It might have been supposed that disparity of age and of intelligence would have raised a barrier between the two gentlemen. Frederica did suppose it, but she had reckoned without one powerful factor: each was sporting-mad. A chance word revealed to Harry that this seeming-sapskull was a Melton man, and, from his description of the Shires, an accomplished horseman. Not that Endymion, a modest young man, boasted of his prowess: the only personal anecdotes he recounted were of having been bullfinched at a regular stitcher at Barkby Holt, and of having once taken a toss into the Whissendine; but you could tell, thought Harry, quick to realize that Endymion laid the blame for these mishaps not upon his horse but upon himself, that however blockish he might be in a drawing-room he was a first-rate man in the saddle. From hunting it was a short step to almost every form of sport; and by the time the superiority of Manton’s New Patent Shot had been discussed, the advantages of a Six or Seven over a heavier shot argued, and the fights each gentleman had had with various salmon of stupendous size, described in exhaustive detail, it would have been hard to have decided which held the other in the higher esteem.
Frederica might be exasperated by Endymion’s easy conquest of her volatile brother, but Charis, listening to their exchanges with a glowing look of gratification in her beautiful eyes, was encouraged, when she found herself alone with Harry, to say imploringly: “You do like him, Harry, don’t you?” Blushing, she added: “Our cousin, I mean — Mr Dauntry!”
“Oh, him!” said Harry. “Yes, a first-rate man! Bang up to the knocker, too, I should think!”
“And so very handsome, don’t you think?” she suggested shyly.
Since this was not a matter which had previously excited Harry’s attention, he was obliged to consider it for a moment, before replying: “Yes, I suppose he is. Too big, though: I shouldn’t wonder at it if he rides as much as sixteen stone, poor fellow! Ay, and what’s more he might strip well, but you may depend upon it that it would be bellows to mend with him in the ring! All the same, these big, heavy men: too slow by half!”
Slightly daunted by these strictures, Charis said: “But so very amiable — so truly the gentleman!”
He agreed to this, but added a rider. “Not much in his knowledge-box, mind you! In fact, if we hadn’t got to talking about hunting I should have said he was a regular chawbacon!”
“He is not!”
“I know that. He knows the devil of a lot about horses, and — ” He broke off, suddenly struck by her unusual vehemence. “You don’t mean to tell me you’re in love again?” he exclaimed.
“No! for I was never in love before! Never!”
“Not in love before —! Why, what about — ”
“No!” she reiterated. “I didn’t know! I didn’t understand! This is different — quite, quite different!”
“Well,” said Harry sceptically, “if you weren’t in love with any of the cawkers who made such dashed cakes of themselves about you, all I can say is that you’re a desperate flirt! Why, you never even hinted them away!”
Tears sprang to her eyes; she uttered in a stricken voice: “Oh, Harry, no! Not a flirt! It was only that they were all such particular friends! How could I be unkind to anyone I’ve known all my life? And if you are thinking of poor Mr Griff, I promise you I didn’t give him the least encouragement!”
“Or the least set-down!” said Harry.
“But, dearest, only think how — how brutal it would have been! He was so dreadfully humble, and he had so much sensibility! I couldn’t wound him so!”
“There wasn’t anything very humble about the Jack-at-warts Tom Rushbury brought home with him last year! The coxcomb who had the infernal impudence to come serenading you, and woke us all up with his damned caterwauling!”
“Oh, Harry!” she said reproachfully. “You know he had a very fine voice! Yes, and you know I didn’t like him, and was only kind to him because you were so uncivil as to empty a jug of water over him, and pretend you thought he was a cat! I own, I have once or twice fancied I might be in love, but I know now that I quite mistook the matter. I never loved any of them as I love my dear, dear Endymion, and I never shall!”
“Yes, you will,” said Harry, in a bracing tone. “Well, you know what you are, Charis! You’ll have a tendre for some other fellow next week, I daresay!”
Her tears spilled over; she turned her face away, saying sadly: “I had hoped that you would understand!”
