Friday’s Child

Chapter Twenty-Three

IT WAS NINE O’CLOCK, AND THE ABBEY BELLS were just chiming the hour, when Sherry stalked into Lord Wrotham’s private parlour at the White Hart. George had dined, and the covers had been removed, and a bottle of Old Red Port, and two glasses, set upon the table.

Sherry waited only until the waiter who had shown him up to the parlour had withdrawn before greeting his friend in a manner that in some slight degree expressed his feelings. “You black-hearted scoundrel, George!” he said fiercely.

Lord Wrotham, suppressing a strong inclination to retort in kind, tried what a soft answer would achieve. “Hallo, Sherry! Thought you would be coming to see me. Glass of port with you!”

“The only use I have for a glass of port is to throw it in your damned face!” replied Sherry, not in the least mollified.

Lord Wrotham laid a firm hand on the bottle. “No, you don’t,” he said. “And it’s no use your trying to call me out, because I’m not going to meet you, and even if I did you couldn’t kill me! Probably wouldn’t hit me at all. I don’t blame you for wanting to try, mind you!”

“Oh, you don’t, don’t you?” Sherry exclaimed. “Very obliging of you, by God! What were you doing with my wife?”

“Escorting her home,” answered George calmly.

“The devil you were! Met her by chance, I take it?” said Sherry, with awful sarcasm.

“I did, but if you mean wasn’t I aware that she was in Bath, yes, I was.”

“You dare to stand there coolly telling me you knew where she was — ”

“Yes, but I own it was a curst trick to play on a fellow,” admitted George. “I never have liked it above half, but I gave my word to Lady Sherry I’d not betray her, so there was nothing for it but to hold my peace.”

Sherry was looking as black as thunder. “She told you where she could be found? She took you into her confidence? Wrotham, answer me this, or I’ll choke the truth out of you! — Did she run away from me to you?”

“No, ran to Gil,” replied George. “Ferdy and I had been dining with him. To be frank with you, Sherry, she told us the whole, and begged us to help her to hide from you. She was in a sad taking. In fact, I was within an ace of setting off to find you there and then, to call you to account!”

“You had better have done so!” Sherry said swiftly, a white shade round his mouth. “A precious set of friends I have! All these weeks — Where is she?”

“She is residing in Camden Place, the guest of Lady Saltash,” George said.

Sherry stared at him. “Lady Saltash! Gil’s grandmother? Well, of all the — I little thought when I came here what I was to find! It passes everything, so it does! The guest of Lady Saltash! And tolerably well entertained, I collect? Not obliged to earn her bread! Not in any kind of straits!”

“Damn it, you should be glad of that!” retorted George.

“Glad of it! Of course I’m glad of it! But when I think — And you knew! You, and Gil, and Ferdy! Calling yourselves my friends and aiding and abetting my wife to conceal herself from me, while I hunted high and low for her, and was gudgeon enough to picture her in want and distress! By God, it beats everything so it does! I’d like to tear your guts out and throw ’em to the crows!”

“Oh, take a damper!” said George impatiently. “Or go back to London, and tear Gil’s guts out! It was his notion, not mine.”

Sherry, who was striding about the room, said over his shoulder: “Walking along as cheerfully as you please, with her hand in your arm! Never even waiting to let me come up with her! The guest of Lady Saltash! A pretty fool you have made me look, between the four of you!”

“No, we haven’t. No one knows the truth save ourselves. Lady Sheringham goes by the name of Miss Wantage here.”

This piece of intelligence seemed, oddly enough, to enrage the Viscount more than ever. He appeared to have difficulty in catching his breath. George judged the time ripe for a second offer of refreshment. He poured out two glasses of port, and handed one to his afflicted friend. Sherry took it absently, tossed off the wine, and regained his power of speech. Fixing George with a smouldering eye, he said: “I take it my wife ain’t wearing the willow for me?”

“No,” said George, following out his instructions. “She was devilish upset at the start of it all, but she seems to be in famous shape now. Likes Bath, you know. Likes the balls, and the concerts and has made friends here. Very taking little thing, Kitten: I fancy she is quite the rage in Bath.”

This information did not afford the Viscount any gratification. He ground his teeth. “She is, is she? And I thought — !” His feelings again overcame him, and he resumed his pacing about the room. He was about to speak again when a distant medley of sound which had been vaguely irritating him since his entrance into the room more forcibly intruded upon his ears. “What the devil is that infernal howling?” he demanded.

