Friday's Child (13 page)

Finally, it was decided that a cook, a butler, two abigails, and a pageboy or footman should, in addition to his lordship’s man, her ladyship’s personal maid, a coachman, two grooms, and the Tiger, be sufficient to ensure the young couple a moderate degree of comfort. Mr Stoke engaged himself to interview all menials applying for the various posts, and to hire those he considered the most desirable. He then took his leave of his patrons and went away in an extremely thoughtful mood.

Nothing now remained except to choose the requisite number of carpets, chests, beds, tables, and chairs for the house. The Viscount, who had had enough of warehouses, conceived the happy notion of enlisting the services of his cousin Ferdy, to whose charge he consigned Hero, while he himself went off to Tattersall’s with Mr Ringwood.

Ferdy, much gratified by the confidence reposed in his taste and judgment, professed himself to be very willing to place both at Hero’s service, for not only was he always ready to gallant a personable female, but his knowledge of all matters of
ton
was extensive and extremely nice. He knew just what elegant knick-knacks a lady of fashion should have in her drawing-room, had no hesitation in deciding upon a wallpaper to set off the straw-coloured chairs, and was able unerringly to guide Hero’s taste in the choice of carpets and hangings. As it occurred to neither of them to consider the Viscount’s purse, Ferdy’s genius was allowed full rein, and the proprietors of the several warehouses they visited showed a flattering, not to say obsequious, attention to such an open-handed pair.

The Viscount, meanwhile, having, under Mr Ringwood’s auspices, purchased a very pretty mare for his Hero to ride, two high-stepping bays to draw her barouche, and a light-mouthed grey to run between the shafts of her phaeton, lingered only to add a neatish bay, described by the auctioneer as ‘complete to a shade’, to his own stables before dragging Mr Ringwood off to a coach-builder’s in St James’s Street. Here they had no difficulty in selecting a smart barouche with a yellow body; and a light phaeton. They were just about to leave the premises to go in search of a set of silver-mounted harness when an elegant travelling chariot caught the Viscount’s eye, and he at once decided to buy that too, since not only would it be quite out of the question for Hero to travel post—his mother, he knew, never did so—but he himself liked nothing better than to tool a coach-and-four, and would no doubt derive no small degree of pleasure from possessing a coach of his own. As the purchasing of this vehicle made it necessary for him to return to Tattersall’s to negotiate for a team to draw it, it was evident that the Viscount was spending money quite as lavishly as his bride.

When Hero learned that she was now the owner of no fewer than three carriages and eight horses, she turned quite pink, and after struggling for a few moments to express herself suitably, stammered out: “Oh, Sherry, it is just like K-King Cophetua and the beggar-maid!”

“Who the devil was he?” demanded Sherry.

“Well, I don’t precisely remember, but he married a beggar-maid, and gave her everything she wanted.”

“Sounds to me like a hum,” said her sceptical husband. “Besides, what’s the fellow got to do with us?”

“Only that you made me think of him,” said Hero, smiling mistily up at him.

“Nonsense!” said Sherry, revolted. “Never heard such a silly notion in my life! If you don’t take care, Kitten, you’ll have people saying you’re bookish.”

Hero promised to guard against earning this stigma; and after fortifying himself with some very tolerable burgundy from the hotel’s cellars, Sherry sat down to write a somewhat belated letter to his parent.

After a second day’s intensive shopping with Ferdy, there really seemed to be nothing left to buy for the house in Half Moon Street, except such dull necessities as kitchen furnishings and linen, and as Hero was getting tired of choosing furniture she greeted with acclaim Sherry’s suggestion that the rest should be entrusted to Mr Stoke to provide. “And I’ll tell you what, Kitten,” he added. “I’ve had a devilish good idea. We’ll be off to Leicestershire until the house is ready for us to step into. I’ve got a snug little hunting-box there: just the very thing for us!”