“For the lord’s sake, don’t get ticklish!” begged Harry, observing with apprehension these signs of distress. “What the deuce is there to cry about? It ain’t as if Dauntry weren’t nutty on you! Frederica told me he was — not that she need have done so! — any jobbernoll could see that!”
“Frederica doesn’t like him,” said Charis, on a sob.
“Well, what has that to say to anything? It’s my belief she don’t know you’ve formed a — a lasting passion for him! Why the devil don’t you tell her? Good God, you surely ain’t afraid of her?”
“Oh, no, no, no!” declared Charis. “But she wouldn’t believe me, Harry, any more than you do! It’s all so dreadful! It was on my account we came to London, because Frederica was set on establishing me c-comfortably! I know she doesn’t think I should be comfortable with Endymion, and should f-forget him in a sennight if I didn’t see him again! And she has pinched, and saved, and c-contrived all for my sake! How could I be so ungrateful as to — ”
“Fudge!” interrupted Harry, with strong common-sense. “I’ll tell you what, Charis: if you don’t stop trying to do what everybody wants, you’ll find yourself in the suds! Besides, Frederica is a dashed sight too fond of you to drive a spoke in your wheel, even if she could!”
“But she could, Harry! Oh, she would never, never do so if she didn’t believe I should regret it, if I m-married my adored Endymion! But that’s just what she does believe! I know she thinks that she need not care for his visiting us, because I shall grow tired of him!”
Since Harry knew this too, and was much inclined to agree with Frederica, he could find nothing better to say than: “Oh, well! No sense in getting into the hips! If — I mean, when she sees that you really have fixed your interest, she’ll come about!”
Another sob shook Charis. “Alas, it’s worse than you know! And I have the gravest fear that Endymion will be torn from me!”
“No, that’s coming it much too strong!” said Harry, revolted. “I wish you wouldn’t talk such balderdash! Torn from you indeed! By Frederica, I collect!”
“Oh, no, no! By Cousin Alverstoke!”
He stared. “What the devil has he to do with it?”
“Endymion is his heir,” replied Charis mournfully.
“Well, what if he is?” With a stirring of his earlier suspicion, he said: “Is he dangling after you himself?”
She looked astonished. “Alverstoke? Good gracious, no! He likes Frederica better than me, but he isn’t dangling after either of us. I expect, if he ever does marry, it will be someone of high rank and fortune, for everybody says that he is very proud, besides being of the first consequence. You may depend upon it that he means Endymion to do the same. And so does Endymion’s mama. She is determined he shall make a brilliant match: Chloë told me so. She is his sister, you know, and the dearest girl! She says that Mrs Dauntry is always on the lookout for a suitable heiress. One can’t wonder at it, or blame her. He is not rich, you see, and if Cousin Alverstoke ceased to make him an allowance he would be quite poor. I shouldn’t care a straw for that, and he says he wouldn’t either, but — oh, Harry, he has been used to live in the first circles, and to ride splendid hunters, and not to consider expense very much, and I am so afraid he would hate to be obliged to make and scrape!”
Harry was beginning to think that Frederica was wiser than he had at first supposed; but since he knew Charis would start to cry again if he said so he sought for something consoling to say instead, finally achieving: “Well, I see no occasion for you to be thrown into gloom! Ten to one Alverstoke won
’t raise any objection. After all, he hasn’t tried to interfere, has he?”
“He doesn’t know,” said Charis, refusing to be comforted. “Mrs Dauntry suspects, but Chloë says she is hoping it is only a horrid flirtation. But if Frederica was aware of my sentiments, and begged Cousin Alverstoke to intervene —!” She shuddered, and clasped her hands tensely together. “You see, he could, Harry! He could arrange for Endymion to be sent abroad, for instance, and then I think I should die. Oh, my dear brother, there’s no one to help us but you, and I count on your support!”
By this time Harry was heartily regretting that he had been rusticated. There seemed to be every prospect of finding himself embroiled in just the sort of situation he would most wish to avoid. He said uneasily: “Yes, but I don’t see what I can do.”
