The Intrepid Miss Haydon

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  “No, no, my good fellow,” put in a drawling English voice. “You wouldn’t spoil sport, would you?” An impeccably attired young man bearing the hallmark of English quality stepped forward and gently took the landlord by the arm. “Tell you what, sir,” he went on, addressing Laurence, “I haven’t the honour of your acquaintance, but trust you’ll accept my wager of twenty guineas on the creature nearest me. My name’s Cheveley, by the way.”

  “Done!” returned Laurence, glancing up briefly from what was occupying him on the floor. “Mine’s Haydon — forgive my not rising, but you see how it is, sir — oh, devil take it! Now they’re grappling with each other, and there’s an end of the race!”

  By this time, Sir Richard and John had moved forward so that they could have a full view of what was occupying everyone’s attention.

  Two large lobsters had been placed side by side on the carpet; and Laurence, with the aid of a wooden spoon, had been trying to urge them into a race.

  John gave a loud crack of laughter. His brother’s mouth twitched, and when he spoke there was a tremor in his voice.

  “For God’s sake, Laurie, you can’t do that here! The landlord will go off into an apoplexy, and most likely turn us out of doors.”

  Laurence stood up, throwing down the spoon.

  “Oh, well, the sport’s over now, anyway. You may as well take them off to the kitchen,” he said to the hovering kitchen hands. “Oh, and here’s for your pains.”

  Thrusting a hand into his pocket, he produced some money. They took it hastily, then scooping the lobsters up by means of the spoon into a large cooking pot, scuttled off to the kitchen. This was the signal for the spectators to drift away, most of them still laughing.

  “Sorry for that, sir,” said Laurence to his newly found acquaintance. “They were doing famously to begin with, too.”

  “Think nothing of it,” returned Mr Cheveley handsomely. “Perhaps some other time. Do you stay long in Dieppe, sir?”

  “Only overnight. We’re bound for Paris. Oh, permit me to make you known to the rest of my party.”

  As Corinna and Lydia had now emerged from the parlour, he was able to include them in the introductions that followed. Mr Cheveley murmured that he was delighted and bowed gracefully. The ladies were favourably impressed.

  Meantime, the innkeeper had been fulminating in the background, and now he burst into impassioned speech, addressing himself principally to Sir Richard.

  “I hope I’m a reasonable man, milor’, but what about my carpet? It is ruined, quite ruined! I’m not accustomed to such an affair, no, mon Dieu! Always I keep a house of the most respectable, where the English milords and their ladies come knowing they will find all to their liking! Such a brouhaha as this—”

  Sir Richard raised his quizzing glass and surveyed the man through it, effectively putting an end to the tirade.

  “My good fellow,” he said quietly in his excellent French, “it is you who are making the brouhaha. As to the carpet, I admit you have cause for complaint. Let us draw apart where we shall not incommode these ladies and gentlemen further, and I will endeavour to arrange that matter to your satisfaction.”

  “Oh, Laurie,” exclaimed Corinna, laughing, “you are the most complete hand! What a mad trick!”

  “Where in the world did you find those creatures?” demanded Lydia with a chuckle.

  “I stepped round to the stables and saw one of the vendors delivering a barrow load of the things to the back door, so I bought a couple,” explained Laurence airily. “The notion came to me on the quai, you know, and it seemed a pity to waste it.”

  “Quite right,” approved Mr Cheveley. “It was a novel notion, and worthy of a more successful outcome. Perhaps I may have the pleasure of seeing you again in Paris,” he concluded, bowing slightly again to the whole party. “I am going there myself to join the rest of my family, who’ve already been some months in the capital.”

  They replied suitably and the young man took his leave.

  Early on the following morning the party set off for Rouen, the men electing to ride for the first stage of the journey rather than being obliged to sit for so many hours in what Laurence described as a stuffy carriage.

  It was shortly after midday when they arrived at their hotel in Rouen, by which time no one was sorry to have a respite from travelling. Bedchambers and a private parlour had been reserved for them in advance and proved highly satisfactory. Scarcely had they settled themselves in and removed the marks of travel when a waiter tapped on the door of the parlour to present a visiting card.

