The coach set off down the drive; Mr. Beaumaris turned, and in a leisurely way walked back into his house. He was pounced on in the hall by his injured friend, who demanded to know what the devil he meant by inflicting lemonade upon his guests.
“I don’t think Miss Tallant cared for my champagne,” he replied imperturbably.
“Well, if she didn’t, she could have refused it, couldn’t she?” protested Lord Fleetwood. “Besides, it was no such thing! She drank two glasses of it!”
“Never mind, Charles, there is still the port,” said Mr. Beaumaris.
“Yes, by God!” said his lordship, brightening. “And, mind, now! I expect the very best in your cellar! A couple of bottles of that ’75 of yours, or—”
“Bring it to the library, Brough—something off the wood!” said Mr. Beaumaris.
Lord Fleetwood, always the easiest of preys, rose to the bait without a moment’s hesitation. “Here, no, I say!” he cried, turning quite pale with horror. “Robert! No, really, Robert!”
Mr. Beaumaris lifted his brows in the blandest astonishment, but Brough, taking pity on his lordship, said in a soothing tone: “We have nothing like that in our cellars, I assure your lordship!”
Lord Fleetwood, perceiving that he had once more been gulled, said with strong feeling: “You deserve I should plant you a facer for that, Robert!”
“Well, if you think you can—!” said Mr. Beaumaris.
“I don’t,” replied his lordship frankly, accompanying him into the library. “But that lemonade was a dog’s trick to serve me, you know!” His brow puckered in an effort of thought. “Tallant! ... Did you ever hear the name before, for I’ll swear I never did?”
Mr. Beaumaris looked at him for a moment. Then his eyes fell to the snuff-box he had drawn from his pocket. He flicked open the box, and took a delicate pinch between finger and thumb. “You have never heard of the Tallant fortune?” he said. “My dear Charles—!”
V
Thanks to Mr. Beaumaris’s message, which worked so powerfully on the wheelwright as to cause him to ignore the prior claims of three other owners of damaged vehicles, Arabella was only kept waiting for one day in Grantham. Since the Quorn met there on the morning following her encounter with Mr. Beaumaris, she was able, from the window of a private parlour at the Angel and Royal Inn, to see just how he looked on horseback. She could have seen how Lord Fleetwood looked too, had she cared, but curiously enough she never even thought of his lordship. Mr. Beaumaris looked remarkably well, astride a beautiful thoroughbred, with long, sloping pasterns, and shoulders well laid back. She decided that Mr. Beaumaris’s seat was as good as any she had ever seen. The tops to his hunting-boots were certainly whiter than a mere provincial would have deemed possible.
The Hunt having moved off, there was nothing for two delayed travellers to do for the rest of the day but stroll about the town, eat their meals, and yawn over the only books to be found in the inn. But by the following morning the Squire’s carriage was brought round to the Angel, with a new pole affixed, and the horses well-rested, and the ladies were able to set forward betimes on the last half of their long journey.
Even Miss Blackburn was heartily sick of the road by the time the muddied carriage at last drew up outside Lady Bridlington’s house in Park Street. She was sufficiently well acquainted with the metropolis to feel no interest in the various sounds andsights which had made Arabella forget her boredom and her fidgets from the moment that the carriage reached Islington. These, to a young lady who had never seen a larger town than York in her life, were at once enthralling and bewildering. The traffic made her feel giddy, and the noise of post-bells, of wheels on the cobbled streets, and the shrill cries of itinerant vendors of coals, brick-dust, door-mats, and rat-traps quite deafened her. All passed before her wide gaze in a whirl; she wondered how anyone could live in such a place and still retain her sanity. But as the carriage, stopping once or twice for the coachman to enquire the way of nasal and not always polite Cockneys, wound its ponderous way into the more modish part of the town, the din abated till Arabella began even to entertain hopes of being able to sleep in London.
