Cotillion Read online

  At these alarming words, Lord Dolphinton, who had for some time been sucking the hilt of a paper-knife, which he had found conveniently to hand, sat up with a jerk, and dropped the knife from his suddenly nerveless fingers. ‘Eh?’ he uttered. ‘But—Said you wouldn’t! Remember it distinctly! Said I might be comfortable again!’

  ‘And so you may, for I meant it!’ said Kitty fiercely. ‘There is no one for whom I have the least partiality, and I don’t wish to marry anyone in your odious family! I think Hugh is a humbug, and Claud has a cruel nature, and Dolph and Freddy are just stupid, and as for Jack I am truly thankful that he was not coxcomb enough to come here, because I dislike him more than all the rest of you together! Good-night!’

  The door slammed behind her, causing Lord Dolphinton to start nervously. Biddenden said: ‘A ramshackle business you made of it, Hugh, with your damned, long-winded periods, and your fine talk of educating the girl! Much good will your scholarship do you while you have less than common sense! What in the devil’s name possessed you to bring Jack up? Of course she’s fancied herself in love with him for years!’

  ‘It is time she left such childish folly behind her,’ said Hugh coldly. ‘There can be little in Jack to recommend him to a female of sense and principles, after all.’

  ‘If that’s what you think, my dear brother, I would advise you to put your nose outside your Rectory and to go about the world a little!’ returned Biddenden, with a short laugh. ‘And don’t talk fustian to me about his gaming, and his libertine ways—ay, I know it’s on the tip of your tongue!—Jack may be anything you please but he’s a devilish handsome fellow, and an out-and-outer—what they call top-of-the-trees! Of course Kitty has a tendre for him!’

  ‘No, she hasn’t,’ interrupted Dolphinton, who had been following this interchange with a puzzled frown on his brow. ‘Can’t have been listening! She said she disliked him more than all the rest of us together. And come to think of it,’ added his lordship, attacked by a sudden thought, ‘not sure she ain’t right!’ He nodded, pleased with his flash of insight, and said with unimpaired affability: ‘Don’t see much of him, which accounts for my thinking it was you I dislike the most, George.’

  Lord Biddenden, after glaring at him in an impotent way for several seconds, strode to the bell-rope, and jerked it vigorously. ‘Since that miserly old bag of bones has given no orders for our refreshment I shall make so bold as to tell the servant to bring some brandy to this room!’ he announced bitterly.

  Three

  Shortly before seven o’clock that evening, at about the moment when Miss Charing entered the Saloon to receive the proposals of two of her cousins, a hired post-chaise and pair drew up before the Blue Boar, a small but excellent hostelry situated rather more than a mile from Arnside House, where four roads joined. The young gentleman who alighted from the chaise must have been recognized at sight by the discerning as a Pink of the Ton, for although his judgment, which, in all matters of Fashion, was extremely nice, had forbidden him to travel into the country arrayed in the long-tailed coat of blue superfine, the pantaloons of delicate yellow, and the tasselled Hessian boots which marked him in the Metropolis as a veritable Tulip, or Bond Street Beau, none but a regular Dash, patronizing the most exclusive of tailors, could have presented himself in so exquisitely moulded a riding-coat, such peerless breeches, or such effulgent top-boots. The white tops of these, which incontrovertibly proclaimed his dandyism, were hidden by the folds of a very long and voluminous driving-coat, lined with silk, embellished with several shoulder-capes, and secured across his chest by a double row of very large buttons of mother of pearl. Upon his brown locks, carefully anointed with Russian oil, and cropped à la Titus, he wore a high-crowned beaver-hat, set at an exact angle between the rakish and the precise; on his hands were gloves of York tan; under one arm he carried a malacca cane. When he strolled into the inn, and shed the somewhat deceptive driving-coat, he was seen to be a slender young gentleman, of average height and graceful carriage. His countenance was unarresting, but amiable; and a certain vagueness characterized his demeanour. When he relinquished his coat, his hat, his cane, and his gloves into the landlord’s hands, a slight look of anxiety was in his face, but as soon as a penetrating glance at the mirror had satisfied him that the high points of his shirt-collar were uncrumpled, and the intricacies of a virgin cravat no more disarranged than a touch would set to rights, the anxious look disappeared, and he was able to turn his attention to other matters.

  The landlord, who had greeted him with a mixture of the deference due to a wealthy man of fashion, and the tolerant affection of one who, having been acquainted with him since the days when he wore nankeens and frilled shirts, knew all his failings, said for the second time: ‘Well, sir, this is a pleasant surprise, I’m sure! Quite a period it is since we’ve seen you in these parts! You’ll be on your way to Arnside, I don’t doubt.’

  ‘Yes,’ acknowledged the traveller. ‘Dashed nearly dished myself up, what’s more! Devilish early hours my great-uncle keeps, Pluckley. Fortunate thing: remembered it a mile back! Better dine here.’

  The Blue Boar was not much in the habit of catering for the Polite World, but the landlord, secure in the knowledge that his helpmate, a north-country woman, was a notable housewife, received this announcement with unruffled equanimity. ‘Well, sir, I won’t say you’re wrong,’ he remarked, with the wink of the privileged. ‘A most respected gentleman, Mr Penicuik, I’m sure, but they do say as he don’t keep what I’d call a liberal table, nor, by what I hear from Mr Stobhill, he don’t let the bottle go round like it should. Now, if you’ll step into the coffee-room, sir, you’ll find a good fire, and no one but yourself likely to come in. I’ll just make so bold as to fetch you in a glass of as soft a sherry as you’ll find this side of London-town, and while you’re drinking it my rib shall toss you up some mushroom fritters, by way of a relish—for you know we don’t have any call for French kickshawses here, not in the ordinary way, and aside from the fritters there’s only a serpent of mutton, and one of our goose-and-turkey-pies, which I’ll be bound you’ve not forgot, and a bit of crimped cod, and a curd pudding, if you should fancy it.’

  This modest repast being approved, Mr Pluckley then withdrew; and within a short space of time the covers were laid in the coffee-room, and the guest sat down to an excellent dinner, the bare skeleton, which had been described by the landlord, being reinforced by oysters in batter, some Flemish soup, and, as side-dishes, some calf’s fry, and a boiled tongue with turnips. A bottle of burgundy, which had formed part of a particularly successful run, washed the meal down; and the whole was rounded off by some cognac, the young gentleman of fashion waving aside, with a horrified shudder, an offer of port.

  It was while he was sipping this revivifying cordial that the landlord, who had lingered in the coffee-room to regale him with various items of local gossip, was drawn from his side by the sound of an opening door. Informing his guest that he would take care no ungenteel person intruded upon him, Mr Pluckley departed. A murmur of voices penetrated confusedly to the coffee-room, and in another minute Mr Pluckley reappeared, looking very much astonished, and saying: ‘Well, sir, and little did I think who it might be, at this hour of the evening, and the snow beginning to fall, and her coming on foot, without a servant nor nothing! It’s Miss Charing, sir!’

  ‘Eh?’ said the willowy gentleman, slightly startled.

  The landlord held the door wide, and Miss Charing, a serviceable if not beautiful cloak huddled about her form, appeared on the threshold, and there halted. The strings of her hood were tied tightly under her chin, and the resulting frill of drab woollen-cloth unbecomingly framed a face whose nose was pink-tipped with cold. There was nothing romantic about Miss Charing’s appearance, but her entrance would not have shamed a Siddons. ‘You!’ she uttered, in accents of loathing. ‘I might have known it!’

  The Honourable Frederick Standen was faintly puzzled. It seemed to