“Leicestershire, dear old boy?” exclaimed Mr Ringwood, who happened to be present. “What the deuce should take you there at this time of year?”

“Time I ran an eye over my young stock,” said Sherry. He met his friend’s eye, and said: “Well, dash it. why shouldn’t we go to Leicestershire? The house won’t be ready for weeks, from what I can see of it, and I’ll be damned if I’ll kick my heels in this place much longer! What’s more, I’ve got a strong notion we shall have my mother posting up to London. Seems to me a good moment to go into the country.”

Hero turned pale at the thought of having to confront the Viscount’s enraged parent, and faltered: “Anthony! Do you indeed think she will come to town?”

“There isn’t a doubt of it,” replied Sherry tersely.

Hero clasped her hands tightly together. “And do you think—Cousin Jane as well?”

“Shouldn’t be at all surprised. It never rains but it pours. Dare say she’ll bring my uncle Horace along with her too.”

“Would it—would it be very poor-spirited of us to run away?” asked Hero anxiously.

“I don’t care a fig for that,” replied Sherry. “It’ll be deuced unpleasant if we stay! Thing to do is to give ’em all time to get used to the notion of us being married. By the time we come back to town I dare say they won’t be having the vapours any longer.”

Mr Ringwood, who had been sitting apparently lost in thought, suddenly said: “Brighton.”

“Too late in the season: we should never find a tolerable lodging,” replied Sherry. “Besides, I was down there in May, and it didn’t agree with me.”

“Lady Sherry would like it better than Leicestershire.”

“No, she wouldn’t. I’m going to teach her to ride.”

“Oh, are you, Sherry? Then do let us go to Leicestershire!” cried Hero.

“Lady Sherry,” said Mr Ringwood obstinately, “would like the balls at the Castle Inn. Like to be presented to the Regent, too. Believe he’s still down there.”

“Yes, and a pretty time I should have of it, looking after her!” retorted Sherry scornfully. “You know very well she’s no more fitted to keep the line amongst the set of fellows she’d meet there than a half fledged chicken!”

“Very true,” said Mr Ringwood, nodding wisely. “Better go to Leicestershire. Tell you what: give it out you’ve gone on your honeymoon.”

“That’s a devilish good notion, Gil!” approved the Viscount. “You’d better come along with us!”

This suggestion took Mr Ringwood aback, but as it was heartily endorsed by Hero, and as settling-day at Tattersall’s had left him without any expectation of being able to meet the more pressing of his obligations in the immediate future, he gratefully accepted the invitation. The reflection that the Dowager Lady Sheringham, with whom he was only too well acquainted, might conceivably take it into her head to summon him to her presence to account for his having aided and abetted her son in his clandestine marriage, also weighed with him, but this circumstance he prudently kept to himself, trusting that his friend, Mr Fakenham, when the inevitable summons came to him, would not put two and two together, and accuse him of ratting. Experience of Mr Fakenham’s processes of thought seemed to make it reasonably certain that this mathematical exercise lay rather beyond his powers.

Chapter 7

The Viscount had not been mistaken in thinking that the letter announcing his marriage to Hero Wantage would have the effect of bringing his Mama hotfoot to London. The news of Hero’s mysterious disappearance had naturally reached her some days before the arrival of Sherry’s missive: she had, in fact, sustained a morning call from Mrs Bagshot, who had enumerated all the kindnesses she had for years shown her ungrateful young relative, and had confided in the bored matron’s ear the intelligence that she had always expected the wretched girl to disgrace her. It occurred to neither lady to connect Hero’s flight with the recent visit of the Viscount to his home. Not unnaturally, it did not occur to Miss Milborne either. Miss Milborne said roundly that she was sure she did not blame poor little Hero, and only trusted that she had sought refuge with some member of her family who might treat her with more consideration than had ever been shown her in the Bagshot household.