“Devilish, ain’t it?” agreed George. “It’s the Harmonic Society. They meet here every week. Wouldn’t have come if I’d known. They sing glees.”

“What!” Sherry exclaimed incredulously. “You mean to tell me they come here just to kick up that curst caterwauling din every week? Well, there’s a horrible thing! Bath! That’s Bath for you!”

“You’d think it was enough to put the shutters up at this place, wouldn’t you?” said George. “Gave me a nasty start when they first struck up, I can tell you.”

Both young gentlemen brooded silently for a moment or two over a state of society that could permit such atrocities. A pause in the musical activities in the distance recalled Sherry to more pressing matters. He cast George a measuring glance, and said: “How often have you been here since Kitten left me?”

“Dash it, Sherry, what kind of a fellow do you think I am?” said George indignantly. “I never came near the place till I heard you was on your way! Then I had to warn Lady Sherry. You’d have done the same in my shoes!”

“Had to warn her!” ejaculated Sherry. “As though I had been a regular Bluebeard! If that don’t beat all!”

“Well, you scared her into running away from you,” said George unkindly.

Sherry picked up his curly-brimmed beaver, which he had flung into a chair, and carefully smoothed its nap. “I’ve nothing more to say to you!” he announced. “I’m going to see my wife!”

“It’s no use your going there tonight,” said George. “She’s gone to some party or another. They don’t expect her back until after midnight.”

“Gone to a party!” repeated the Viscount, stupefied. “She must have known I should seek her out immediately, once I had seen her here!”

“Dare say she did,” responded George coolly. “I fancy she don’t want to see you, Sherry.”

The Viscount’s blue eyes stared into his dark ones for one dangerous minute. Then Sherry turned sharply on his heel, and strode out of the room.

He made no attempt to prove the truth of George’s statement but returned to the Royal Crescent, seething with so many conflicting emotions that he scarcely knew himself whether anger, relief, or anxiety was paramount. His temper was not improved by finding a party, consisting of two young ladies with their brother, sitting in his mother’s private parlour, chatting in the most animated style with Miss Milborne. His aspect was so forbidding as to daunt Mr Chalfont, but the ladies were not easily daunted, and merely thought him a remarkably fine-looking man, and would have done their best to have captivated him had he allowed them the least opportunity for the display of their charms. He excused himself almost at once, and went off to brood in the solitude of his own apartment.

The result of this period for reflection was that every other feeling gave place to the overmastering desire to see Hero at the earliest possible moment. He was knocking on the door of Lady Saltash’s house at an unconscionably early hour next morning, only to be denied admittance by a portly butler, who informed him that neither her ladyship nor Miss Wantage had as yet come downstairs. His look of austere surprise made Sherry flush and retreat in disorder. He had been on the point of announcing his intention to go up to Hero’s bedchamber, quite forgetting that no one in Bath knew her to be his wife, and the realization of the scandalous comment he would thus have occasioned in Lady Saltash’s household shook him temporarily off his balance, so that he went off without leaving his card.

By way of passing the time, and giving a little relief to his feelings, he called on his cousin, at the York Hotel, and favoured him with a pithily worded opinion of his morals and character. Ferdy, who was partaking of a continental breakfast in bed, made no attempt to defend himself, but uttered a few soothing noises, and said it had all been Gil’s fault.

“You may think yourself devilish lucky I don’t haul you out of that bed, and give you a leveller!” said the Viscount, eyeing him in a frustrated way. “Very lucky indeed, let me tell you!”

“Assure you, dear old boy, I do!” Ferdy said winningly. “Very glad you don’t mean to do it! Always bellows to mend with me if I have a set-to with you!”

“Chicken-hearted!” the Viscount taunted him.

“Anything you like, Sherry!” Ferdy said.

The Viscount gave it up, laughed, and consented to join his cousin in a cup of coffee.

He was in Camden Place again by half past ten, again to be refused admittance. The ladies, said the butler, were not at home. This time the Viscount produced his card, but although the butler bowed in a polite way he did not relent towards his lordship.

