Acting on Impulse Read online

  He is the “creature of impulse” and it is his “ingenuous boyishness” that drives the unlikely but entertaining plot. The action is fast-paced, the dialogue is pure 1920’s literary England, with such smile-inducing phrases as “topping,” “top-hole” and “awfully bucked,” and the plot has enough twists and turns to keep the reader amused. Heyer’s hand is sure throughout the story and with some wit and more good humour than she would achieve in Helen, she brings the tale to its obvious conclusion.

  Though only her second short for The Red Magazine, “Acting on Impulse” would be Heyer’s last for that publication.

  ACTING ON IMPULSE

  I.

  EVERYONE who knew him or had ever known him agreed that Kenneth Mount was mad. His nurse had said it most emphatically when, at the age of five, Kenneth had left his bed while she was having dinner and climbed on to the roof through the trapdoor, clad only in his pyjamas. The only explanation he had been able to give for his extraordinary conduct was that he had wanted to see the man in the moon. When she indignantly demanded whether he could not have done that from his bedroom window, he replied that he hadn’t thought of it.

  His father said that he was mad; his mother, when she was alive, said that he was “just like his father,” which meant practically the same thing. It was a source of wonderment to all his friends and relations that he had escaped expulsion from school, but escape it he did; nor was he sent down from college, although there he had had some anxious moments on that score. Why he was spared no one knew. It may have been that his ingenuous boyishness appealed too strongly to the authorities, or that they realised that there was not an ounce of vice in his composition.

  The fact of the matter was that he was purely a creature of impulse. Once he proposed to an elderly spinster because she told him that she was no longer attractive. Strange to say, she did not take offence, but thanked him for his offer and refused it.

  He was twenty-six when he became engaged to Ursula Fenton. He had known her for some six months or so, and they were great pals. She was an orphan, and she supported herself by painting posters and illustrating magazines. She took a great interest in the irresponsible Kenneth, and he went often to her studio in Chelsea, just as a friend. There was so little of the lover in his behaviour that Ursula was considerably surprised when, at ten o’clock one morning, he presented himself at her door, hatless and breathless, and delivered himself of this sentence:

  “I say, Ursula, will you marry me?”

  Another girl might have been offended by this sudden proposal, but Ursula knew her Kenneth. She drew him into the studio and shut the door. She was a very business-like little lady.

  “Sit down and pull yourself together, Kenneth! What on earth do you mean?”

  Kenneth ran his fingers through his dishevelled hair, which made it stand upon end in short, crisp curls.

  “Marry me—be engaged to me! You know!”

  “When did you have this brain-wave?” demanded Ursula.

  “This morning. I was having breakfast alone—pater’s got a cold—and it suddenly struck me how topping you’d look sitting opposite me—pouring out the coffee an’ all that. It’s the way your hair curls against your cheek, and the way your nose goes squiggly when you laugh. Ursula, it must have been coming on for months. Do marry me!”

  They became engaged, and it was all Ursula could do to prevent Kenneth from dashing off there and then to buy a special licence. She dragged him down from the clouds and reminded him that he must first tell his father. Also she would not marry him for at least six months, because she wasn’t at all sure that he wouldn’t regret the engagement.

  Kenneth rushed home to break the news to his father.

  Now, old General Mount was a choleric man. He worshipped his son, but there were times when he could be as obstinate as a mule. He wanted tactful handling, but today Kenneth was in no tactful mood. He burst into the general’s bedroom and sat down on the side of the bed. The general sneezed violently and swore. A man labouring under a severe cold in the head is hardly in his most amenable frame of mind.

  “Look here, sir,” said Kenneth excitedly, “I’ve got a great piece of news! I’m engaged! Engaged! Engaged to be married!”

  Another, more violent, sneeze shook the general.

  “Engaged be damned!” he choked.

  “No—no, not at all! You don’t understand, sir! She’s the most extraordinary girl you’ve ever seen in your life! Absolutely wonderful! When she laughs, her nose is all squiggly. Oh, she’s top-hole! And she’s got the sort of eyes—”

  The general raised himself on one elbow.

  “Who is this girl?” he snarled.

  Kenneth stared at him in surprise.

  “Why, didn’t I tell you?”

  “No, you did not, sir!”

  “It’s Ursula Fenton. You know.”

  “I tell you I do not know! Never seen the girl in my life!”

  “Haven’t you? I say, this won’t do!” Kenneth sprang up. “I must buzz off and fetch her along. You’ll—”

  “Stop!” The general sat up, shivering. “What the devil d’you mean by it, sir? I won’t have her here! I won’t see any girl in bed! Damn it, I say I will not!”

  Kenneth came slowly back to the bedside.

  “Can’t you get up?” he asked disappointedly.

  “No, I can’t! You don’t seem to understand that I’m very unwell! How dare you come bursting into my room like this?”

  Kenneth pushed him gently back on to his pillow and tucked him up.

  “I’m awfully sorry, sir. Clean forgot you’d a cold. I’ll have to bring Ursula along later.”

  The general eyed him malevolently.

  “I don’t want to see her! You’re mad—mad!”

  That set Kenneth off once more. For ten minutes the general was incapable of stemming the tide of his eloquence. When Kenneth at last paused, he shot forth a number of questions. He discovered that Ursula was a modern girl who worked for her own living. The general was old-fashioned; one of his pet aversions was the self-supporting girl. When he further discovered that Ursula was an artist his rage knew no bounds.

  Kenneth must clearly understand that this miserable affair must end at once. If he married this bohemian he would be cut off with a shilling, he should never enter his father’s house again, he— At this point, the general’s old servant who had entered the room, led Kenneth forth, sternly and silently.

  Kenneth knew that his father’s bark was a good deal worse than his bite. He fully expected the general to cool down in a few days’ time. But for once the general was adamant. The mere mention of Ursula’s name drove him into a fury. Kenneth waited a month, and still there were no signs of relenting. So Kenneth went to consult Ursula. It was not the first consultation by any means.

  “It’s no good,” Kenneth said. “He simply won’t give in. Won’t even see you. We shall have to get married and trust to luck. He’d never disinherit me.”

  “I’m not going to do that.” A frown creased Ursula’s pretty brow. “It isn’t fair. After all, you’re all he’s got.”

  “Well, he shouldn’t be so pig-headed,” said Kenneth. “If only he’d consent to see you he couldn’t object.”

  Ursula smiled a little.

  “Silly old Ken! You know, you’ve mucked this pretty thoroughly. You ought to have told him gently, and not when he was in bed with a cold.”

  “I s’pose it was rather stupid,” agreed Kenneth dejectedly. “The worst of it is, I don’t want to upset him. I mean to say, we’re frightfully good pals and I don’t want to have a row.”

  “‘Course not. Are you quite sure I couldn’t go to see him?”

  “Good lord, no!” Kenneth was horrified. “He’d have apoplexy! No, there’s nothing for it, Ursula. We’ve got to get married on the Q T and break the news by degrees. I’ll get a licence, and—”

  “You won’t! If your father doesn’t give his consent, I won’t marry you.”

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