The house in Park Street seemed overpoweringly tall to one accustomed to a rambling two-storeyed country-house; and the butler who admitted the ladies into a lofty hall, whence rose an imposing flight of stairs, was so majestic that Arabella felt almost inclined to apologize for putting him to the trouble of announcing her to her godmother. But she was relieved to find that he was supported by only one footman, and so was able to follow him up with tolerable composure to the drawing-room on the first floor.
Here her qualms were put to flight by the welcome she received. Lady Bridlington, whose plump, pink cheeks were wreathed in smiles, clasped her to an ample bosom, kissed her repeatedly, exclaimed, just as Aunt Emma had, on her likeness to her Mama, and seemed so unaffectedly glad to see her that all constraint was at an end. Lady Bridlington’s good-nature extended even to the governess, to whom she spoke with kindness, and perfect civility.
When Mama had known Lady Bridlington, she had been a pretty girl, without more than commonsense, but with such a respectable portion, and with so much vivacity and good-humour, that it was no surprise to her friends when she contracted a very eligible match. Time had done more to enlarge her figure than her mind, and it was not many days before her young charge had discovered that under a superficial worldly wisdom there was little but a vast amount of silliness. Her ladyship read whatever new work of prose or verse was in fashion, understood one word in ten of it, and prattled of the whole; doted on the most admired singers at the Opera, but secretly preferred the ballet; vowed there had never been anything to equal Kean’s Hamlet on the English stage, but derived considerably more enjoyment from the farce which followed this soul-stirring performance. She was incapable of humming a tune correctly, but never failed to patronize the Concerts of Ancient Music during the season, just as she never failed to visit the Royal Academy every year, at Somerset House, where, although her notion of a good-picture was a painting that reminded her forcibly of some person or place with which she was familiar, she unerringly detected the hand of a master in all the most distinguished artists’ canvasses. Her life seemed to a slightly shocked Arabella to consist wholly of pleasure; and the greatest exertion she ever put her mind to was the securing of her own comfort. But it would have been unjust to have called her a selfish woman. Her disposition was kindly; she liked the people round her to be as happy as she was herself, for that made them cheerful, and she disliked long faces; she paid her servants well, and always remembered to thank them for any extraordinary service they performed for her, such as walking her horses up and down Bond Street in the rain for an hour while she shopped, or sitting up till four or five in the morning to put her to bed after an evening-party; and provided she was not expected to put herself out for them, or to do anything disagreeable, she was both kind and generous to her friends.
She expected nothing but pleasure from Arabella’s visit, and although she knew that in launching the girl into society she was behaving in a very handsome way, she never dwelled on the reflection, except once or twice a day in the privacy of her dressing-room, and then not in any grudging spirit, but merely for the gratifying sensation it gave her of being a benevolent person. She was very fond of visiting, shopping, and spectacles; liked entertaining large gatherings in her own house; and was seldom bored by even the dullest Assembly. Naturally, since every woman of fashion did so, she complained of dreadful squeezes or sadly insipid evenings, but no one who had seen her at these functions, greeting a multitude of acquaintances, exchanging the latest on-dits,closely scanning the newest fashions, or taking eager part in a rubber of whist, could have doubted her real and simple enjoyment of them.
To be obliged, then, to chaperon a young lady making her debut to a succession of balls, routs, Assemblies, Military Reviews, balloon ascensions, and every other diversion likely to be offered to society during the season, exactly suite
d her disposition. She spent the better part of Arabella’s first evening in Park Street in describing to her all the delightful plans she had been making for her amusement, and could scarcely wait for Miss Blackburn’s departure next day before ordering her carriage to be sent round, and taking Arabella on a tour of all the smartest shops in London.