The Viscount then had the happy thought of repairing to the Grand Pump Room, where he ran straight into his mother and Miss Milborne, who were the centre of a chattering group of persons. Lady Sheringham immediately claimed his attention, and made him known to her new acquaintances. One of the Misses Chalfont said that she felt herself to know his lordship already, and received a frosty look for her pains. The Viscount then perceived that Sir Montagu Revesby made one of the group, and favoured him with the coldest of bows, deliberately turning his shoulder when Sir Montagu said smilingly: “I am delighted to see you again, my dear Sherry!” The elder Miss Chalfont then attached his lordship firmly to her side, and asked him if he did not consider the weather clement enough for an expedition to Wells. He replied briefly: “No.”

“Cruel!” said Miss Chalfont, making play with a pair of fine eyes. “I have made up my mind I will go there, for I quite dote on cathedrals, do not you, my lord?”

“Cathedrals?” said the Viscount, varying his response. “Good God, no!”

“I am sure I do not know how it will answer, this notion the girls have taken to go to Wells,” interposed Lady Sheringham. “But if dearest Isabella should like the drive, I know you will be pleased to take her in your curricle, Anthony.”

“Nothing, ma’am, would afford me greater pleasure,” replied the Viscount, casting a darkling glance at Miss Milborne, “were it not that I shall be otherwise engaged.”

“Oh! naughty!” cried Miss Chalfont. “You do not know which day we mean to go!”

“I shall be engaged for the whole of my stay in this cur — in this place,” responded the Viscount.

The dowager, much scandalized by this disobliging speech, showed a tendency to argue the point, but Miss Milborne intervened, saying that she had no notion of going for such a long drive at this season of the year. Through the ensuing babel of protests, Sir Montagu’s voice made itself heard, gallantly offering to drive Miss Milborne in his curricle, wherever she should like to go. She thanked him civilly, but returned no positive answer. Miss Chalfont’s questing eye alighted at this moment on a newcomer to the Pump Room, and since he was quite the most handsome young man who had yet come in her way, she withdrew her attention from Sherry, who lost no time in making his escape. Lord Wrotham, coming up to the party, fell alive into Miss Chalfont’s clutches, and was granted nothing more than an excellent view of the Incomparable’s profile for the following quarter of an hour. When he at last found an opportunity to approach Miss Milborne, she behaved to him with chill civility, and affected not to hear his urgent request for some private speech with her. He was about to press the matter when he caught sight of Hero, leading Lady Saltash to a chair, and attended by Mr Tarleton, and the Honourable Ferdy Fakenham and a third gentleman who was a stranger to George. He got up quickly, said: “Pray excuse me!” to Miss Milborne, and made his way across the room to warn Hero that Sherry was present. Miss Milborne gazed after him with a wooden countenance, and a bosom swelling with indignation.

George had hardly reached Hero’s side when Sherry bore down upon them. His eyes were fixed on his wife’s face, and he would no doubt have ignored everyone else had he not been brought sharply to earth by Lady Saltash, who said compellingly: “Well, Anthony? How do you do?”

He was obliged to pause by her chair, to take her hand, and to answer her questions. After asking him how his mother did, she said in a significant tone: “You are acquainted, I believe, with Miss Wantage?”

Sherry stammered that he rather thought he was, and as one in a trance shook hands with Hero. She did not meet his eyes, murmured a conventional greeting, and swiftly disengaged herself. Turning to Lady Saltash, she said: “Are you quite comfortable there, dear ma’am? You will not mind my leaving you?”

“No, no, child, be off with you!” Lady Saltash replied. “I know very well you are agog to go! I only wish you may not come to grief one of these days! Mind you have a care to her, Mr Tarleton, and do not be letting her spring your horses in the middle of Bath, which I dare say she is quite capable of doing! Sit down beside me, Sheringham, and tell me all the London gossip!”

“I beg you will hold me excused, ma’am!” Sherry said. “If Miss — Miss Wantage wishes to drive, I should be happy to take her in my curricle, for I have the greatest desire to renew my acquaintance with her!”

“But Miss Wantage is promised to me,” said Mr Tarleton gently.

He encountered a look that startled him. The Viscount, controlling himself with a visible effort, said: “I shall be much obliged to you, ma’am, if you will afford me the favour of a few minutes’ conversation with you, alone!”

