by Jane Ashford
After a moment, the door was opened by a tall footman in scarlet livery. Though his countenance was rigidly impassive, an eyelid flickered when he saw who had knocked and when Gwendeline asked to see his master. He stood back, however, and admitted them to the hall. “If you will wait one moment?” he said, gesturing politely to a pair of gilt chairs by the wall.
Gwendeline led the way to them and sat down. The footman disappeared. Ellen gazed at the shining parquet floors, the marble walls, the curving staircase which seemed to extend to the upper regions without supports, and the magnificent crystal chandelier. “La, miss,” she said finally. “What a fine house this is. Even finer than her ladyship’s, and I did think her house the most elegant thing in the world when we arrived. But why did you go and ask for a gentleman, Miss Gwendeline?”
Gwendeline swallowed. “Because I have come to call on a gentleman,” she replied brusquely.
Ellen gasped. “But miss,” she began. She got out no more than that, however, before the footman returned, bringing with him the haughtiest and most high-nosed butler Gwendeline had ever seen. Instinctively, both girls rose.
“Good day, Miss, ah, Gregory,” said this awesome individual. He surveyed Gwendeline with a practiced eye, but as he did so, something of his disapproval and aplomb seemed to leave him. The tiniest of frowns showed on his wooden visage. “I regret to tell you, miss, that Sir Humphrey has not yet descended from his bedchamber. Can I be of assistance to you, perhaps?”
“Oh dear,” said Gwendeline. “Has he not? How stupid of me not to think of that. What shall I do now?”
“Perhaps, if I might suggest,” answered the butler. “If you were to return later in the day, say about twelve, you might catch Sir Humphrey before he left the house.” It was a measure of the favorable impression Gwendeline had created that the man unbent enough to tell her this.
“Twelve?” echoed Gwendeline. “Oh, I don’t see how…”
“Nor do I, Miss Gwendeline,” put in Ellen, upon whom the patent disapproval of the two servants had worked strongly. “I don’t see at all. But what I do see is that this is what comes of calling on gentlemen and such carryings-on. I say we should go on home and forget all about it.”
The butler’s expression softened noticeably at this, and as Gwendeline came near to wringing her hands, he said, “If it is important, miss, I might just inform Sir Humphrey that you have called. I cannot guarantee that he will see you, as he never receives guests in the morning, but I will take it upon myself to ask, if you wish.”
Gwendeline looked up at him gratefully. “Oh, would you?” She felt a great relief. She had been odiously uncomfortable since she entered this house, and she knew that if she gave up now, she would never return. Having screwed up her courage once, and having found the task more unpleasant than she’d expected, she longed to carry through. If Sir Humphrey wouldn’t see her now, she would never find out if he’d helped her, and she didn’t know whom else to ask.
The butler bowed. “If you would care to wait in the library?” He opened a door on the left and ushered her into a book-lined room. “I shall be a moment.” And shutting the door again, he left her alone.
Gwendeline didn’t sit down. Rather, she paced the room, heedless of the rich carpeting, fine paintings, and comfortable furniture. She was wondering what she would do if Sir Humphrey refused to receive her. But in a few minutes, the butler returned to tell her that he would be down directly. He smiled benevolently and added, “No need to take on if he is a little mifty, miss. He’s always so in the morning.” And with these daunting words, he left Gwendeline alone once more.
Sir Humphrey’s idea of “directly” seemed more flexible than his guest’s, for it was quite half an hour before the library door opened again and he walked in. Gwendeline never knew what his butler had told him about her, but judging from the apprehensive expression on his face when he entered, it must have been a round tale. She could say nothing to dispel his mistake at first, however; she was struck speechless by the unusual appearance of her host.
Sir Humphrey Owsley was the fattest man Gwendeline had ever seen. His multiple chins seemed to merge with hardly a break into his enormous paunch, his arms were as large as her legs, and his legs were like tree stumps. Even his fingers were fat; the rings he wore were imbedded in and nearly hidden by overlapping skin. The tight pantaloons and cutaway coat of current fashions did nothing for this figure. In fact, these articles of dress, particularly the bright yellow pantaloons he affected, showed alarming signs of strain at the seams. And Sir Humphrey’s exaggerated shirt points and elaborate neckcloth looked as if they pressed too tightly on his chins. His eyes seemed to bulge with the pressure, and all in all, he looked most like a turkey cock ready for roasting.