These cast the shops of High Harrowgate into the shade. Arabella was obliged to exercise great self-restraint when she saw the alluring wares displayed in the windows. She was helped a little by her north-country shrewdness, which recoiled from trifles priced at five times their worth, and not at all by her cicerone who, having been blessed all her life with sufficient means to enable her to purchase whatever took her fancy, could not understand why Arabella would not buy a bronze-green velvet hat, trimmed with feathers and a broad fall of lace, and priced at a figure which would have covered the cost of all the hats so cleverly contrived by Mama’s and Sophia’s neat fingers. Lady Bridlington owned that it was an expensive hat, but she held that to buy what became one so admirably could not be termed an extravagance. But Arabella put it resolutely aside, saying that she had as many hats as she required, and explaining frankly that she must not spend her money too freely, since Papa and Mama could not afford to send her any more. Lady Bridlington was quite distressed to think that such a pretty girl should not be able to set her beauty off to the best ad-vantage. It seemed so sad that she was moved to purchase a net stocking-purse, and a branch of artificial flowers, and to bestow them on Arabella. She hesitated for a few minutes over a handsome shawl of Norwich silk, but it was priced at twenty guineas, and although this could not be said to be a high price, she remembered that she had one herself, a much better one, for which she had paid fifty guineas, which she could very well lend to Arabella whenever she did not wish to wear it herself. Besides, there would be all the expense of Arabella’s Court dress to be borne later in the season, and even though a great deal might be found in her own wardrobe which could be converted to Arabella’s needs, the cost was still certain to be heavy. A further inspection of the shawl convinced her that it was of poor quality, not at all the sort of thing she would like to give her young charge, so they left the shop without buying it. Arabella was profoundly relieved, for although she would naturally have liked to have possessed the shawl, it made her very uncomfortable to be in danger of costing her hostess so much money.
Her frankness in speaking of her circumstances made Lady Bridlington a little thoughtful. She did not immediately mention the matter, but when the two ladies sat before the fire in the small saloon that evening, drinking tea, she ventured to put into words some at least of the thoughts which were revolving in her head.
“You know, my dear,” she said, “I have been considering the best way to set to work, and I have made up my mind to it that as soon as you have grown more used to London—and I am sure it will not be long, for you are such a bright, clever little puss!—I should introduce you, quietly, you know! The season—has not yet begun, and London is still very thin of company. And I think that will suit us very well, for you are not used to the way we go on here, and a small Assembly—no dancing, just an evening-party, with music, perhaps, and cards—is the very thing for your first appearance! I mean to invite only a few of my friends, the very people who may be useful to you. You will become acquainted with some other young ladies, and of course with some gentlemen, and that will make it more comfortable, I assure you, when I take you to Almack’s, or to some large ball. Nothing can be more disagreeable than to find oneself in a gathering where one does not recognize a single face!”
Arabella could readily believe it, and had nothing but approbation for this excellent scheme. “Oh, yes, if you please, ma’am! It is of all things what I should like, for I know I shall not know how to go on at first, though I mean to learn as fast as I can!”
“Exactly so!” beamed her ladyship. “You are a sensible girl, Arabella, and I am very hopeful of settling you respectably, just as I promised your Mama I would!” She saw that Arabella was blushing, and added: “You won’t object to my speaking plain, my love, for I daresay you know how important it is that you should be creditably established. Eight children! I do not know how your poor Mama will ever contrive to get good husbands for your sisters! And boys are such a charge on one’s purse! I am sure I do not care to think of what my dear Frederick cost his father and me from the first to last! First it was one thing, and then another!”
A serious look came into Arabella’s face, as she thought of the many and varied needs of her brothers and sisters. She said earnestly: “Indeed, ma’am, what you say is very just, and I mean to do my best not to disappoint Mama!”
Lady Bridlington leaned forward to lay her pudgy little hand over Arabella’s, and to squeeze it fondly. “I knew you would feel just as you ought!” she said. “Which brings me to what I had in mind to say to you!” She sat back again in her chair, fidgeted for a moment with the fringe of her shawl, and then said without looking at Arabella: “You know, my love, everything depends on first impressions—at least, a great deal does! In society, with everyone trying to find eligible husbands for their daughters, and so many beautiful girls for the gentlemen to choose from, it is in the highest degree important that you should do and say exactly what is right. That is why I mean to bring you out quietly, and not at all until you feel yourself at home in London. For you must know, my dear, that only rustics appear amazed. I am sure I do not know why it should be so, but you may believe that innocent girls from the country are not at all what the gentlemen like!”