When the Viscount’s letter arrived, its effect was stunning. Unable at first to believe the evidence of her eyes, his mother had sat staring at it as one in a trance. As the dreadful tidings penetrated to her intelligence, she gave vent to a shriek which made her brother, who was in the act of mending a pen, cut his finger with his pocket-knife. “Read that!” uttered the shattered lady, holding out the letter with a trembling hand. “Read that!”

To say that Mr Paulett was put out by the news of his nephew’s marriage would be grossly to understate his reactions. He had not believed that Sherry would tie himself up in the bonds of matrimony to any other than Miss Milborne, and was almost inclined to think the letter a hoax, designed merely to alarm him. A second perusal of the objectionable letter, however, put this hope to flight. There was, he did not pause to consider why, a ring of the authentic about St George’s, Hanover Square, and more than a ring of the authentic in the information that the family lawyer would shortly be communicating with himself. Mr Paulett saw the end in sight, and gave a groan. A gleam of hope shot through his despondency; he said: “Hero Wantage? She is a minor—it may yet be put a stop to! She had not the consent of her guardian!”

The dowager rose tottering from her couch. “Desire them to send the carriage round to the door immediately!” she said. “Heaven knows I do not expect the least show of good feeling from Jane Bagshot, whom I dare say contrived the whole miserable business, designing woman that she is! but I will leave no stone unturned to rescue my son from so ruinous an entanglement, and I will drive round to call upon her this instant!”

The same post which had brought the Viscount’s letter to his mother had also brought one, a much briefer one, to Mrs Bagshot. The Viscount had enjoyed writing it, and had read it aloud to Hero before fixing the wafer to it.

Dear Madam, [it ran] it is my duty to inform you that your cousin, Miss Wantage, has done me the honour to accept my hand in marriage. Should you be wishful of addressing your felicitations to her, a letter to The Viscountess Sheringham, care of Fenton’s Hotel, will find her. Believe me, etc., Sheringham.

Mrs Bagshot, reading with starting eyes this curt note, suffered all the rage and the chagrin the Viscount had desired her to feel when he gleefully penned it. She declared at once that the marriage was illegal, and should be instantly set aside; she said that she had always known Hero to be a minx and a baggage; she said that if Cassy had only made more regular use of the Denmark Lotion she had procured for her to eradicate the spots on her face this would never have happened. Cassy then fell into a fit of hysterics which brought her father into the room to inquire testily what the devil was amiss. Leaving Cassy to her sisters’ ministrations, Mrs Bagshot thrust the Viscount’s note into her husband’s hands, and commanded him to do something about it at once! Mr Bagshot, having calmly affixed his spectacles over his ears, read the note with maddening deliberation, and then desired his wife to inform him what she expected him to do about it.

Mrs Bagshot told him. He heard her out in patient silence, and, when she paused for breath, enunciated one word: “Rubbish!”

She glared at him, quite taken aback. Perceiving that she was momentarily bereft of speech, Mr Bagshot said: “Pray, why should you desire to have so advantageous a marriage set aside? I wish you will put yourself to the trouble of considering a little before flying into these odd humours, my dear. To be sure, I do not understand why young Sheringham must needs elope with Hero, for there can have been not the least reason for him to fear that you would not give your consent to the match.”

“I?” gasped Mrs Bagshot. “I consent to the penniless beggar’s marrying Sheringham? I would die rather!”

Her husband looked her over coolly. “Indeed! Then no doubt Sheringham knew what he was about when he carried her off in this improper fashion.”

“I shall have it put a stop to!”

“You will do no such thing,” he replied. “Unless you wish to appear a greater fool than I take you for, you will accept this highly flattering alliance with the appearance at least of complaisance.” He added dryly: “I imagine you are not desirous of giving the world cause to say that you are jealous because his lordship would not throw his handkerchief in Cassy’s direction. For my part, I am happy to think that Hero, who I have always considered to be a nice little thing, has had the good fortune to become so creditably established.”