Hero, terrified of a scene in public, conscious that her mother-in-law had perceived her, and was staring at her as though she could not credit her eyesight, said hurriedly: “Some other time, if you please! Indeed, I am engaged with Mr Tarleton this morning!”

She put her hand on Mr Tarleton’s arm as she spoke, nipping it compellingly. He instantly sketched a bow to the Viscount, and led her out of the Pump Room. He felt that she was trembling, and laid his hand over hers, saying: “Do not be alarmed! Who was that ferocious young man? I did not properly catch his name.”

“Lord Sheringham,” she replied in a shaking voice. “You will think it very odd of me, and I cannot explain it to you, but I have a particular desire not to be alone in his company!”

Mr Tarleton assured her she need have no fear of this. Sherry’s slightly rakish air, coupled with Hero’s words, conjured up an abominable vision of attempted seduction, rapine, and violence. He felt a burning desire to protect Hero, and, had Sherry attempted to pursue her, would undoubtedly have done his best to have knocked him down.

But Sherry was fully alive to the consequences of forcing an issue in public, and he did not pursue her. Instead, he turned to Lady Saltash, and asked her to inform him when he might have the honour of calling upon her. Lady Saltash, hugely tickled by the whole situation, said affably that he might call at any hour which suited him, only they were such gadabouts, she and Miss Wantage, that she could not promise that they would be at home. The Viscount, no fool, bowed formally, and registered a grim resolve to be even with her ladyship one day before he was much older. He then retired to his mother’s side, and asked her if she was ready to go. It had occurred to him that it might be as well to put her in possession of the facts of the case.

She received them much as might have been expected, exclaiming against Hero’s effrontery, and taking care to point out to her son that the designing hussy had lost no time in attaching another unfortunate victim to her apron strings. She professed herself to be more than willing to speak of her as Miss Wantage, adding that she had never thought of her as anything else.

Shortly after they had reached the Royal Crescent, Miss Milborne joined them, having been escorted to the door by Sir Montagu. Lady Sheringham greeted her with a sort of moan, begging her to say at once if she had seen ‘that shameless creature’ flaunting herself before their eyes in the Pump Room.

Miss Milborne replied: “Dear Ma’am, she was hardly flaunting herself! I did indeed see her, and I own I was excessively shocked to think of you and Sherry being put into so awkward a situation! I wonder Hero should do such a thing! What everyone must think — !”

“It’s no such thing!” snapped Sherry. “She is known here as Miss Wantage, and in any event I care nothing for what a parcel of Bath nobodies may think! What makes me as mad as bedlam is that George, and Gil, and Ferdy all knew she was here! Have known it from the outset!”

“We guessed as much, did we not?” said Miss Milborne coldly. “Lord Wrotham appears to be so assiduous in his attentions that I am sure I should not wonder at anything I heard. Dear Lady Sheringham, if you do not dislike it, I own I have a great fancy to see Wells. The scheme is that we should go in three carriages — a party of six, you know — to see the cathedral tomorrow, while this mild weather continues. Miss Chalfont assures me that we may do it easily in the daylight, and be back again in Bath in excellent time for dinner. Sir Montagu Revesby has been so obliging as to offer me a seat in his curricle; Mr Chalfont will be of the party, with a friend of his; and both his sisters, of course.”

“If you take my advice, Bella,” struck in the Viscount, “you will not go jauntering about the country with Revesby!”

“Thank you, Sherry, you are very good, but since my Mama sees no objection to Sir Montagu, I do not know why you should.”

“I am sure Sir Montagu is everything that is most unexceptionable,” said the dowager. “Only if you are set on going, my love, I wish I might prevail upon Anthony to escort you, for I am sure you would be more comfortable with him.”

“On the contrary, ma’am, I should not be at all comfortable with him, for all things I most abominate a man in a fit of the sullens!” said Miss Milborne acidly.

“Take care!” retorted the Viscount. “If you set up my back I’m dashed if I’ll gallant you to the Lower Rooms tonight!”

“Good gracious! Do you mean to do so?” said Miss Milborne. “I assure you I had not the smallest expectation of your being willing to go to the ball!”

“Well, I am willing, and what’s more I’ve paid for a subscription which gives me a couple of ladies’ tickets as well, so if you and my mother choose to go this evening, you may do so,” said his lordship gracefully.

“I must say that was very prettily done of you, Anthony!” approved his parent.

