The Grand Sophy Read online

  Fortunately for the success of the expedition, the truth had not dawned upon Charles when the Ombersley party set out to visit the Marquesa de Villacañas at Merton. The omens seemed to be propitious: the Marquesa had written a very pretty letter to Lady Ombersley, expressing her pleasure in the proposed meeting, and begging her to bring with her as many of her interesting children as would care to come; the sun shone, and the day was warm, with no threat of April showers; and Miss Wraxton, who had returned to the metropolis in time to share in the treat, was in her most amiable humour, not even excluding Sophy from her good graces. At the last moment, Hubert suddenly announced his intention of accompanying the party, saying that he too wanted to see the giraffe. Sophy frowned him down, and as his mother had not caught what he said, but at once began to express her delight in having his company, the awkward moment passed unnoticed. Mr Rivenhall, having greeted Sir Vincent Talgarth with perfect civility, was standing exchanging conversation with him while the three ladies who were to drive in the landaulet arranged themselves in it, Miss Wraxton begging to be allowed to take the back seat, and Cecilia insisting that she should not. Everything seemed to be in train for a day of enjoyment, when Mr Fawnhope came round the corner of the Square, saw the cavalcade, and at once crossed the road towards it.

  Mr Rivenhall’s face hardened; he shot an accusing look at Sophy, but she shook her head. Mr Fawnhope, shaking hands with Lady Ombersley, asked whither she was bound. She told him, Merton, and he said elliptically: ‘Statutes, Nolumus leges Angliae mutari.’

  ‘Very likely,’ said Lady Ombersley almost tartly.

  Miss Wraxton, who could never resist the temptation to display her superior education, smiled quite kindly at Mr Fawnhope, and said: ‘Very true. King John, you know, is said to have slept at the Priory the night before he signed the Great Charter. It is a very historic spot, for we are told that it was the scene of the murder of Cenulph, King of Wessex. It has, of course, more recent historic associations,’ she added, but repressively, for these more recent historic associations regrettably included a quite unmentionable female.

  ‘Nelson!’ said Mr Fawnhope. ‘Romantic Merton! I will go with you.’ He then climbed into the carriage, and took his place beside Cecilia, smiling seraphically at Lady Ombersley, and saying: ‘Now I know what it is I wish to do. I had no notion when I got up this morning, but was filled with a vast discontent. I will go to Merton.’

  ‘You cannot wish to go to Merton!’ said Lady Ombersley, very much put-out, and hoping that Charles would not put her to the blush by saying something cutting to this tiresome young man.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mr Fawnhope. ‘There will be verdure, and that, I think, is what my soul craves. I, with my fair Cecilia, to Merton now will go, Where softly flows the Wandle, and daffodils that blow – What an ugly word is Wandle! How displeasing to the ear! Why do you frown at me? May I not go with you?’

  This sudden change from rapt poet into cajoling boy threw Lady Ombersley off her balance, and she replied in a mollified voice: ‘I am sure we should be pleased to take you, Augustus, but we are going to visit the Marquesa de Villacañas, and she will not be expecting you.’

  ‘Now there,’ said Mr Fawnhope, ‘is a beautiful name! Villacañas! It is most rich! A Spanish lady, with “garments gay and rich as maybe, Decked with jewels had she on! ”’

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know,’ replied Lady Ombersley crossly.

  Sophy, much amused by Mr Fawnhope’s utter imperviousness to hints that he was not wanted, said laughingly: ‘Yes, pearls worth a king’s ransom. She even loves an English man: my father!’

  ‘How splendid!’ said Mr Fawnhope. ‘I am so glad I came!’

  Short of ordering him point-blank to get out of the carriage, there seemed to be no way of getting rid of him. Lady Ombersley cast her eldest son a despairing glance, and Cecilia an imploring one; and Miss Wraxton smiled in a reassuring way that was designed to show how perfect was her comprehension and how firm her resolve to keep an eye on Cecilia.