As Gwendeline stared at him, wide-eyed, he surveyed her through the quizzing glass that hung round his neck. He seemed both appreciative and uneasy as he took in her blond curls and neat figure. Under this scrutiny, she recovered herself enough to drop a small curtsy and say, “Good day, Sir Humphrey. It’s very good of you to see me so early.”
At this, the man harrumphed. “Not at all, not at all,” he said. His voice was low and gravelly. “Only too happy, charming young lady, glad to…” His disjointed remarks gradually trailed off.
“Yes, but your butler told me that you never receive guests so early. I apologize for calling at an unreasonable hour. But I wanted to speak to you on business of some urgency, you see, and I haven’t met you at any of the parties I’ve attended.”
“Ah. Just so. Business.” Sir Humphrey appeared more mystified by Gwendeline’s explanation. His jowls quivered. “Don’t get about much anymore,” he offered. “See m’friends here or at the club, you know. Not as active as I once was.” He patted his large stomach.
“Oh, I daresay that explains it.”
He goggled at her, then frowned. “Here. Let us sit down. What am I thinking of? Would you care for some refreshment? Perhaps, what, tea?”
“No, no. You’re very kind, but I can’t stay long.”
“Ah.” Sir Humphrey seemed at a loss.
She shifted in her chair. “I must explain why I’ve come. Or perhaps you’ve guessed?” She looked at her host hopefully, wondering if he might ease this awkward moment. It was difficult, she found, to look at a stranger and ask him if he was supporting her.
But this request only made Sir Humphrey’s eyes bulge further. “Guessed?” He gulped. He gazed at her. “Afraid not.” He seemed to come to a decision. “In fact, I’m dam…dashed if I can recall where we met, Miss, uh. Was it at Vauxhall? Or one of the Opera masquerades? You must pardon me; memory’s not what it was, you know.”
“Oh, we haven’t met before,” responded Gwendeline in surprise. “Did I not say so? I’m sorry.”
A great weight seemed to lift from Sir Humphrey’s mind. “Haven’t met,” he echoed. “Ah. Well, then.” His expression lightened. “Then what, may I ask, are you doing here, young lady? It’s not at all the thing to come calling on gentlemen you’ve never met, you know. Or even on gentlemen you have,” he added.
Gwendeline flushed. “I know. You will think me quite brass-faced, I fear. But I couldn’t think what else to do. I so wanted to ask you about…about my father, you see.”
Sir Humphrey’s eyes started alarmingly once again; his color rose to purple, and all his apprehensions seemed to return. “Your father?” he managed. “What would I know about your father? Nothing to do with it, I assure you.”
Gwendeline stared at him. “But they told me you were a friend of my father’s, indeed a close friend. Is it not true then?”
He sat back again, looking more perplexed than fearful now. “Can’t tell you that until I know who you are, can I? Who the devil is your father?”
“Why, Roger Gregory, sir,” answered Gwendeline in astonishment. “Didn’t the butler tell you my name?”
“Roge
r? Well, bless my soul. Are you Roger and Annabella’s girl? Of course, now that I look at you, you’re the image of Annabella. I’ll be…” He slapped his massive thigh and laughed. “That fool Gilling said some name or other, but I didn’t catch it. We’ve been talking at cross purposes, my dear. Good joke on me, what?”
Gwendeline didn’t understand the joke, but she was relieved to be recognized. “Yes,” she replied. “So you were a friend of my parents?”
“Absolutely. Spent many a pleasant evening at the house. Annabella gave the most splendid parties.”
“Did she, sir? I wish I might have attended them.”
Sir Humphrey coughed. “Ah, well, as to that. Not sure you would have liked them, you know. Not just, that is… Well, and so you’ve come to call on an old friend of your parents’. Very kind. I should have come to see you. Would have, but I don’t go out much, as I told you. Too much effort, hauling myself about. And so, you’ve come to London?”
