perchance they should come in her direction and Durrant should recognise her, as indeed he must. At the moment, the two men seemed too taken up with each other to have leisure for looking about them. Durrant was addressing himself earnestly to the other man, who seemed somewhat reluctant to listen. Now, if ever, was the time for her to make a strategic withdrawal. She glanced around her, but there were few other people about; it would have been simpler in a crowd.

  The luck was on her side, however. After a few moments spent in conversation, the pair turned their backs upon her and walked off in the opposite direction, Durrant still talking volubly. Helen breathed a deep sigh of relief and hurried back by the way she had come.

  This time, she was more circumspect in crossing over; and being fully conscious now of her surroundings, she was mortified to realise the amount of unwelcome attention she was attracting. She quickened her steps, anxious to regain the carriage and respectability — with the result that, as she crossed the bottom of Clarges Street, she almost collided with a gentleman in evening dress.

  He stepped back a pace, raised his hat and apologised, then gave a perceptible start.

  “Good God! Miss Somerby!”

  She, too, looked startled. “Lord Shaldon! What are you doing here?”

  “I live here, ma’am — nearby, in Clarges Street. But what is more to the purpose is, what are you doing here?” He looked about him. “Who is in attendance on you?”

  She blushed. “No one. That is to say, Lady Chetwode’s carriage is waiting for me just around the corner, in Berkeley Square.”

  “You don’t mean to tell me that Lady Chetwode has permitted you to step into Piccadilly without an escort?” he demanded, with a heavy frown.

  “Oh, no! That’s to say, she knows nothing about it for she’s at home. Melissa and I were returning from seeing Catherine Horwood back to their house in Bruton Street, and — and I saw someone from the carriage whom I recognised, so I asked Melissa to put me down, and I — well, I ran after — that person,” she finished, lamely.

  He looked at her in some surprise. “Was this — er — person a gentleman, by any chance?”

  “No. Well, not precisely.” She glanced up at him a little timidly, and went on, “Oh, it isn’t a bit what I can see you’re thinking!”

  “I am sorry to be so obvious. Do you say the carriage is awaiting you in the Square? Then I’ll do myself the honour of walking there with you. We cannot stand gossiping here for everyone to gape at.”

  His tone was stiff, and she noticed his grey eyes had a steely glint.

  “No, indeed, you need not trouble,” she said, hastily. “It is only a step—”

  “I feel sure that both your parents and your brother would prefer me to accompany you, nevertheless. Besides, I am going that way myself, as I am dining with the Lydneys in Berkeley Street.”

  She said nothing, but meekly accepted his arm.

  “And now,” he said, as they began to stroll along, “perhaps you won’t object to explaining this extraordinary conduct to me.”

  She took fire at that. “You have no right to use that tone to me! I am not your sister, you know, whatever our past relationship may have been! I am not accountable to you for my conduct!”

  “Very true.” He smiled down at her, softening unexpectedly. “All the same, won’t you please explain? I am so very curious, and I’m sure that is a feeling with which you will readily sympathise.”

  She could not remain impervious to the charm of that well remembered smile. Her sudden spurt of anger evaporated.

  “Oh, very well, since it really concerns you, in a way. You remember I told you earlier of the clown I saw talking with Durrant at Astley’s Circus?” He nodded, giving her a quizzical look.

  “Well, he was the man I noticed from the coach. I daresay it was foolish, but — but I suddenly felt that I simply must go after him to see where he went,” she finished, lamely.

  “Oh, Nell!” Unconsciously he fell into the old style of address, as he shook his head and smiled down at her. “What a little madcap you still are, to be sure!”

  “Yes, you may say that, and I suppose it’s true,” she answered defensively. “But all the same, I followed him into the Park and saw him meet Durrant there, which you must allow was something to the purpose.”

  “To what purpose? You’re letting that vivid imagination of yours run away with you, my dear girl. Why shouldn’t Durrant possess a friend who’s a clown? I knew plenty of fellows at Eton — yes, and at Oxford, too — who would have graced the profession, had they chosen to adopt it.”

  “Well, you might not mind having a showman for a friend, but I am very sure that Durrant would,” retorted Helen, refusing to smile at his quip. “It is several years since either of us had much to do with him, but you cannot have forgotten that he thought only of what could give him consequence in the world or contribute to his advancement! Mama, who knows more of him than either of us, says he hasn’t changed.”

  “Very well,” conceded Shaldon. “This unknown chap isn’t a friend of Durrant’s, but a business acquaintance. Does that satisfy you? And since we have no means of conjecturing what manner of business they are engaged in — even supposing it could remotely be considered any of our concern—”

  “But it might!” she insisted, earnestly. “There was something else Durrant said to me on that occasion when he was being spiteful — something I forgot to repeat to you when we were talking earlier. He said,” — she screwed up her eyes in an effort of concentration — “he said that there was ‘a matter he had on hand.’ And he spoke those words immediately after talking of your being faced with problems. Yes, and what is more,” she finished, triumphantly, “it was
not long after he’d said this to me that he went off on an errand to Sussex for your father!”

  For a moment Shaldon looked thoughtful, then he laughed softly. “I’m sorry, but it really does sound a farrago of nonsense. Even you must admit that, my dear girl.”

  “Oh, well, if you think so.” Her tone was frigid. “And may I remind you again that you are not my brother? You have no right to address me as ‘my dear girl.’”

  He smiled ruefully at her. “Oh, Lud, I see I’m in the suds! I beg your pardon most humbly, Miss Somerby, ma’am. How absurdly formal that sounds when not so many years ago we were simply Nell and Tony! However, since it is your wish that we should put by old associations and meet as strangers—”

  “Oh, you are absurd!” exclaimed Helen, bursting into laughter.

  By now they had reached Berkeley Square and saw the carriage waiting, Melissa’s head poked anxiously out of the window.

  “Oh, thank Heavens you have come back!” exclaimed that sorely tried young lady, as they came up to the vehicle. “I was in quite a worry — oh! My lord Shaldon!”

  He assisted Helen to alight, bowed to both young ladies and sauntered off without further delay.

  “Well!” said Melissa, as they started on their short journey home. “Of all things! Never tell me it was Viscount Shaldon whom you chased after in that monstrous improper way!”

  Helen shook her head. “No. I met him on my way back, and he insisted on escorting me.” She wrinkled her brows thoughtfully and added, “No, it was not Lord Shaldon, Melissa, but someone not so very unlike him in appearance.”

  CHAPTER XXII

  Shaldon chuckled as he continued on his way to Berkeley Street. Really, it was too absurd of the chit to build such a house of cards on a few chance remarks made weeks ago, and by Bertram Durrant, of all people! Anyone who had been acquainted with them as boys would know very well that Durrant had always felt spiteful towards his playmates simply because they belonged to a more elevated sphere than himself, and most of all towards Shaldon, as the heir to a great title and estate. Knowing this, who in their senses would heed a few cryptic utterances, no doubt tossed off as a relief to Durrant’s spleen?