  ‘Who is this Adonis?’ Sir Vincent asked Mr Rivenhall. ‘He and your sister, seated side by side, quite take one’s breath away!’

  ‘Augustus Fawnhope,’ replied Mr Rivenhall curtly. ‘Cousin, if you are ready, I will hand you up!’

  Lady Ombersley, gathering that she had received a tacit consent to Mr Fawnhope’s presence told her coachman to start, Sir Vincent and Hubert fell in behind the carriage, and Mr Rivenhall said to Sophy: ‘If this is your doing – !’

  ‘I promise you it is not. If I thought that he had the smallest notion of your hostility, I should say that he had rolled you up, Charles: horse, foot, and guns!’

  He was obliged to laugh. ‘I doubt if he would have the smallest notion of anything less violent than a blow from a cudgel. How you can tolerate the fellow – !’

  ‘I told you that I was not at all nice in my ideas. Come, don’t let us talk of him! I have sworn an oath to heaven not to quarrel with you today.’

  ‘You amaze me! Why?’

  ‘Don’t be such an ape!’ she begged. ‘I want to drive your grays, of course!’

  He took his place beside her in the curricle, and nodded to the groom to stand away from the grays’ heads. ‘Oh, that! When we are clear of the town, you shall do so.’

  ‘That,’ said Sophy, ‘is a remark calculated, I daresay, to make me lose my temper at the outset. I shall not do it, however.’

  ‘I don’t doubt your skill,’ he said.

  ‘A handsome admission. It cost you an effort to make it, perhaps, and that makes it the more valuable. But the roads are so good in England that not much skill is required. You should see some of the tracks in Spain!’

  ‘Deliberate provocation, Sophy!’ said Mr Rivenhall.

  She laughed, disclaimed, and began to ask him about hunting. Once beyond the narrow streets he let his horses lengthen their stride, and overtook, and passed, the landaulet. Miss Wraxton was seen to be conversing amicably with Mr Fawnhope, while Cecilia was looking bored. The reason was explained by Hubert, who rode beside the curricle for a little way, and disclosed that the subject under discussion was Dante’s Inferno. ‘And this I will say for Fawnhope!’ he added handsomely, ‘he knows that Italian stuff much better than your Eugenia, Charles, and can go on at it for hours, never at a loss! What’s more, there’s another fellow, called Uberti, or some such thing, and he knows him too. Sad stuff, if you ask me, but Talgarth – I say, he’s a bang-up fellow, isn’t he? – says he’s devilish well-read. Cecilia don’t like it above half. Jupiter, I should laugh if Eugenia were to cut her out with the poet!’

  Receiving no encouragement from his brother to expatiate on this theme, he fell behind again to rejoin Sir Vincent. Mr Rivenhall handed over the reins to Sophy, observing as he did so that he was glad not to be sitting in the landaulet.

  She refrained from making any comment, and the rest of the drive passed very pleasantly, no controversial topics arising to mar the good relations between them.

  The house procured for the Marquesa by Sir Horace was a spacious Palladian villa, prettily situated in charming gardens, and with a bluebell wood attached, which, though fenced off from the pleasure grounds, could be reached through some graceful iron gates, brought from Italy by a previous owner. A few shallow steps led up from the carriage-sweep to the front door, and this, upon the approach of the curricle, was flung open, and a thin man, dressed in black, came out of the house, and stood bowing on the top step. Sophy greeted him in her usual friendly fashion, and at once asked where Mr Rivenhall could stable his horses. The thin man snapped an imperative finger and thumb, rather in the manner of a conjuror, and a groom seemed to spring up out of nowhere, and ran to the grays’ heads.

  ‘I’ll see them stabled, Sophy, and come in presently with my mother,’ Mr Rivenhall said.

  Sophy nodded, and walked up the steps, saying: ‘There are two more in the party than you were expecting, Gaston. You won’t mind that, I daresay.’

  ‘It makes nothing, ma