“I want to see my wife,” responded his lordship. “And I can tell how it will be if I call in Camden Place again!”

“She will surely not be present!” exclaimed Lady Sheringham. “She would not have the effrontery!”

“I know of no reason why she should not go anywhere she chooses!” retorted Sherry, firing up. “And as she has her name down to dance the minuet with some fellow of the name of Tarleton, and is engaged to George for the first cotillion, I assume that she certainly has the intention of being present!”

So indeed it proved. The jealous look in Sherry’s eye at the Pump room seemed to indicate that Lady Saltash’s advice had been sound. It had set Hero’s heart fluttering, until she remembered that she had seen that look in his eye once before, when she had kissed George, and it had not then appeared to betoken anything more than a dog-in-the-mangerish spirit. Between joy at seeing him again, hurt that he should have come to Bath in Isabella’s train, hope that he might be desirous of having his wife again, and fear lest he should not, she knew not what to think. To go to the ball, and perhaps to see Sherry gallanting Isabella there, must give her pain; to stay away, and so miss the dear sight of him, was unthinkable; and mixed up with all this was a wish, born of pride, to conceal her unhappiness from him, even to make him think that she did very well without him. So she had permitted Mr Tarleton to put her name down for the minuet, and had engaged herself to dance the first cotillion with George, and the second with Ferdy. To Mr Tarleton was to fall the privilege of taking her in to tea. She had not made up her mind about the country dances. Sherry never stood up for them, voting them a great bore, but if he should break his rule and solicit her hand, she did not think that she would be able to refuse him.

Those meaning to take their places in the minuet were obliged to present themselves in the ballroom not later than eight o’clock, so Lady Saltash’s party arrived at the Lower Assembly Rooms considerably in advance of Lady Sheringham’s. The minuet had started when Sherry escorted his ladies into the room, and installed his mother on one of the upper benches. Hero, gracefully performing her part in the dance, could not help reflecting that it was something new for the Incomparable to be obliged to sit at the side of the room while other, and much less dazzling, females took the floor. Then she scolded herself for such an ill-natured thought, acknowledging that the Incomparable was only sitting out because there had been no time for her to set her name down for the minuet. She was looking quite superb tonight, too, dressed in a cloud of primrose gauze, her tawny locks exquisitely cut and curled, her skin almost unbelievably white. As Hero watched her, she looked up at Sherry, standing beside her chair, smiling rather mischievously. Some quality of intimacy in that smile, something in the way Sherry bent to hear what was being said to him, stabbed Hero. He too smiled, and nodded, and uttered some remark which made Miss Milborne laugh, and lift an admonitory finger. Then the movement of the dance made it necessary for Hero to turn her back on them, and she took care not to glance in their direction again. Instead, she embarked on a playful flirtation with Mr Tarleton. This was not missed by Sherry, who no sooner saw who her partner was than he said, quite unreasonably, that he might have known that that fellow would turn out to be Tarleton.

As soon as the minuet ended, and while the couples were still moving slowly off the floor, a young gentleman came up to Hero to beg her to dance the first country dance with him. She accepted, people began to take their places for it, and by the time the Viscount, threading his way across the room, reached his wife’s side, her new partner was leading her into the set. He was so nettled that he went straight back to Isabella, reaching her a bare instant before Sir Montagu Revesby, and saying savagely: “Come and stand up with me, Bella! I’m dashed if I will give my little wretch the pleasure of seeing me propping the wall, as George does!”

“But you never stand up for the country dances!” Isabella reminded him.

“I’ll stand up for this if it kills me!” swore his lordship.

Hero’s set was already made up, and he was obliged to join the second set. This was not what he wanted, but Miss Milborne could only be thankful, since the prospect of standing up with a gentleman who was bent on catching the eye and ear of another lady in the same set was not one which she could view with anything but misgiving.

Hero, of course, saw his lordship lead out Miss Milborne, and she at once felt that her cup was full. She would have liked to have fled from the ballroom to indulge in a hearty bout of tears, but since she could not do this she became extremely animated instead, and laughed and talked, and presented all the appearance of a young lady who was enjoying herself prodigiously. The Viscount, marking this callous behaviour, promptly imitated it; and as Miss Milborne had just seen Lord Wrotham’s striking figure in the doorway she had no hesitation in encouraging her childhood’s friend to flirt with her as much as he liked. Since his more extravagant sallies were interspersed by comments, delivered in a furious undervoice, on his wife’s shameless conduct, she was in no danger of overestimating the worth of the compliments he paid her.