  “It’ll be Landier, without a doubt,” said John, taking up the card and scanning it. “Yes — presents his compliments and will wait on us later, if not convenient at present. What d’you say? Shall we have him up?”

  The others agreed. The waiter departed, and a few minutes later returned to usher a gentleman into the room. He was fashionably attired in a brown coat, buff waistcoat, yellow pantaloons, and Hessian boots, and he carried a walking cane. On entering, he swept off his hat, bowing deeply to the ladies, then tossed hat and cane aside to stride forward and grip John Beresford warmly by the hand.

  “Good God!” whispered Laurence to Corinna. “I hope he don’t take it into his head to embrace the poor fellow!”

  The remark must have been overheard by Landier, for he grinned at Laurence. He was of medium height and dark complexion, with an aquiline nose and lively grey eyes.

  “At last we meet again, mon vieux! And Sir Richard, too — it is a felicity to see you both!”

  “Indeed, we’re delighted to see you again,” returned John cordially. “Permit me, my dear” — turning to Lydia — “to present to you Monsieur Patrice Landier, of whom I’ve often spoken. Landier, this is my wife.”

  Landier bowed again. “Charmed, madame. My friend is fortunate indeed.”

  “And this is her sister, Miss Haydon, and her brother.”

  There was another bow and a glance of admiration for Corinna.

  “I bring you an invitation from my parents,” said Landier. “It will give them inestimable pleasure if you will dine at our house this evening. Indeed, they are desolated that you are not to stay with us.”

  “We couldn’t put you to so much trouble for one night only, my dear chap.”

  “Then make it three — four — a week — what you will,” replied Landier, with an expansive gesture.

  “You are very good, but unfortunately our reservations in Paris are already made.”

  “Ah, of course. Then you must honour us with a sojourn on your return trip. My mother in particular is all eagerness to receive you, knowing the extent of my indebtedness to you.”

  John replied suitably, protesting that there need be no talk of indebtedness, and Landier was invited to stay and partake of a nuncheon with them at the hotel. This he was most ready to do; and soon they were all seated at table, laughing and chatting together in the easiest possible way. Afterwards, he offered to show them around the town if the ladies should not feel too weary from travelling.

  “I think I may fairly claim that it is a fine town,” remarked Landier, with a creditable attempt at modesty, “even though we do suffer here from the — how do you say? — the thick mist that sometimes you have to endure in London—”

  “Fog?” suggested Corinna with a smile.

  “Ah, yes, that is it, mademoiselle. I see that you will soon effect an improvement in my English.”

  He smiled back at her, and Lydia cast a meaningful look at her husband which was intercepted by Sir Richard.

  “Yes, some visitors have been known to complain of our fogs,” he continued. “However, today it is clear, so I will be able to show the town to advantage.”

  He proceeded to do so, taking them first to the magnificent cathedral by way of the rue de la Grosse Horloge, which took its name from a large clock of Italian sixteenth-century workmanship set high above the street in a spanning archway. It was in this street that the Landiers resided; but by
common consent they agreed to defer their meeting with Monsieur and Madame Landier until the evening.

  “We have the marketplace at one end and the cathedral at the other, you observe,” he said with a laugh. “God and Mammon, n’est-ce pas?”

  “And a banker in between,” riposted Sir Richard.

  Corinna glanced quickly at Landier, wondering if this remark might possibly give offense. But she had forgotten how well these three knew each other from the past; Landier laughed heartily.

  “You may well say so,” he remarked, sobering a little. “Too often we men of commerce find ourselves between two extremes. In politics, for example — but, bah! I mustn’t weary the ladies with such matters! We will talk later, mon vieux, over our wine, as your English custom is.”

  By the time they had visited the cathedral, the churches of St Ouen and St Maclou and one or two other buildings of interest, both their energies and the daylight were fading. Accordingly, Landier parted from them outside their hotel in the pleasurable expectation of seeing them later.