“Yes,” said Gwendeline. She looked at him eagerly. “Thanks to my kind benefactors.”
He nodded knowingly. “Benefactors. Well, that’s good then. Heard that Roger was all to pieces when he was killed. Sad accident. Accept my sincere sympathy, my dear. Terrible thing.”
“Thank you. Indeed, it is only due to the help of friends of my father that I can live now. I’m so very grateful to them; I wish to thank them all.”
Sir Humphrey frowned at her. “Friends? Ah yes, heard something. Who was it said…?”
“Yes,” Gwendeline went on eagerly. “It was the kindest thing imaginable. Only think, a group of my parents’ friends combined to help me after they died. I have a little house of my own in London and an income. But it’s vexing; I can’t discover who is behind it all. I so wish to express my gratitude properly, but until I know the names of the people involved… I thought perhaps you could help me, since you were a friend. Do you know of this scheme, Sir Humphrey? Were you even in it, perhaps?”
Sir Humphrey was muttering to himself. “Splendid idea. Can’t think why I wasn’t… What? What’s that, my dear? Yes, a bang-up idea. I approve wholeheartedly. Give my mite gladly, too. Ain’t as if I’d feel it.”
Gwendeline jumped to her feet. “Then you did help me.” Overcome by her feelings of gratitude and relief, she leaned over and hugged her massive companion. “Oh, I’m so grateful to you. You cannot know. If it weren’t for you and the others, I’d be quite destitute. Thank you, thank you.”
She stood back, smiling brilliantly. Her elation came as much from relief as from gratitude. Sir Humphrey dithered a moment, recovering from his surprise and straightening his neckcloth, then he looked up at her radiant face doubtfully. “Well, but my dear girl, there is no need…”
“Oh, you mustn’t be modest. You saved my life. Or the next thing to it. Please accept my earnest thanks.”
Sir Humphrey couldn’t meet her sparkling gaze. “Well, well.” He sighed and muttered again. “Would have, of course. Glad to. Can’t think why…” He frowned. “Who told you of my interest in this thing?” he asked finally.
“Oh, no one told me,” answered Gwendeline. “Lord Merryn would say nothing; I was quite out of charity with him over it. Did you wish it kept a secret? Oh, do not say so. I had to thank you.”
“Just so. Merryn, you say? Hmmm.”
“He didn’t betray you, no. It was his mother who told me that you were a close friend of my parents, and I drew my own conclusions.”
“Ah.”
“And so, I do thank you over and over. I’m sorry if you didn’t wish it, but I couldn’t be easy, you see, until I’d done so. Tell me, do you know the names of any of the others?”
“Others?”
“Yes, the others who helped me.”
“Oh. No, no, I’m afraid not.”
Gwendeline’s face fell. “Perhaps, though, you can direct me to other of my parents’ close friends. Then I can call upon them as I did you.”
Sir Humphrey’s eyes bulged again. “Good God,” he exclaimed. “That is, no, no, I shouldn’t do that if I were you. People, ah, dislike being thanked, you know. Dashed embarrassing. Better to let it be. Nice of you to wish it, but better not.”
“You’re so kind,” said Gwendeline, her eyes filling with tears. “All of you.”
“No, I say, no,” replied her companion, aghast at this sign of feminine vapors. “Nothing, you know. Nothing at all.”
“It’s not nothing to me,” answered Gwendeline emphatically.
“Yes, well, glad it all came out right.” Sir Humphrey began to pull himself laboriously out of the armchair. “Don’t wish to be impolite, but engagements, you know. Haven’t breakfasted.”
“Of course. How heedless of me to keep you.” She made as if to assist him in rising, but he waved her off and slowly got to his feet. “I’ll go,” she continued, offering him her hand, “but I’m so happy we had this talk.”
He took her hand in his giant paw and gallantly kissed it. “My pleasure,” he murmured politely.
“I do hope we meet again soon.”
“Ah, well, as to that. Can’t say, you know.”
“Perhaps you can come to dinner one night and tell me about my parents. I know so little about them.”
This suggestion seemed to make Sir Humphrey uneasy again. He muttered something indistinct.