Whatever might have been the Viscount’s intentions when the dance ended, they were frustrated by the descent upon him of Mr Guynette, the Master of Ceremonies. Mr Guynette was well accustomed to handling reluctant gentlemen, and before his victim was aware of what was happening, he had presented him to quite the plainest damsel in the room, a circumstance which should have brought home to his lordship the unwisdom of neglecting to write his name in the Master’s subscription book. Common civility obliged Sherry to ask the plain young lady to stand up with him, and as she had no hesitation in accepting the invitation, he was condemned to another half-hour of purgatory. The first cotillion followed, which Hero danced with George; and then everyone went in to tea. Isabella had by this time collected the usual court round herself, of which the most prominent member seemed to be Sir Montagu; Hero and Mr Tarleton were seated at a table which had no vacant place when the Viscount succeeded in edging his way into the crowded tea-room; so the end of it was that his lordship was forced to join several unpartnered gentlemen by the buffet. Here he found Lord Wrotham, who was wearing his well-known thundercloud aspect; and such was the state of his mind that he forgot that he had parted from Wrotham on the worst of bad terms, and hailed him thankfully as a kindred spirit.

“Of all the abominably stupid evenings!” he ejaculated. “It is ten times worse than Almack’s!”

“I should like to know,” said George, eyeing him broodingly, “what the devil you meant by telling me it was I who had engaged Miss Milborne’s affections?”

“Never told you any such thing!” replied the Viscount. “Not but what she as good as told me so. What’s put you in a miff?”

“I begged to be allowed to take her in to tea, and she said she was promised to Monty. I stood up with her for the second country dance, and she behaved as though she had never met me before in her life!”

“Well, let that be a lesson to you not to dance attendance on my wife!” said Sherry, with asperity.

“She cannot think that there is anything beyond common friendship between Kitten and me!” George said.

“Who asked you to call my wife Kitten?” demanded the Viscount belligerently.

“You did,” replied George.

“Oh!” said Sherry, dashed.

“I will not believe the Incomparable could credit such nonsense!” George declared, flushing. “Why, what reason have I ever given her to think that I would so much look at another female?”

“Well, upon my word!” exclaimed Sherry. “If that don’t beat all! If kissing my wife at the Fakenhams’ ball isn’t reason enough — ”

“She knew nothing of that!”

“Oh yes, she did! Kitten tried to persuade her to beg you not to meet me!”

“Good God!” George uttered, turning pale. “Then was that why — I must speak with her!”

“You won’t do it here,” said Sherry, with gloomy satisfaction. “Come to think of it, a pretty pair of cakes we must look, you and I, running after a couple of females who won’t have anything to do with us! And nothing to drink but this curst tea!”

“She will have Monty!” George said heavily.

“Not she!”

“She is going in his curricle on some damned expedition tomorrow. She told me so. I will not waste my time here any longer. I shall go back to the White Hart. They have a very tolerable Chambertin there.”

“Dashed if I won’t come with you!” said Sherry.

“You cannot. You are escorting Lady Sheringham and Miss Milborne.”

“I’ll come back in time to take ’em home,” said Sherry, “unless — By Jove, I might force Ferdy to give up his place in the cotillion to me!”

“What’s the use of that?” George said. “I’ve done much the same thing before now, but the fact of the matter is a ball is no place for private conversation. You are for ever being separated by the movement of the dance, and it all ends in a quarrel.”

“Well, I dare say you may be right,” Sherry said. “And if I bore Kitten off — ”

“You can’t do that!” George said, shocked. “Devilish strict at these balls! What’s more, if she refused to go with you, you’d look a bigger cake than you do now.”

“Yes, my God, so I should!” agreed Sherry. “I was a fool to have come! Let us go, George!”

So the two ladies who had spared no pains to demonstrate their indifference to their lordships had the doubtful pleasure of seeing them withdraw from the festivities. They should have been gratified to find their hints so well understood, but gratification was not the emotion uppermost in either swelling bosom.

After seeking a certain amount of relief in pointedly ignoring one another for the next hour, each lady developed the headache, and discovered in herself an ardent desire to go home.