False Colours (18 page)

‘Well, it won’t, for I shan’t drink it!’ said the Dowager. ‘I’ll take a cup of tea after dinner, but I won’t maudle my inside with it at this time of day! What I
could
fancy—but it’s of no consequence if you have none!—is a glass of negus.’

‘To be sure! how stupid of me!’ exclaimed Lady Denville, directing a look of agonized inquiry at her butler.

‘Immediately, my lady!’ he said, rising magnificently to the occasion.

Cressy, still standing at the foot of the steps, raised ruefully smiling eyes to Kit’s face, and said softly: ‘She is tired, you know, and that always makes her knaggy! I am so sorry! But she will be better presently.’

An answering smile was in his eyes as he said: ‘I’ve a strong notion that somewhere—in one of the lumber-rooms, I fancy—there is a carrying-chair that was used by my grandfather, when he became crippled with the gout. Do you think—?’

‘I do
not!
’
she replied, on a choke of laughter. ‘The chances are that she would take it as an insult. It will be best to leave her to your mother’s management: depend upon it, she will charm her out of the mops! I think she would charm the most ill-natured person imaginable, don’t you? And Grandmama is not that—truly!’

‘Certainly not! A most redoubtable old lady, who instantly won my respect! Now, what would you like to do? Shall I hand you over to Mrs Norton, to be escorted to your bedchamber, or will you take a turn on the terrace with me?’

‘Thank you! I should like to do that. I caught glimpses on the avenue of what I think must be a lake, and longed to get a better view of it.’

‘That may be had from the terrace,’ he said, offering his arm. ‘I wish you might have seen it when the rhododendrons were in full bloom, however! Even your grandmama would own that their reflection in the water, on a sunny day, makes up for their gloominess now!’

‘You wrong her, Denville! Nothing would prevail upon her to do so!’ She turned her head, looking at him a little shyly, yet openly. ‘I wish you will tell me if this visit of ours is—is quite what you wanted?’

He replied immediately: ‘How could it have been otherwise?’

‘Oh, easily! It was a stupid question to ask you, for you were obliged to give me a civil answer! The thing is that I have a lowering suspicion that Grandmama forced Lady Denville to invite us.’

‘I believe it was she who hit upon the notion, but I can assure you that Mama was delighted with it. Can you doubt that I too am delighted?’

‘Well, yes!’ she replied unexpectedly. ‘The thought has teased me that although I told you that I had not perfectly made up
my
mind, I didn’t ask you to tell me whether you, perhaps, had misgivings too. When you left London, it occurred to me—I could not help wondering if—Oh, dear, my tongue is tying itself into knots! You see, I do understand how very awkward it must be for you, if you are wishing you had never offered for me! So don’t stand on points, but tell me if you feel we should not suit, and leave it to me to settle the matter—which, I promise you, I can do, without the least fuss or noise!’

He put his hand over hers, as it lay on his arm. ‘That is
very
kind and thoughtful of you!’ he said gravely.

‘Well, I know how difficult it is for gentlemen to cry off,’ she explained. ‘It has always seemed to me to be monstrously unjust, too, for you may quite as easily make a mistake as we females are held to do so frequently!’

‘Very true! That is to say, I haven’t yet had occasion to consider the matter, but I feel sure you are right.’

She smiled. ‘Are you ever at a non-plus? That was charmingly said. But let us have no flummery, if you please! And don’t be afraid that you will offend me! Tell me the truth!’

‘The truth, Miss Stavely, without any flummery, is that the more I see of you the greater becomes my conviction that you are worthy of a better man than I am.’

She wrinkled her brow. ‘Is that a civil way of telling me that you
would
like to cry off?’

‘No. It is a way of telling you that you are a darling,’ he said, lifting her hand, and lightly kissing it.

The words were spoken before he could check them, and with a sincerity which brought a wave of colour into Cressy’s cheeks. He released her hand, thinking:
I must take care
;
and:
I
have never known a girl like this one
.
Aloud, he said: ‘Are you afraid to walk on the grass in those thin sandals, or will you let me show you the rose-garden? It is quite at its best—and I have just caught sight of my young cousin! He will almost certainly join us if we remain here, and I wouldn’t for the world expose you to
that
trial until you have recovered from the fatigue of your journey!’

