False Colours Read online

  ‘Who is going to tell her this whisker? You?’

  ‘No, stupid! The servants will see that the candle that was set on the hall-table for Evelyn has gone, and the whole household will know that he has returned before you are even awake.’

  ‘Including Fimber! I collect he won’t recognize me either? Mama, do come out of the clouds! A man who valeted us both when we were striplings!’

  ‘I am not in the clouds!’ she said indignantly. ‘I was about to say, when you interrupted me, that we must take him into our confidence.’

  ‘Also Challow, your coachman, the second groom, all the stableboys, –’

  ‘Nonsense, Kit! Challow, perhaps, but why in the world should the others be told?’

  ‘Because, my love, there is a phaeton and four horses to be accounted for!’

  She thought this over for a moment. ‘Very true. Oh, well, we must trust Challow to do that! You can’t think he won’t be able to: recollect what convincing lies he was used to tell when Papa tried to discover from him what you had been doing whenever you had slipped away without telling anyone where you were going!’

  ‘Mama,’ said Kit, ‘I am going to bed! I haven’t given back – don’t think it! – but if I argue with you any more tonight I shall end with windmills in my head!’

  ‘Oh, poor boy, of course you must be fagged to death!’ she said, with ready sympathy. ‘Nothing is so fatiguing as a long journey! That accounts for your perceiving so many difficulties in the way: it is always so when one is very weary. Go to bed, dear one: you will feel much more yourself when you wake up!’

  ‘Full of spunk – not to say effrontery, eh?’ he said, laughing. He kissed her, and got up. ‘It’s midsummer moon with you, you know – but don’t think I don’t love you!’

  She smiled serenely upon him, and he went to retrieve his belongings from the half-landing, and to carry them into Evelyn’s bedroom.

  He was so tired that instead of applying his mind to the problems confronting him, as he had meant to do, he fell asleep within five minutes of blowing out his candle. He was awakened, some hours later, by the sound of the blinds being drawn back from the windows. He raised himself on his elbow, wondering, for a moment, where he could be. Then he remembered, and lay down again, rather mischievously awaiting events.

  The curtains round the bed were pulled apart with a ruthlessness which was a clear sign to the initiated that the supposed occupant of the great four-poster was in his devoted valet’s black books. Kit yawned, and murmured: ‘’Morning, Fimber: what’s o’clock?’

  ‘Good morning, my lord,’ responded Fimber, in arctic accents. ‘It is past ten, but as I apprehend that your lordship did not return until the small hours I thought it best not to wake you earlier.’

  ‘No, I was very late,’ agreed Kit.

  ‘I am aware of that, my lord – having sat up until midnight, in the expectation of being required to wait on you.’

  ‘Stupid fellow! You should have known better,’ said Kit, watching him from under his eyelids.

  The expression of cold severity on Fimber’s face deepened. He said, picking his words: ‘Possibly it did not occur to your lordship that your continued absence would give rise to anxiety.’

  ‘Lord, no! Why should it?’

  This careless rejoinder had the effect of turning the ice to fire. ‘My lord, where have you been?’ demanded Fimber, abandoning his quelling formality.

  ‘Don’t you wish you knew!’

  ‘No, my lord, I do not, nor is it necessary I should know, for what I do know is that you wouldn’t have been so anxious not to let me go with you if the business which took you off had been as innocent as you’d have me believe. Nor you wouldn’t have sent Challow home! You should think shame to yourself, staying away all this time, and never sending her ladyship word to stop her fretting herself to ribbons! For anything she knew you might have been dead! Now, just tell me this, my lord, without trying to tip me a rise, which you know you can’t do! – are you in a scrape?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Kit truthfully. ‘I hope not.’

  ‘So you may well, my lord! At a time like this! If it’s serious, tell me, and we’ll see what can be done.’

  ‘I can’t tell you what I don’t know, Fimber.’

  ‘Indeed, my lord?’ said Fimber ominously. ‘I should have thought that your lordship knew I could be trusted, but it seems I was mistaken.’ He turned away, deeply offended, and walked across the room to where Kit’s open portmanteau stood. Kit had done no more than drag his night-gear out of it, considerably disarranging the rest of its contents. Muttering disapproval to himself, Fimber stooped to unpack it. He lifted up a waistcoat, took one look at it, and turned swiftly to find Kit watching him quizzically. He stood staring for an incredulous moment, and then gave a gasp. ‘Mr Christopher!’

  Kit laughed, and sat up, pulling off his night-cap. ‘I thought you were the one person we couldn’t hoax! How are you, Fimber?’

  ‘Quite stout, thank you, sir. And you wouldn’t have hoaxed me for long! To think of you taking us all by surprise like this! Does her ladyship know?’

  ‘Yes, she heard me come in, and got up, hoping to see my brother.’

  ‘Ay, no wonder! But I’ll be bound she was glad to see you, sir. Which I am too, if I may say so.’ He glanced critically at the waistcoat he was holding, and sniffed. ‘You never had this made for you in London, Mr Christopher. You won’t be wearing it here, of course. Is that foreign man of yours bringing the rest of your baggage after you?’

  ‘No, it’s coming by carrier. I haven’t brought Franz with me. I knew I could depend on you to look after me.’ Receiving no immediate response to this, he said, surprised: ‘You’re not going to tell me I can’t, are you? Fimber!’

  The valet emerged with a start from what bore all the appearance of a profound reverie. ‘I beg your pardon, sir! I was thinking. Look after you? To be sure I will!’ He added, as he laid the condemned waistcoat aside, and picked up the greatcoat which Kit had flung across a chair: ‘And time I did, Mr Christopher! These Polish coats are gone quite out of fashion. Nor you can’t wear that shallow in London: the present mode, sir, is for high crowns.’

  ‘Never mind my dowdy rig!’ said Kit. ‘What the devil is my brother doing?’

  ‘I don’t know any more than you do, sir, and it’s got me all of a twitter! It might be that he went off in one of his distempered freaks, and yet I don’t think it, somehow. My lady will have told you that he’s in a way to become buckled?’

  ‘She did, but he has never so much as given me a hint of it,’ replied Kit grimly. ‘Something damned brummish about the business! Well, if anyone knows the truth you do, so tell it to me, without any hiding of the teeth! Is he turning short about?’

  ‘No, that I’ll go bail he’s not!’ Fimber replied. ‘No one knows better than me the sort of bobbery he’ll get up to when he’s in high leg, but he wouldn’t play nip-shot now – not when he’s made the young lady an offer! What’s more, he wasn’t poking bogey when he told me, and her ladyship too, that he would be back within the sennight, for he bid me to be sure to engage the barber to come to trim his hair today. He will be here, sir, at noon.’

  ‘And what, pray, has that to do with me?’ asked Kit, eyeing him with misgiving.

  ‘It occurs to me, sir, that you are wearing your hair too long. His lordship favours more of a Corinthian cut.’

  ‘Oh, does he? Now, you may stop pitching your gammon, and tell me this! – Are you thinking that I might take my brother’s place tonight?’

  ‘Well, sir,’ said Fimber apologetically, ‘the notion did cross my mind! It seems as if it was meant, you coming home without a soul’s being the wiser, and not bringing that foreigner with you – and no need to worry about your baggage, for you may leave it to me to see it safely stored. No need to