Marchington Scandal (2 page)

A sunny April morning two weeks later found Katharine Daltry engaged in a very characteristic occupation. She was alone in one of the attics of her small house in Green Street, and she was painting in oils. This was an unusual pastime for a lady, who would commonly have preferred watercolors, and Katharine had rendered it even more eccentric, and quite scandalized her London servants, by the determined way she went about it. The attic room had been cleared out as soon as she purchased the house and its broad skylight washed until it shone. The whitewash on the walls was the only other improvement she made before filling the corners with paints, canvases, and various other artistic paraphernalia. She had begun this sort of work in India, partly to occupy the long lonely hours, after a very proper girlhood training in sketching and watercolor, and in the process of educating herself in the new medium had become rather good and extremely devoted to it.

To the rest of the household, however, excepting Cousin Mary, her daily sojourn in her “studio” was the subject of persistent gossip. The butler was impassively bland; the cook shook her head and wondered what would come of such goings-on; and the maids alternately giggled and marveled. Much of this talk had to do with the costume Katharine donned for these sessions. As now, she always wore a faded old muslin gown covered by an immense, and paint-bespattered, kitchen apron. Her dark hair was pulled ruthlessly back from her forehead and confined in an unbecoming knot on top of her head, and her slender hands were stained with varying shades of vermilion.

Yet in spite of her odd appearance, a visitor to the room, had such ever been allowed, might have been arrested by the sight of Katharine bent over her easel. For something, perhaps the rapt look in her amber eyes, offset all this dowdiness and lent her an aura of beauty despite it.

Today she was working on a still life. She had set up a vase of scarlet poppies, procured at some expense at this season, on a blue-draped table directly under the skylight, and she was just now trying to capture the exquisite blue-black center of one of the flowers on her canvas. It was a delicate operation, done with a tiny brush, and when a knock came at the door, Katharine's hand jerked very slightly and smeared the design a little.

“Damn!” she said, very improperly. She threw down the brush and strode over to fling open the door. “Mary! What is it? You know I am
not
to be interrupted in here. Indeed, you have never done so before.”

“And I would not now,” replied the other, “if I could have avoided it. I am sorry, Katharine; I know you value your mornings alone. But Elinor and her husband are here, and she positively insists upon seeing you. One of the footmen, the new one, unfortunately let out that you were at home, and it was only by promising to fetch you that I prevented Elinor from coming up herself.”

Katharine sighed angrily. “Drat the girl. I knew she would be a nuisance. I suppose I must come down.” She turned back into the room. “Tell them I will be there in a quarter of an hour.”

It was rather longer than that before Katharine Daltry reached her drawing room. She had had to cover the painting, wash the pigment from her hands, and change her dress. And it must be admitted that she did not hurry overmuch. She did not at all look forward to seeing her Cousin Elinor, and she was still quite annoyed at the interruption of her work.

Finally, however, she walked down the stairs and across the hall to the drawing room, whence voices could be heard. When she entered, the three people seated near the fireplace turned and stood to greet her, Mary with a slight grimace at Katharine's truculent expression.

Katharine eyed her younger cousin and her husband with critical interest. Elinor, who was the daughter of Katharine's mother's younger sister, as Mary was of her father's elder brother, showed some resemblance to her hostess. Her hair was the same dark brown, and her figure had some of the extreme slenderness Katharine had exhibited at her age. But Elinor's eyes were of an undistinguished brown, and her face was constructed quite differently, being more round than triangular. Her husband, Tom Marchington, was a well-set-up young man with light brown hair, a high color, and slightly prominent blue eyes. Katharine knew from her aunt's letters that his family owned the estate next to Elinor's parents' and was very wealthy. The match had been made up years before by the older couples, but Elinor and Tom appeared happy enough with the result.

“Do sit down,” said Katharine, doing so herself.

They all sat.

“I am so happy to see you, Cousin Katharine,” exclaimed Elinor. “It has been so long. Indeed, I don't believe we have met these six years. You must remember me as a silly schoolgirl.”