Her quick flush had faded; she laughed, falling into step beside him. ‘Yes, indeed! I dare say we must have come quite thirty miles! Is your cousin so very dreadful?’

‘Yes: half flash and half foolish!’ he said, handing her down the unevenly flagged steps on to the shaven turf. ‘We were used—my brother and I—to think him an irreclaimable jackstraw, and accorded him the roughest treatment on the rare occasions when we met him.’

‘It seems to me that you still do so!’

‘Not at all! I took him out to shoot rabbits this afternoon—my life in my hands! That’s quite enough for one day. Seriously, he’s a tiresome youth—what I should describe, if I were talking to one of my own sex, but not, of course, to
you
,
as a shagbag.’

She said appreciatively: ‘No, of course not! And how
would
you describe him to me?’

‘As a quiz—and bumptious at that! But I’m beginning to think that the fault doesn’t lie altogether at his own door. Are you acquainted with his father? my uncle Cosmo?’ She shook her head. ‘Ah, then that is another treat in store for you! He is one of mother’s brothers, but she seems to suspect that he may be a changeling. Don’t be surprised if he asks you what you paid for your gown, and then tells you where you could have had it made up more cheaply!’

She was in a little ripple of amusement. ‘I won’t! You can’t think what a relief it is to me to know that you too have relations who put you to the blush! I’m covered with confusion every time I recall that
shocking
party in Mount Street, with poor dear Cousin Maria putting you out of countenance by saying in a voice to be heard all over London that you were
very
handsome; and that odious creature, Austin Lucton, trying to buttonhole you! My father was vexed to death when he heard that you
did
buy his horse! Is it a horrid commoner? Papa says that Austin can never judge a horse.’

‘Oh, not a commoner!’ he answered. ‘Just a trifle short of bone! You may see him for yourself: I had him brought down here, and have been hacking him.’

‘
Not
thinking him fit to go in Leicestershire!’ she said. ‘What can have possessed you to buy him? I fear your reputation will be sadly damaged!’

He chuckled softly. ‘No, will it? That’s famous!’ He read a surprised question in her eyes, and added: ‘No, I don’t mean that! The truth is that I was obliged to purchase the animal—having kept your cousin waiting such an unconscionable time for my decision. Do you hunt, Cressy?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t. I have been out once or twice with Papa, but not in the shires. You, I know, are what Papa calls one of the Tally-ho sort! I hope you won’t require me to try to emulate you, for I am very sure I couldn’t do so. I like to ride, but I am
not
an accomplished fencer! To own the truth, I find it very hard to throw my heart over a bullfinch, and I
hate
drop-fences!’

‘Capital!’ he said cheerfully. ‘For my part,
I
hate hard-riding females! Of late years, I have had little opportunity—’ He caught himself up, and continued smoothly—‘of observing the prowess of ladies on the hunting-field!’ He stood aside, to allow her to pass through a rustic arch overhung with trailing crimson ramblers. ‘Here, ma’am, we enter into our celebrated rose-garden! Do you like it?’

‘Oh, it is beautiful—exquisite!’ she exclaimed, standing at gaze for a minute, before moving forward swiftly to inspect more closely a new specimen, just bursting into full flower.

‘Tell Newbiggin so—he’s our head gardener—and you
will have made a slave for life! I should warn you, however, that my dear Mama is firmly convinced that she, and she alone, made this garden! And it is perfectly true that it was she who
conceived
the notion. She was immersed in plans when I left for Constantinople, but—’

‘When you left for Constantinople?’ she repeated, looking quickly up at him.

‘To visit my brother,’ he said glibly.

‘Did you do that? How much I envy you!’

‘Are you fond of foreign travel?’

‘I have never done any—only in books!’ she said. ‘It was used to be my greatest ambition—to see the world a little—but Papa dislikes foreigners, and I never could persuade him to go even as far as to Paris. You visited your brother in Vienna too, didn’t you? I wish you will tell me about it!’