  Nothing was lacking in the cordiality of their reception by Patrice Landier’s family that evening. Madame Landier, a short, plump lady with sloe-black eyes set in a somewhat austere face, took John’s hand in both of hers and seemed reluctant to release it. Monsieur, who was an older edition of his son with the same aquiline nose and shrewd grey eyes, ventured a word or two of welcome in halting English.

  “And that entailed a great effort, voyez-vous,” said his son to the visitors, “for Papa has very little English and has been rehearsing his speech all day! As for Maman, she does not speak your language at all, alas.”

  Presently they were all gathered round the dining table to do justice to a meal which combined all the best in French cuisine, accompanied by a wine which caused Sir Richard to raise his eyebrows in approval.

  When the ladies retired to the salon, Corinna found herself taking the lead in conversation with Madame Landier. After a few polite exchanges about their travels, she steered the talk round to Madame Landier’s family, guessing that the older woman would be tolerably at ease on that subject.

  She learned that madame had three daughters, all of whom were married with young families and lived not very far distant.

  “And you have only the one son, madame?”

  “Ah, yes. And that is why I can never be sufficiently grateful to the good Lieutenant Beresford, who preserved his life. If there were anything I could do — anything in the world, at any time — to repay that debt, mademoiselle, be sure I should be ready, no matter at what cost to myself!”

  “I understand your feelings perfectly, madame. Your son is not married, I collect?”

  “Ah, no.” Madame looked doubtful. “But I have sometimes wondered of late — in short, I believe there is someone. But I think the affair does not go well, for he says nothing to us about it, and I am sure he would do so, if matters were favourable.” She sighed, then recollected herself. “But I must not weary you with so much talk of my family. Tell me of yourself, mademoiselle. You are affianced, perhaps?”

  Corinna shook her head, smiling. “No. I am what we call on the shelf.”

  “Never! That’s impossible, an attractive young lady like you! You jest, I think.”

  At this point the gentlemen entered the room, Patrice Landier promptly taking a seat beside Corinna.

  “What do you think, mademoiselle?” he asked, his grey eyes twinkling. “I am to come with you all to Paris — that is, if you and Madame Beresford do not object. I have some business which I must attend to in the capital at some time or another, and now will be an ideal time, when I may combine business with pleasure.”

  Caught by the happy camaraderie of his manner, Corinna reflected that such a pleasing gentleman could not be other than a welcome addition to their party. She allowed Lydia to express their approval, however, contenting herself with a look of smiling acquiescence.

  The rest of the evening was whiled away agreeably in conversation, the party breaking up early because of the long day’s travel ahead of them on the morrow.

  Later, in the seclusion of their bedchamber at the hotel, Lydia lay pensively beside her husband for a few moments after the candle was extinguished.

  “Do you know what, John?” she asked.

  “No — what, my love?”

  He placed an arm about her, drawing her close.

  “Well, I’m just speculating about your friend Monsieur Landier,” she said slowly, stroking his cheek.

  “The devil you are! I’ll thank you, Mrs Beresford, to keep your thoughts away from other men,” he replied with mock severity.

  She chuckled. “Oh, nothing of that kind! Only I was wondering if perhaps Corinna—” She paused, then went on. “He seems to admire her.”

  “Any Frenchman worth his salt admires a pretty female — any man at all, come to that.”

  She drew away a little. “Oh, indeed, sir? Just let me catch you at it!”

  “Ninnyhammer,” he whispered, his lips close to her neck. “As though any female in the world can compare to you.”

  “I’m relieved to hear it. But do you think that possibly Corinna may come to like Monsieur Landier — a great deal, I mean?”

  “Well, if females ain’t the limit for matchmaking! I thought you said she was still sweet on that good-for-nothing fellow Grenville?”

  “Oh, that’s just her nonsense — I doubt she was ever truly in love with him. It was just one of those heady fascinations that sometimes afflict young girls,” said Lydia, from the greater maturity of her two and twenty years. “She positively enjoys prolonging it, because she thinks it romantic to be crossed in love. I know my sister.”