This clearly called for a demur, but since it was precisely what Katharine did remember, she replied, “It has been a long time. And now you are quite grown up. I must offer you my felicitations on your marriage.” She included them both in her glance. “I am so sorry I did not return to England in time to attend the ceremony.”

“Yes, we so wanted you to come,” said Elinor. “But we couldn't put it off because Tom and I were determined to do the season, and we wanted all that out of the way.”

Raising an eyebrow very slightly, Katharine looked at Tom Marchington. “This is your first visit to London also?”

“Yes. M'father never cared for town life, so he put me off whenever I asked to come. But now that I'm a married man, I suppose I can do as I please.”

Katharine's eyebrow moved again.

“Tom is just like me,” added Elinor. “He has always
longed
to see the
ton
and the season. You cannot imagine how disappointed I was last year when all the children came down with the measles just as Mama was about to bring me up to town for my come-out. I cried for days. And I still think she might have found someone else to… But that is all over now. We are actually
in
London! We mean to have a perfectly splendid time and go to every party there is!”

“Hah!” put in Tom. “I shan't spend every moment doing the pretty in some drawing room, Elinor. I have told you I mean to see some other sights as well.”

The girl grimaced. “Oh, all those horrid gaming hells and boxing saloons. I cannot imagine why you want to waste your time there. But you must do as you like, of course.”

“I shall start with a good tailor,” replied the man unheedingly.

“Oh, yes! Cousin Katharine, we both mean to buy completely new wardrobes before the season really gets started. Can you tell me where I should go?” She looked over her cousin's elegant gray morning dress. “I want to be the
height
of fashion!”

Katharine smiled a little. “If that is your aim, you must go to Madame Gervase in Bond Street; she is all the crack, I have heard.” She turned to Tom. “I fear I know nothing about Savile Row.”

Mr. Marchington reddened slightly. “That's all right. Have the name of m' father's snyder.”

“Isn't it thrilling?” Elinor clasped her hands before her bosom. “I can hardly bear the excitement. And, oh, Cousin Katharine, we want to ask you to present us to
everyone
. Mama says that you were a tremendous hit when you came out six years ago, and I mean to be the same. You must know all the
haut
ton
.”

This was the remark Katharine had been warily waiting for, and now she could not restrain a slight grimace.

“Your mother exaggerates, Elinor. I had a very modest success, I assure you, and most of that was due to curiosity, I daresay. I was the oldest deb in living memory because we waited for Father to return from France.”

The younger girl shook a playful finger at her. “Now you are being modest, Katharine. Mother told me you took the town by storm, and refused scores of brilliant offers for the sake of Robert Adams.” She sighed audibly. “I have always thought it the most romantic story.”

Acutely embarrassed, Katharine clenched her fists in her lap. But she made a great effort to pass this appalling remark off lightly. “Hardly scores, Elinor. Not even several. And you know I have been out of the country for years. I really know almost no one in London now. However, a friend of mine, Lady Eliza Burnham, is familiar with all the people you wish to meet. I will ask her to present you to some of them. Indeed, she is giving a ball next week, as it happens, I will have her send you a card.”

“Oh, that will be splendid. And perhaps you will permit us to go with you? I mean, uh, perhaps you will dine with us before and go on to the ball.”

“Thank you, but I'm not attending.”

“Not…? Oh, of course. Katharine, your father. I meant to say how sorry we are right away, but I…I forgot. Your blacks…that is…”

“I've left off full mourning. It has been nine months, and Papa always loathed black. But I must tell you straight out, Elinor, that I am not going out. The activities of the
ton
bore me unspeakably, and I greatly prefer remaining at home, seeing a few friends occasionally. I fear I will be of little help to you during the season. But I will ask Lady Burnham to do what she can.”

“You don't
want
to go out?” Elinor appeared to puzzle over this astonishing fact for a while; then her face cleared. “Oh,
of
course
, dear Katharine. How could I be so stupid? You cannot forget Robert. You do not wish to relive moments that you shared with him.” She sighed again.