There was no difficulty about this; and as they strolled companionably down the paths that separated the rose-beds Kit soon found that her reading had taught Cressy a great deal. She listened eagerly, interpolating an occasional question; and from time to time Kit paused to break off a particularly fine bloom to give to her. When they made their way back to the house she held quite a bouquet, and said, conscience-stricken: ‘If we should meet your gardener now he will become my enemy, not my slave! Tell me, Denville, did your father make the Grand Tour when he was young? Don’t you wish you had grown up then, before the war, when it was thought to be part of a young man’s education to travel abroad, learning to speak foreign languages, seeing how people live in other countries?’

‘Except that if my father’s Grand Tour is anything to judge by they went at too early an age, and were hedged about by tutors. As far as I could ever discover from the things my father told me, he went from one large city to another, armed with introductions to the ton, and spent his time between studying with his tutor and attending balls and routs—which he might as well have done in London!’

She said thoughtfully: ‘Yes, but I have a melancholy suspicion that our fathers—and even more our grandfathers—had very little interest in the beauties of nature, and still less in the customs of the
people
.
My own grandfather kept a diary of his Grand Tour, and it is composed almost entirely of great names, and social functions which he attended: I was never more disappointed, when Papa gave it to me to read! For he must have passed throughout the
grandest
scenery, you know!’

‘Did he record that he took care to wear lambswool next the skin when travelling over an Alpine pass?’

She burst into laughter. ‘Yes, he did! Oh, dear! How sad that our forebears should have had such opportunities, and should have wasted them so shockingly!’

They had reached the terrace-steps by this time. As they mounted them, Kit
said: ‘Have you taken Miss Clara Stavely’s place in attendance on your grandmama, Cressy? My mother wasn’t perfectly sure if she would be accompanying you, or not.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry! I should have told her. Yes, I always go with Grandmama to Worthing at the end of the Season, so that Clara may enjoy what is known in the family as her
holiday!
In fact, she has gone to fetch and carry for my Aunt Caroline—and will very likely be required to take charge of the children as well, if I know my Aunt Caroline!’ She smiled. ‘Don’t look so shocked! Let me tell you that my Aunt Elizabeth, who is the kindest creature imaginable, was used to think it as abominable as I can see you do that Clara should become a mere drudge. She invited her once to spend the summer in Hertfordshire, determined that she should enjoy a holiday of ease and comfort. Clara had nothing to do but be cosseted and amused—and had almost moped herself into a decline (as she later confided to me) when Aunt Eliza summoned her to come instantly to her aid, one of her children having thrown out a rash; her eldest son, my cousin Henry, having taken a toss, and broken his arm; and her housekeeper having been obliged to leave at a moment’s notice to succour her ailing mother, who had been laid low with a palsy-stroke. Aunt Eliza told me that Clara packed her trunks in the twinkling of a bedpost, and was on her way to Lincoln while she, and her
very
attentive children, were still trying to prevail upon her to remain at Stoborough Hall! I collect that there was all to do in Lincoln, and I
know
how exacting is my Aunt Caroline, but I promise you that when Clara resumed her post beside Grandmama she was wonderfully refreshed!’

He was obliged to laugh at this lively history, but he said, cocking an eyebrow at her: ‘Yes, I too have an aunt who—according to what my mother tells me—derives immense satisfaction from immolating herself on the altar of family duty. But I hope you don’t mean to try to bamboozle me into believing that
you
are of this cut!’

‘Not in the least!’ she replied. ‘Nor do I immolate myself. The worst I have to suffer when I go to Worthing with Grandmama is—is a certain tedium! And even that is alleviated by Grandmama’s tongue.’ He had opened a door that gave access to the terrace from the house, and she said, pausing before she stepped across the threshold: ‘Thank you for my roses! Do you keep country hours at Ravenhurst? Will you desire one of the servants to take me to my room, if you please? It must be time I made myself ready for dinner.’

‘We’ll find my mother,’ he replied. ‘She will certainly wish to take you up herself.’