Charis did not appear to have any very clear idea either, for while, in one breath, she begged him not to divulge her confidence to Frederica, in the next she charged him with the office of persuading her to look with a kindly eye upon Endymion, and to forbid her to approach Alverstoke.
By no stretch of the imagination could Harry conjure up a vision of himself forbidding Frederica to do that, or anything else; but he naturally did not say so. Nor did he tell Charis that while it was not wholly impossible that Frederica would be swayed by his persuasion it was extremely unlikely that she would be. He said instead that he would do his best, and faithfully fulfilled his promise at the first opportunity that offered. He told Frederica that he wouldn’t wonder at it if Endymion, whom he described as a trump, and quite up to the hub, wasn’t just the man for Charis.
“A trump!” exclaimed Frederica. “Because he’s a Melton man, and has an eye to a hound? Harry, how can you be so absurd? He’s nothing but a handsome moonling!”
“Oh, he don’t want for sense!” said Harry. “I don’t say he’s one of the longheaded ones, but — dash it, Freddy! there’s precious little in Charis’s cockloft!”
She was unable to deny this, but said: “The more reason for her to marry a man of superior sense! Surely you must perceive — Harry, I do beg of you not to encourage her in this nonsense! You must know what she is! She may have been dazzled by his appearance — I don’t know, but I think it very likely, for I will allow him to be a remarkably fine young man, and she has, most unfortunately, seen him in full regimentals — but if he were to be removed from her sight she would very soon forget all about him! My dear, you cannot, in all seriousness, wish your sister to throw herself away on a personable nodcock of small fortune and no prospects worthy of a moment’s consideration!”
“I don’t know that,” objected Harry. “He’s Alverstoke’s heir, isn’t he?”
“Yes, at present he is. But when Alverstoke marries, and has sons, what then, pray?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t think he would!” said Harry. “Well, he’s quite old now, isn’t he?”
“Old?” she ejaculated. “If you consider a man of seven-and-thirty old, you must be a bigger greenhead than I knew! He is in the prime of life!”
Slightly taken aback, he said: “Well, past the age of falling into Parson’s mousetrap, at all events! I should think he must be a confirmed bachelor, wouldn’t you? Dash it, there must have been hundreds of females on the scramble for him any time these dozen years, and more!”
She replied, in a colourless voice: “Very likely!” and immediately turned the subject, asking him if he did not feel that Mr Navenby, with all the advantages of birth, fortune, and amiability, would be an ideal husband for Charis.
Unfortunately, Harry had not taken a fancy to Mr Navenby. Having himself no ambition to sport a figure in the world of fashion, he was much inclined to regard with contempt even such mild aspirants to dandyism as Mr Navenby. He exclaimed: “What, that bandbox creature? I should hope Charis would have more sense than to marry him! Why, Dauntry is worth a dozen of him!”
Knowing that any attempts to persuade Harry that an addiction to sport was not the most desirable quality to be looked for in a husband would be useless, Frederica said no more: a restraint which enabled him to feel that he had discharged his obligation to Charis, and might now, with a clear conscience, turn his attention to matters of more immediate importance.
