“That he—your guardian—should win such a sum from you!”
“Oh, do not be talking of it for ever, Judith! Worth tore up my vowels, and that is all there is to it.”
She was conscious of a feeling of relief out of proportion to the event. The loss of four thousand pounds would not be likely to cause Peregrine embarrassment, but that Worth should win considerable sums of money from him shocked her. She had not believed him capable of such impropriety: she was happy to think that he had not been capable of it.
The visit to Osterley Park passed very pleasantly, and the Taverners returned to London again midway through February with the intention of remaining there until the Brighton season commenced. Nothing was much changed in town; no new diversions were offered; no startling scandal had cropped up to provide a topic for conversation. It was the same round of balls, assemblies, card-parties, theatres; with concerts of Ancient Music in Hanover Square, or a visit to Bullock’s Museum, just opened in Piccadilly, for those of a more serious turn of mind. The only novelty was supplied by Mr. Brummell, who created a slight stir by the announcement that he was reforming his way of life. Various were the conjectures as to what drastic changes this might mean, but when he was asked frankly what his reforms were he replied in his most ingenuous manner: “My reforms—ah, yes! For instance, I sup early; I take a—a little lobster, an apricot puff, or so, and some burnt champagne about twelve, and my man gets me to bed by three.”
The Duke of Clarence, after one more attempt to win Miss Taverner, returned to the siege of Miss Tylney Long, but in the clubs his chances of success were held to be slim, the lady having begun to show signs of favouring Mr. Wellesley Poole’s suit.
At the beginning of March all other subjects of interest faded before a new and scintillating one. One name was on everybody’s lips, and no drawing-room could be found without a copy of Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage lying upon the table. Only two cantos of this work had been published, but over these two everyone was in raptures. Lord Byron, sprung suddenly into fame, was held to have eclipsed all other poets, and happy was the hostess who could secure him to add distinction to her evening party. He had been taken up by the Melbourne House set; Lady Caroline Lamb was known to be madly in love with him, as well she might, for surely never had such beauty, such romantic mystery clung to a poet before.
“Confound this fellow Byron!” said Captain Audley humorously. “Since Childe Harold came out none of you ladies will so much as spare a glance for the rest of us less gifted mortals!”
“Do not level that accusation at my head, if you please,” replied Miss Taverner, smiling.
“I am sure if I have heard you murmur raptly: ‘Adieu, adieu! my native shore Fades o’er the waters blue’ once, I must have heard you murmur it a dozen times! Do you know that we are all of us growing white-haired in the endeavour to be poets too?”
“Ah, his poetry! I could listen to that for ever, but pray do not confuse my admiration for that with a partiality for his lordship. I have met him at Almack’s. I will allow him to be as handsome as you please, but he has such an air of pride and puts on so much melancholy grandeur that it gave me quite a disgust of him. He fixes his brilliant gaze upon one, bows, speaks two words in a cold voice, and that is all! It put me out of patience to see everyone flock about him, flattering, admiring, hanging on his lips. Only fancy! he was asked to dine in St. James’s Place with Mr. Rogers himself, came late, refused every course that was offered, and ended by dining on potatoes mashed up with vinegar, to the astonishment, as you may imagine, of all. I heard it from one who was present, and who seemed to be much struck. For my part I think it a piece of studied affectation, and cannot smile at it.”
“Excellent! I am delighted,” said the Captain. “I need not try to emulate his lordship, I see.”
She laughed. “Emulate such genius! No one could do that, I am sure. You must know that my abuse of Lord Byron has its root in pique. He barely noticed me! You will not expect me to do him justice after that!”
Lord Byron continued to obsess the thoughts of Society.
His connection with Lady Caroline was everywhere talked over, and exclaimed at; his verses and his person extravagantly extolled: even Mrs. Scattergood, who was not bookish, was able to repeat two or three consecutive lines of Childe Harold.