  “Well, what I say is, fiend seize her!” exclaimed John, exasperated. “If you think I wish to talk all night about your sister, when I’m holding my wife in my arms, you’re faint and far off, my dearest!”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Corinna found that Paris lived up to all her eager anticipations. Napoleon’s efficient administration had removed much of the dirt and squalor which had marred the city’s beauty during the Reign of Terror: and if the present court lacked the elegance of the old, there were entertainments enough to satisfy a young lady from Tunbridge Wells.

  The two sisters lost no time in visiting the fashionable shops in the Palais Royal to view the latest modes. Lydia purchased one of the new square shawls fringed with gold tassels; while Corinna ordered a gown to be made for her in one of the latest shades, curiously, as she thought, named Fumée de Londres.

  “Well, I do not call it smoke coloured — or, at least, only a very pale, misty shade. Don’t you think it pretty, Lyddy?”

  “Oh, vastly,” agreed her sister, fingering the fine muslin. “But I hope you may not catch your death of cold in it,” she added, twinkling. “Remember what Mama had to say about that!”

  “Goose, of course I shall wear a petticoat beneath it — I’ve no desire to be considered fast! Though if only one dared, you know, it might be famous fun to set people staring! Only imagine Richard’s face, for example!”

  She went off into peals of laughter, in which Lydia joined.

  “I declare you’re almost as bad as Laurie, though thank heavens you have a little more discretion! What a fortunate thing that he should have met that young man Cheveley yesterday, for they are two of a kind, and being much of an age will be excellent company for each other. Besides, it will give us a respite now and then from Laurie’s nonsense.”

  They had met Mr Cheveley with his family on the previous day while strolling in the Palais gardens, and the two young men had greeted each other with enthusiasm. His parents, Sir George and Lady Cheveley, and his sister Frances having been presented to the new acquaintances, they had all walked about the gardens together for a while. The Cheveleys owned a property not far from Brighton, and they had hired a house in Paris for the duration of their stay.

  Explaining this to Lydia and Corinna, Lady Cheveley had concluded by issuing an invitati
on to dine there on the following evening.

  “I shall be pleased to see your whole party,” she said graciously. “There will be a few other English visitors present, too. Perhaps you may be acquainted with some of them?”

  She proceeded to mention a short list of names, one of which was quickly repeated by Sir Richard.

  “Did you say Mr Langham, ma’am? Would that be Edmund Langham, a man of about my own years?”

  “Yes, indeed it is. Mr Langham is attached to the British embassy here. An excellent young man,” she pronounced approvingly. “Are you acquainted with him and his wife, Sir Richard?”

  “With his wife not at all, but Langham and I were friends in our Oxford days. Since then we’ve lost touch, and I had no notion that he was in the diplomatic service. It will be a pleasure to meet him again.”

  After their shopping expedition, therefore, Lydia and Corinna returned to the hotel to dress for the evening’s outing. When they joined the men in the hotel foyer, several pairs of male eyes gave witness to the fact that their efforts had not been wasted. Lydia’s fair complexion and blonde hair were admirably set off by her trained gown of pink spotted muslin, made in the prevailing classical style with a high waist and short puff sleeves; while the soft yellow of Corinna’s similarly styled gown accentuated the deep golden lights in her hair and eyes.

  “To present such a picture, ladies,” remarked Landier, with a gallant bow, “is to capture our poor hearts completely! Permit me to escort you to the carriage.”

  Laurence made a grimace as he caught Sir Richard’s eye, but that gentleman preserved an inscrutable countenance.

  Arrived at the Cheveley’s house, they were conducted by a liveried footman to an ornate drawing room with a painted ceiling. Here they were received by their host and hostess and introduced to the other guests. Corinna soon fell into conversation with Miss Frances Cheveley, a young lady of much the same age as Corinna with dark, glossy ringlets, a creamy complexion and hazel eyes.

  “Do you find it strange in Paris?” asked Miss Cheveley. “I did, at first. But there are so many English families here, and like all compatriots in a foreign country, they tend to group together. It’s like a season in London or Brighton — one meets the same people everywhere, all the time.”