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  ‘If I were you, Sherry, I’d send that rogue packing!’ said Prosper.

  ‘He doesn’t worry me,’ responded Sherry, handing him a glass of wine.

  ‘No! He don’t steal your property!’ retorted Prosper.‘When I think of the things of mine that rascal has walked off with – However, that’s not what I came to talk to you about! If you’re not mighty careful, my boy, you’ll find yourself under the hatches! What the devil takes you to 12, Park Place? Young fool! Frittering a fortune away at French hazard, eh?’

  ‘Fudge!’ said Sherry, colouring.

  ‘Fudge, is it? They tell me you’re seen about with that fellow Revesby. He take you to Park Place?’

  ‘What if he did?’

  ‘Thought as much,’ said Prosper, nodding. He sipped his wine, adding matter-of-factly:‘Got a strong notion they load the dice there.’

  Sherry stared at him. ‘It’s a hum! You know nothing of the matter!’

  Prosper gave an indulgent chuckle. ‘If any man in town is to be trusted to know when he’s playing with downhills it’s I!’ he said. ‘Think you’re up to all the tricks, don’t you, Sherry? Well, you ain’t!’ He finished what remained in his glass, and heaved his bulk out of the chair.‘Said all I want to,’ he grunted.‘Know why Revesby ain’t a member of Watier’s? They blackballed him.’

  This interview annoyed Sherry very much; and as Hero came in not ten minutes after he had seen his uncle off the premises, he naturally told her about it, expatiating at length on the folly of persons who held it possible for a fellow’s luck to continue bad indefinitely, and expressing some startling views on the correct measures to pursue when the dice were falling against one. Hero drank all this in, never doubting that every word he spoke was not only infallible, but represented his considered opinion; but she was a little alarmed by a glancing reference to Mr Stoke’s visit earlier in the week. No sooner had she been favoured with a scathing description of this gentleman’s errand than she conceived the notion of returning to the modiste who created them, two ball-dresses, one opera-cloak, and a delicious promenade dress, with gathered sleeves and a high, arched collar, which was designed to be worn with a Spanish lapelled coat of fine orange merino adorned with epaulets and a border of raised white velvet. Sherry, however, when she suggested this sacrifice, was horrified, and forbade her either to do any such thing or to bother her head over such matters. He then passed a few strictures on the household bills, wondered that she should not contrive better, and said that he had no doubt that Groombridge was drinking all the best champagne.

  So Hero nerved herself to remonstrate with the ruler of her kitchen. Such was her trepidation that Mrs Groombridge eyed her with overt contempt, and answered her in a very insolent manner. This was a mistake, for her mistress had a temper. The interview then proceeded on wholly unpremeditated lines, and ended with the abrupt departure of the Groombridges from Half Moon Street. As the master of the house was holding a bachelor dining-party there that evening, it was small wonder that Bootle, Jason, and the fat page-boy should have looked with as much dismay as respect upon their mistress. But however little Cousin Jane might have taught Hero of the ways of the world, she had unquestionably attended to the domestic side of her education. The page-boy was sent off with a note from my Lady Sheringham to my Lady Kilby, excusing herself, on the score of the headache, from attending a soirée that evening; the superior abigail above-stairs was staggered to learn that she was to assist my lady in the kitchen; Bootle bowed politely to a decree that he was to act as butler; and Hero penetrated the fastnesses of the basement regions, thereby frightening the kitchen-maid so much that she dropped a dish on the stone floor, and was of very little use for the rest of the evening. However, this was not felt to signify, since Jason, recommending her to stop napping her bib, offered his services to Hero in her stead, stipulating only that his livery should be protected by a belly-cheat. As soon as the assembled company had grasped that this elegant phrase was a euphemism for an apron, the desired article of clothing was produced; and the Tiger proved himself to be extremely expert amongst the cooking-pots.

  It was not until dinner was nearly over that the Viscount noticed that he was being waited on by his valet. Since the party consisted of Lord Wrotham, the Honourable Ferdy Fakenham and Mr Ringwood, he had no hesitation in demanding the reason for this departure from the normal, freely hazarding the guess that Groombridge was lying incapable on the pantry floor. Bootle, who disapproved of such unceremonious behaviour, returned a non-committal answer; but Jason, who was waiting to deliver the next course into his hands, put his head into the room and announced that both Groombridges having piked on the bean the Missus was cooking the dinner, and in bang-up style.

  Upon receipt of this amazing information, the whole party repaired at once to the kitchen, Sherry having the forethought to take the wine-decanter along with him, and Ferdy pausing only to secrete his watch-and-chain in one of the vases on the dining-room mantelpiece. Hero, delightfully unconscious of dishevelled tresses, flushed cheeks, and a smut on her nose, made them welcome. They drank her health, ate up all the apricot tartlets she had prepared, sampled the contents of the jars on the big dresser, and wondered that they should never before have had the happy thought of invading a kitchen. After that they swept Hero off with them upstairs, leaving the servants to wash up the dishes. Bootle and the superior abigail exchanged speaking glances, the kitchen-maid retired to indulge a mild fit of hysterics in the scullery, and Jason, seating himself at his ease at the table, requested the page-boy to flick him some panam and cash. This intelligent lad, who had for months been enriching an already varied vocabulary from Jason’s store, at once complied with the request by cutting the Tiger a large slice of bread and cheese.

  On the following day, Bootle, whose sense of what was due to himself would not allow of a repetition of the previous night’s performance, volunteered to find and install a respectable couple to fill the Groombridges’ places. He magically produced a cousin of his own, who, with his wife, almost immediately took possession of the kitchen. There was no noticeable diminution in the household bills, but since Mrs Bradgate grilled kidneys just as Sherry liked them, and always agreed smilingly with everything Hero said; and as Bradgate’s depredations on the cellar were too discreet to attract attention, the young couple were able to congratulate themselves on having made a change for the better.

  Sherry’s more personal affairs seemed to be on the mend too, his friends Revesby and Brockenhurst having counselled him to alter his habits a little. So instead of pursuing his ill-fortune at Watier’s, where they played hazard and macao for stakes varying from ten shillings to two hundred pounds, he began to patronise a snug little establishment in Pall Mall, which was presided over by a charming female of considerable address, and where rouge et noir and roulette were extensively played. Sherry passed several successful evenings in this house, and began to nourish the hope that he would soon find himself up in the stirrups again. His uncle, hearing of this new departure, cast up his eyes, and said he washed his hands of the boy.

  Others besides Prosper Verelst and Mr Stoke regarded Sherry’s gaming excesses with disfavour. Ferdy Fakenham, dining at Limmer’s Hotel with his brother and Mr Ringwood, actually said that something ought to be done about it, adding hopefully that he thought it might answer tolerably well if Gil spoke to Sherry. Mr Ringwood declined this office with great firmness, saying that he was not Sherry’s cousin.

  ‘George might drop him a hint,’ said Ferdy dubiously. ‘I wouldn’t set any store by what George said myself, but Sherry might.’

  ‘Where is George?’ asked the Honourable Marmaduke. ‘Thought he was dining with us to-night?’

  Ferdy sighed. ‘No. He’s gone off to the Cowpers’ ball. Poor fellow! Don’t like to tell him, but the odds are shortening at the clubs: the time was when you could get tens anywhere against Severn’s coming up to scratch, but no one’s offering better than evens now, and I shouldn’t be at all surprised if be