Peregrine, as might be supposed, was not much interested in his lordship. He had thrown off his cough, seemed to be in good health, and had only two things to vex him: the first, that Worth could not be prevailed upon to consent to his wedding-date being fixed; the second, that not even Mr. Fitz-john would put his name up for membership to the Four-Horse Club. This select gathering of all the best whips met the first and third Thursdays in May and June in Cavendish Square, and drove in yellow-bodied barouches to Salt Hill at a strict trot. There the members dined, either at the Castle, or the Windmill, having previously lunched at Turnham Green, and refreshed at the Magpies on Hounslow Heath. The return journey was made the next day, without change of horses. Judith could not see that there was anything very remarkable in the club’s performance, but for fully two months the sum of Peregrine’s ambition was to have the right to join that distinguished procession to Salt Hill, driving the bay horses, which (though the colour was not absolutely enforced) were very much de rigueur. He could never see Mr. Fitzjohn in the club’s uniform without a pang, and would have given all his expensive waistcoats in exchange for a blue one with inch-wide yellow stripes.
“No, really, my dear Perry, I can’t do it!” said Mr. Fitzjohn, distressed. “Besides, if I did, who should we get to second you? Peyton wouldn’t, and Sefton wouldn’t, and you wouldn’t have asked me to put you up if you could have got Worth to do it.”
“I am pretty well acquainted with Mr. Annesley,” said Peregrine. “Don’t you think he might second me?”
“Not if he has seen you with a four-in-hand,” said Mr. Fitzjohn brutally. “Anyway, you’d be blackballed, dear old fellow. Try the Bensington: I believe they are not near so strict, and there’s no knowing but they may have a vacancy.” But this would by no means satisfy Peregrine; it must be the F.H.C. or nothing for him.
“The fact of the matter is,” said Mr. Fitzjohn frankly, “you can’t drive, Perry. I will allow you to be a bruising rider, but I wouldn’t sit behind you driving a team for a hundred pounds! Cow-handed, dear boy! cow-handed!”
Peregrine bristled with wrath, but his sister broke into low laughter, and later reproduced the expression, which had taken her fancy, to her guardian. She came up with his curricle when she was driving her phaeton in the Park, and drawing up alongside, said prettily: “I have been wishing to meet you, Lord Worth. I have a favour to ask of you.”
His brows rose in surprise. “Indeed! What is it, Miss Taverner?”
She smiled. “You are not very gallant, sir. You must say: ‘Anything in my power I shall be happy to do for you’; or, more simply: ‘The favour is yours for the asking.’”
He replied in some amusement: “I mistrust you most when you are cajoling, Miss Taverner. What is this favour?”
“Why, only that you will contrive to get Perry elected to the Whip Club,” said Judith in her most dulcet voice.
“My instinct for danger seldom fails me,” remarked his lordship. “Certainly not, Miss Taverner.”
She sighed. “I wish you might. He can think of nothing else.”
“Recommend him to approach his friend Fitzjohn. He might put him up, even though I shall blackball him.”
“You are very disagreeable. Mr. Fitzjohn is as bad. He says Perry is cow-handed.”
“I imagine he might, but I can see no need for you to use the expression.”
“Is it very vulgar?” inquired Judith. “I thought it excessively apt.”
“It is extremely vulgar,” said the Earl crushingly. “Well,” said Judith, preparing to drive on, “I am very glad I am not your daughter, Lord Worth, for you are a great deal too strict in your notions, I think.”
“My daughter!” exclaimed the Earl, looking thunderstruck. “Yes; are you surprised? You must know I should not like to have you for my father at all.”
“I am relieved to hear you say so, Miss Taverner,” said the Earl grimly.
Miss Taverner bit back a smile at having put him out of countenance, bowed, and drove on.
It was some time before Peregrine could recover from his disappointment, but by the middle of April his thoughts took a turn in another direction, and he began to urge Judith to approach Worth on the subject of their spending two or three months at Brighton. She was very willing; London, from the circumstance of the Regent having celebrated his birthday, on April 12th, at Brighton, was growing already rather thin of company; and from all she had heard they would be in danger of missing their chance of acquiring a suitable lodging at Brighton if they delayed much longer. It was arranged between them that if Worth gave his consent Peregrine would drive down with their cousin to arrange accommodation for a date early in May.