Katharine made an exasperated sound. Her cousin was really impossible. If she had in fact been wearing the willow for a man more than four years dead, this reminder would certainly have depressed her spirits. As it happened, she had recovered from the death of her first love some time ago, but this did not excuse Elinor's thoughtlessness. She was about to deliver a blistering set-down when it occurred to her that here was an excuse to avoid Elinor's further importunities. She knew that the younger girl would never accept the simple fact that she preferred being alone to “society.” But if she thought a broken heart was behind her solitude, surely she would leave Katharine alone with her “sorrow.” Katharine raised soulful eyes to Elinor's, sighed, and dropped them again. Mary looked at her with astonishment.

“Poor Katharine,” exclaimed Elinor. “Naturally, I understand. I will do nothing to intrude upon your grief.”

“Thank you,” answered the other brokenly.

“I say, Elinor,” put in Tom Marchington. “We must go. I promised we'd look in on my great-aunt this afternoon.”

“Oh, dear. I am positively terrified of Lady Steadly.” But Elinor rose and held out a hand. “I shall call again, Cousin Katharine, when we can truly
talk
.”

Katharine's heart sank, but she shook hands and said, “And I shall speak to Eliza Burnham. You may expect a card for her ball.”

“Thank you!”

The Marchingtons took their leave, and Katharine and Mary sank back down on the sofa. “What an abominable girl she is!” said the former.

“Perhaps it is a family failing,” retorted Mary tartly.

Katharine looked up, met her cousin's censorious gaze, and, reprehensibly, giggled. “Don't scold me, Mary. Indeed, it was the only excuse I could think of that she would accept.”

“But, my dear, you can't have thought. You know Elinor has a…well, a weakness for gossip. She will spread this ridiculous tale throughout the
ton
as soon as she is given the chance. She will
revel
in it!”

“Let her. I don't care a straw what the
ton
thinks of me. My own friends will know better, and the rest may prattle of my broken heart all they like. They have little enough to amuse them.”

Mary shook her head. “I'm afraid you will be sorry, Katharine.”

“Nonsense. I am never sorry for myself.” She dimpled. “But at least I have got you to admit that Elinor is an abominable girl. For that, I will forgive her her untimely visit and her apparently doltish husband.”

“Katharine!”

“Did you conceive a
tendre
for him? No, I cannot believe it. He is pure country squire come to town to see the sights.”

“You really mustn't speak so of your own family, Katharine. He seems a very pleasant young man. And I do
not
admit that Elinor is abominable, only a bit unwise and inexperienced, perhaps.”

Katharine laughed. “Doing it too brown, Cousin. You cannot say at one moment that she is a terrible gossip and at the next that she is an innocent child. It won't do. And as for me, if I cannot malign my own family, whom can I blacken? It is everyone's privilege to bemoan the family eccentrics.”

“You do so enjoy your jokes, Katharine. It is one of the things I find so puzzling.”

“My joking? Pooh, Mary, you are one of the few people I know who
does
understand them.”

“I don't mean that. I simply cannot understand why someone who loves witty conversation as much as you refuses to go out. I know that
I
am no wit. I cannot keep pace with you for three minutes together. Yet you will not search out more amusing talkers. It is unaccountable.”

“I amuse myself more than anyone else possibly could,” laughed Katharine.

But her cousin shook her head. “You are so animated when you have a proper partner. I remember thinking so when your father's friend Sir Giles Overshaw visited us on his way from Vienna to take up the ambassadorship in South America. I had never before seen you so gay. Why not make a push to meet other such people, Katharine? I know you would enjoy it.”

Seeing that Mary was not going to be put off with a light answer, the younger girl sighed and said, “And where do you suggest I begin?”

“Why, among the people you are acquainted with in London. We are in the midst of England's most fashionable society. There must be many fascinating people who would be delighted to talk with you.”