Arabella was surprised, for her reading had taught her otherwise. She ventured to say as much, but Lady Bridlington shook her head. “No, my love, it is not so at all! That sort of thing may do very well in a novel, and I am very fond of novels myself, but they have nothing to do with life, depend upon it! But that was not what I wished to say!” Again she played with the shawl-fringe, saying in a little burst of eloquence: “I would not, if I were you, my dear, be forever talking about Heythram, and the Vicarage! You must remember that nothing is more wearisome than to be obliged to listen to stories about a set of persons one has never seen. And though of course you would not prevaricate in any way, it is quite unnecessary to tell everyone—or, indeed, anyone!—of your dear Papa’s situation! I have said nothing to lead anyone to suppose that he is not in affluent circumstances, for nothing, I do assure you, Arabella, could be more fatal to your chances than to have it known that your expectations are very small!”
Arabella was about to reply rather more hotly than was civil when the recollection of her own conduct in Mr. Beaumaris’s house came into her mind with stunning effect. She hung her head, and sat silent, wondering whether she ought to make a clean breast of the regrettable affair to Lady Bridlington, and deciding that it was too bad to be spoken of.
Lady Bridlington, misunderstanding the reason for her evident confusion, said hastily: “If you should be fortunate enough to engage some gentleman’s affection, dear Arabella, of course you will tell him just how you are placed, or I shall, and—and, depend upon it, he will not care a button! You must not be thinking that I wish you to practise the least deception, for it is no such thing! Merely, it would be foolish, and quite unnecessary, for you to be talking of your circumstances to every chance-met acquaintance!”
“Very well, ma’am,” said Arabella, in a subdued tone.
“I knew you would be sensible! Well, now, I am sure there is no need for me to say anything more to you on this head, and we must decide whom I shall invite to my evening-party. I wonder, my love, if you would see if my tablets are on that little table. And a pencil, if you will be so good!”
These commodities having been found, the good lady settled down happily to plan her forthcoming party. Since the names she recited were all of them unknown to Arabella, the discussion resolved itself into a gentle monologue. Lady Bridlington ran through the greater part of her acquaintance, murmuring that it would be useless to invite the Farnwo
rths, since they had no children; that Lady Kirkmichael gave the shabbiest entertainments, and could not be depended on to invite Arabella, even if she did decide to give a ball for that lanky daughter of hers; that the Accringtons must of course be sent a card, and also the Buxtons—delightful families, both, and bound to entertain largely this season! “And I mean to invite Lord Dewsbury, and Sir Geoffrey Morcambe, my dear, for there is no saying but what one of them might—And I am sure Mr. Pocklington has been hanging out for a wife these two years, not but what he is perhaps a little old—However, we will ask him to come, for there can be no harm in that! Then, I must certainly prevail upon dear Lady Sefton to come, for she is one of the patronesses of Almack’s, you know; and perhaps Emily Cowper might—And the Charnwoods, and Mr. Catwick; and, if they are in town, the Garthorpes ...”
She rambled on in this style, while Arabella tried to appear interested. But as she could do no more than agree with her hostess when she was appealed to, her attention soon wandered, to be recalled with a jerk when Lady Bridlington mentioned a name she did know.
“And I shall send Mr. Beaumaris a card, because it would be such a splendid thing for you, my love, if it were known that he came to your debut—for such we may call it! Why, if he were to come, and perhaps talk to you for a few minutes, and seem pleased with you, you would be made, my dear! Everyone follows his lead! And perhaps, as there are so few parties yet, he might come! I am sure I have been acquainted with him for years, and I knew his mother quite well! She was Lady Mary Caldicot, you know: a daughter of the late Duke of Wigan, and such a beautiful creature! And it is not as though Mr. Beaumaris has never been to my house, for he once came to an Assembly here, and stayed for quite half-an-hour! Mind, we must not build upon his accepting, but we need not despair!”
She paused for breath, and Arabella, colouring in spite of herself, was able at last to say: “I—I am myself a little acquainted with Mr. Beaumaris, ma’am.”
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