“So. Goodbye, then.”
“Goodbye, my dear.” He escorted her to the door and left her in the hands of his butler, who was hovering in the hall awaiting the outcome of this interesting visit. When she was gone, Sir Humphrey frowned. “Merryn,” he said to himself. “Strange. Have to speak to the fellow.”
Gwendeline, riding along in another hackney coach, had no regrets or feeling of puzzlement. She was convinced that she had partly solved the mystery of her income, and she was very pleased with herself. Lord Merryn was not her only benefactor, as she had begun to fear, but only the agent and spokesman for men who were reluctant to appear in the matter. She need no longer worry about her ambiguous situation. Though it still held some undeniable awkwardness, it was not as bad as she’d feared. More important, Lord Merryn had told her the truth. As she climbed happily down from the hack and entered Lady Merryn’s town house, she was more at ease than she’d been for some weeks. She even thought that her father couldn’t have been quite as black as many painted him if he’d had such truly loyal and generous friends.
Eight
Things were much changed at Lady Merryn’s house when she devoted herself to novel writing. The smooth routine disappeared; the countess had to be reminded of mealtimes and social engagements, then ready herself in a flurry. She began to resent callers, and several people asked Gwendeline if they’d offended her in some way. Allison’s resigned, disapproving expression grew more and more pronounced, while Gwendeline heard tales from Ellen of the near hysterical state of the kitchen. They went out less and less. At first, Lady Merryn continued to “gather material,” but as her writing progressed she became engrossed in it. The book was going slower, and she struggled with its intricacies for most of the day. In a few weeks, they were attending only those gatherings that Gwendeline recalled to her mind, and they were not many.
Gwendeline found she much preferred this style of life. Going out once or, at most, twice in the week made the outings much more special and enjoyable. And she still saw Lillian and her particular friends during morning calls or rides in the park. She occasionally met Lord Merryn there, and he usually joined her party for some distance, chatting in that pleasant, easy fashion which had marked their first ride together. With her worries relieved, Gwendeline felt happier than she had at any time since she came to London.
She was sitting with Lillian Everly in the drawing room one morning, looking over the fashion plates in the latest number of The Ladies’ Home Companion, when Allison entered to announce another caller. “I think that the trim is
hideous,” Lillian was saying as she bent over a page of willowy ladies in evening dress. “And we should look positive frights in this shade of yellow, Gwendeline, both of us. A color that suits neither of our complexions must be dreadful.”
“Mr. Horton is here,” said Allison sonorously.
“Oh no,” cried Gwendeline, looking up. She had been too engrossed by a cerise silk ball gown with demitrain and flounced sleeves to note the butler’s entrance. “Tell him that Lady Merryn is occupied and cannot see anyone,” she said quickly.
“I’ve already done so, Miss Gwendeline,” replied Allison. “But he has asked particularly to see you.”
“Me,” echoed Gwendeline, “oh dear.” She looked at Lillian. “He’s come to see me again.”
Lillian was laughing. “I see that he has. There can be no doubt of it, you have an official suitor. I wonder, when he will come to the point?”
“I shall say I have the headache.”
“You said that the last time he called. You’ll hurt his feelings.”
“It’s all very tiresome,” said Gwendeline with a sigh. “He’s a very nice young man, but I don’t wish to encourage him.”
“Then you should let him in but behave very coldly,” Lillian answered. “Respond to his conversation with monosyllables.” She gave Gwendeline a mischievous smile.
“Yes, it’s easy for you to laugh and give good advice,” responded Gwendeline with a rueful expression. “He’s jilted you. But you know perfectly well that it’s impossible to behave coldly to Mr. Horton. If one tries to speak in monosyllables, soon there is no conversation at all. He simply becomes redder and redder and looks pleading, until you feel so guilty that you say something kind.”
“Oh yes, I know.” Lillian laughed again. “You’re too kind altogether, Gwendeline. I suppose you’ll have to accept him in the end.”
Gwendeline wrinkled her nose. “If you were truly my friend, you’d try to win him back. He was so lost among your train of admirers that he never bothered you.” Both girls laughed at this.