The Earl gave his consent with the utmost readiness, but contrived to provoke Miss Taverner. “Certainly. It will be very desirable for you to go out of town for the summer. I had fixed the 12th May as a convenient date, but if you like to go sooner I daresay it can be arranged.”
“You had fixed—!” repeated Miss Taverner. “Do you tell me you have already made arrangements for out going to Brighton?”
“Naturally. Who else should do so?”
“No one!” said Miss Taverner angrily. “It is for Peregrine and me to arrange! You did not so much as mention the matter to either of us, and we will not have our future arranged in this high-handed fashion!”
“I thought you wished to go to Brighton?” said the Earl. “I am going to Brighton!”
“Then what is all this bustle about?” inquired Worth calmly. “In sending Blackader to look over suitable houses there I have done nothing more than you wanted.”
“You have done a great deal more. Perry is going to drive down with my cousin to select a house!”
“He may as well spare himself the trouble,” replied Worth, “there are only two to be had, and I hold an option on both. You must know that houses in Brighton for the season are excessively hard to come by. Unless you wish to lodge in a back street, you will be satisfied with one of the two Blackader has found for you. One is on the Steyne, the other on the Marine Parade.” He looked at her for a moment, and then lowered his gaze. “I strongly advise you to choose the house on the Steyne. You will not like Marine Parade; the Steyne is a most eligible situation, in the centre of the town, within sight of the Pavilion—the hub of Brighton, in effect. I will tell Blackader to close with the owner. Thirty guineas a week is asked for the house, but taking into account the position it cannot be thought excessive.”
“I think it ridiculous,” said Miss Taverner instantly. “From what my cousin has told me I should infinitely prefer to lodge on the Marine Parade. To be situated in the centre of the town, in the midst of all the bustle, can be no recommendation. I will consult with my cousin.”
“I do not wish you to take the house on Marine Parade,” said the Earl.
“I am sorry to disoblige you,” said Miss Taverner, a martial light in her eye, “but you will have the goodness to instruct Mr. Blackader to hire that and no other house for us.”
The Earl bowed. “Very well, Miss Taverner,” he said.
Judith, who had anticipated a struggle, was left triumphant and bewildered. But the Earl’s unexpected compliance was soon explained. Captain Audley, meeting Miss Taverner in the Park, got up beside her in the phaeton, and said: “So you are to go to Brighton, Miss Taverner! My doctor recommends sea air for me: you will certainly see me there as well.”
“We go next month,” replied Judith. “We shall lodge on the Marine Parade.”
“Yes, I was present when Blackader came back from Brighton. The place will be full this summer. There were only two genteel houses to be had, and one was on the Steyne—no very eligible situation for you, Worth thought.”
Miss Taverner’s lips parted; she turned her eyes towards the Captain, and regarded him with painful intensity. “He wanted me to choose the other?” she demanded.
“Why, yes; I am sure he had no notion of your lodging on the Steyne. It is very smart, no doubt, but you would have your front windows for ever stared into, and all your comings and goings ogled by young bucks.”
“Captain Audley,” said Miss Taverner, controlling herself with a strong effort, “you must get down immediately, for I am going home.”
“Good God!” exclaimed the Captain, in lively dismay. “What have I said to offend you?”
“Nothing, nothing! It is only that I have remembered I have a letter to write which must be sent off without any loss of time.”
Within a quarter of an hour Miss Taverner was seated at her desk, furiously mending her pen, her gloves and scarf flung down on the floor beside her. The pen mended to her satisfaction, she dipped it in the standish, and drew a sheet of elegant, hot-pressed paper towards her. After that she sat nibbling the end of her pen while the ink slowly dried. At last she nodded briskly to herself, dipped the pen in the standish a second time, and began to write a careful letter to her guardian.
Brook Street, April 19th.
Dear Lord Worth [she began], I am afraid that I behaved badly this morning in going against your wishes in the matter of the house in Brighton. Upon reflection I am bound to acknowledge that I did wrong. I write now to assure you that I have no real wish to stay on the Marine Parade, and shall obey you in lodging on the Steyne.