Chief amongst these was the absolute necessity of presenting Alverstoke’s card at No. 13 Bond Street, where John Jackson had for many years given lessons in the art of self-defence. Harry had not been born when Jackson, in the last of his three public fights, had beaten the great Mendoza in exactly ten and a half minutes, but, like every other young amateur (or indeed, professional), he could have described in detail each round of this, and Jackson’s two previous encounters; and he was well aware of the unique position held, and maintained without ostentation, by the pugilist whose pleasant manners and superior intellect had earned for him the sobriquet of Gentleman. Anyone, upon payment of a fee, could get instruction at No. 13 Bond Street, but by no means everyone could hope to engage the attention of Gentleman Jackson himself, as Harry, armed with Alverstoke’s card, hoped to do. If he had had any doubts of the value of this talisman, they would have been dissipated by the reverence with which his knowledgeable friend, Mr Peplow, inspected it. Alverstoke, said Mr Peplow, was a noted amateur of the Fancy: none of your moulders, but a boxer of excellent science, who was said to display a great advantage, and was always ready to take the lead in milling. A Corinthian? No: Mr Peplow, frowning over it, did not think that his lordship belonged to that, or any other, set. He was certainly a tow-sawyer, and a first-rate fiddler: might be said, in fact, to cap the globe at most forms of sport; he was extremely elegant, too: trim as a trencher, one might say; but in an unobtrusive style of his own which never included the very latest quirks of fashion. “The thing is,” said Mr Peplow confidentially, “he’s devilish high in the instep!” Too young to know that the Marquis had taken Mr Brummell for his model, he added: “Sets his own mode. Never follows another man’s lead. Always been one of the first in consequence, you see, and holds himself very much up. Mind, I don’t mean to say he’s one of those stiff-rumped fellows who think themselves above their company — though he can give some pretty nasty set-downs, by all accounts!”
“Do you like him?” demanded Harry.
“Me?” exclaimed Mr Peplow, scandalized. “Good God, Harry, I’m not acquainted with him! Only telling you what people say!”
“Well, he didn’t give me one, and my young brothers swear he’s a great gun: they ain’t a bit afraid of him!”
“Oh! Oh, well, you’re related to him, ain’t you?”
“Yes, but that has nothing to say to anything! One of his nephews is dangling after my sister Charis — some sort of a cousin of mine! Gregory — Gregory Sandford, or Sandridge: I don’t know! — but it didn’t seem to me as if he knows Alverstoke well enough to get as much as a common bow in passing from him! Which makes me wonder — ” He broke off. Mr Peplow, with exquisite tact, forbore to press him; and was rewarded by a burst of confidence. “Well, I won’t scruple to tell you, Barny, that what with his indulging Jessamy and Felix, as he does, and giving me his card, for Jackson, I can’t help wondering if he’s dangling after Charis too!”
His worldly-wise friend subjected this proposition to profound consideration, finally shaking his head, and saying: “Shouldn’t think so at all. Well, stands to reason! His ward, ain’t she? Wouldn’t be at all the thing! Unless he wants to get riveted?”
“Well, he doesn’t. Not to my sister, at all events. She says he likes my sister Frederica better than her — and neither of them above half.” He grinned suddenly. “Lord, though, only to think of it! Frederica! Mind you, she’s a capital girl — sound as a roast! — but she’ll never be married! She hasn’t had an offer in her life! She — she ain’t that sort of female!”
Both he and Charis had spoken in good faith, but both were mistaken: the elder Miss Merriville had received two unexceptionable offers, from Lord Buxted, and Mr Darcy Moreton; and Lord Alverstoke liked her very much above half. She w
ould have agreed, however, that marriage was not for her; and had indeed told Buxted so, when she declined his offer. She told him that she was born to be an aunt, at which he smiled, and said: “You mean a sister, I think!”
“Why, yes! Just at present I do, but I look forward to the day when I shall take charge of all my nephews and nieces whenever their parents are at a stand, or wish to go jauntering off to the Continent!”
His smile broadened; he said: “You will be a much beloved aunt, I daresay, for the liveliness of your spirit must make you as enchanting to children as to their seniors. But be serious for a moment, and consider whether, as a sister, a husband might not be an advantage to you? You have three brothers — for although I am aware that Harry is of age, I do not think him grown, as yet, beyond the need of guidance — and you have, with that nobility and courage which command my admiration, assumed the charge of them. But is any female, however devoted, however elevated her mind, able to succeed in such a task? I don’t think it possible. Indeed, I will venture a guess that you must frequently have felt the want of male support.”
“Oh, no!” she answered serenely. “The boys mind me very well.”
“Very well, when one goes off to Margate without leave, and the other hires a dangerous machine, and — as was to be expected! — suffers an accident!” he said, laughing indulgently.
“I don’t think it was a dangerous machine. In any event I didn’t forbid either of them to do these things, so there was no question of disobedience.”
“And no fear in their heads of consequences!”
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