Yours sincerely,
Judith Taverner.
She read this through with a pleased smile, sealed it in an envelope, wrote the direction, and rang the bell for a servant.
The note was taken round by hand, but the Earl being out when it was delivered, no answer was brought back to Miss Taverner.
By noon on the following day, however, the answer had arrived. Miss Taverner broke the seal, spread out the single sheet, and read:
Cavendish Square, April 20th.
Dear Miss Taverner, I accept your apologies, but although your promise of obedience must gratify me, it is now too late to change. I regret to inform you that the house on the Steyne is no longer on the market, but has been snapped up by another. I have this morning signed the lease of the one on Marine Parade.
Yours, etc.,
Worth.
“My love!” cried Mrs. Scattergood, coming suddenly into the room, in her street dress and hat, “you must instantly drive with me to Bond Street! I have seen the most ravishing sea-coast promenade gown! I am determined you must purchase it. Nothing could be more desirable, more exactly suited to the seaside! It is of yellow creped muslin, confined at the bosom and down the entire front with knots of green ribbon, and bound round the neck with, I think, three rows of the same. You may imagine how neat! There is a high lace tucker, and ruffles on the sleeves, and a Zephyr cloak to wear with it, made of lace, falling in long points to the feet, with green tassels to finish each point, and a sash round the waist. You could wear your yellow morocco sandals with it, and the pebble ear-rings and necklace, and the beehive bonnet with the long veil. Oh, and what do you think, my dear? I met Charles Audley on my way, and he told me Worth is to go to Brighton too, and has taken a house on the Steyne for the whole summer. But what is the matter? Why do you look at me like that? Have you received bad news?”
Judith sprang up, and screwing the Earl’s letter into a ball, hurled it into the empty grate. “I think,” she said stormily, “that Lord Worth is the most odious, provoking, detestable creature alive!”
Chapter XVI
Worth’s duplicity, Worth’s despicable strategy, Worth’s infamous triumph, possessed Miss Taverner’s mind for many days. In all the business of choosing muslins, gauzes, French cambrics, and crapes for the making up for gowns to wear at Brighton, plans for revenge on him were revolving in her head, and her thoughts wandered even when she wa
s engaged in choosing between sandals made of white kid, and Roman boots of Denmark satin. Mrs. Scattergood was in despair, and when Miss Taverner cast an indifferent glance at two hats displayed by a milliner (the one an enchanting Lavinia chip tied down with sarcenet ribbons, and the other a celestial-blue bonnet with a jockey-front edged with honeycomb trimming) and said that she liked neither, her chaperon, seriously alarmed, spoke of sending for Dr. Baillie to prescribe a tonic.
Miss Taverner declined seeing a doctor, but continued to brood darkly over Worth’s enormities.
Somewhat to Peregrine’s disappointment, the Fairfords were not going to Brighton, but to Worthing instead, a resort much patronized by persons to whom the racket of Brighton was distasteful. Nothing but the discovery that Worthing was situated only thirteen miles from Brighton reconciled him to his sister’s choice of watering-place, and with the smallest encouragement he would have forgone all the gaiety of Brighton and secured lodgings at Worthing instead. But Judith was adamant, and he was forced to be content with the prospect of riding over to see his Harriet three or four times a week.
The time for their departure from London drew near; everything was in train; all that remained to be done was to pack their trunks, and to decide upon the route to be followed. There could be little question: all the advantages of the New Road, which was shorter and in better condition than any other, were felt. At the most four changes only could be thought necessary, and with her own horses posted on the road, Judith might expect to accomplish the journey in five hours or less. Twenty-eight stage-coaches a day ran between London and Brighton during the season, but Peregrine could not discover that any of them made the journey in less than six hours. He was of the opinion that a light travelling chaise-and-four might very well accomplish it in five, though he, driving his curricle, had every expectation of rivalling the Regent’s performance in 1784, when, as Prince of Wales, he had driven a phaeton drawn by three horses, harnessed tandem-fashion, from Carlton House to the Marine Pavilion infour hours and a half.
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