“Come,” he said, reproachfully, “surely you must. Or do you prefer to forget our previous meeting? If so, then of course I must defer to your decision. But I trust not — I ventured to hope that we might be friends.”
“Friends!” she retorted, surprised into open indignation. “Well, sir, perhaps your friends do not choose to acknowledge their real names, but mine are very different, I assure you!”
“I deserve your scorn,” he admitted, a rueful look in his deep blue eyes, so like those of Lady Nevern. “But it isn’t quite as bad as you think, you know. Gerard is my name — one of my names, that is.”
“A half lie is almost worse than a whole one,” she answered, coldly.
“But what was I to do? You informed me straight away that you hated Pamyngton, and that the fault of your predicament lay at his door. I felt in honour bound to discover what I had done — all unconsciously — to harm you. It would have quite defeated this object had I admitted to you who I was. You would have told me nothing.”
“That is what I find especially despicable,” said Catherine, righteous anger for the moment overcoming her sense of the politeness due to a host. “By concealing your true identity, you — you wormed out of me all kinds of confidences which I should never have made, had I known who you really were! You cannot defend such conduct!”
“It was most reprehensible, I admit.”
His tone was penitent enough, but she had a shrewd suspicion that he was in fact amused. This thought only served to increase her sense of injury.
“I suppose we may be thankful that at least you realize it,” she replied, scornfully, turning her head away from him.
His eyes dwelt ruefully on the disdainful profile.
Frederick Eversley had not been able to catch Catherine’s remark across the table, but he had noticed her cold tone and gesture towards his friend.
“Egad, you’re never quarrelling with Pam, Miss Catherine?” he demanded, laughing. “You’re to be congratulated — few people succeed in doing so. He’s such a confounded smooth customer.”
“Thank you, Freddy,” drawled Pamyngton. “Be sure I shall come to your aid next time you may require a service of me.”
“No, but truly you did sound vexed, Katie!” said Eleanor, gaily. She leaned across the table towards Pamyngton. “Did we not meet you on the road to the village this morning, sir? My sisters and I were out walking, and you were driving a curricle — I am almost certain it was you!”
“Yes, it was indeed, Miss Eleanor. I must apologize for not stopping, but I did not then have the pleasure of your acquaintance.”
“Yes, but all the same, you recognized Katie, did you not, for you bowed to her?” persisted the irrepressible Eleanor. “And I can’t imagine how in the world you two came to be acquainted!”
There was a moment’s awkward silence.
“Surely one of the chief delights of imagination, Miss Eleanor,” replied Pamyngton, lightly, “is that it can supply so many different solutions to every puzzle? You have only to exercise yours for a moment — for I’ll warrant it is an uncommonly lively one — and I’ll engage for it that you will at once think of a score of places where I may have been so fortunate as to chance to encounter your sister. The possibilities are limitless — I leave the choice to you.”
He bowed slightly, and Frederick Eversley clapped his hands.
“Oh, well played, Pam!” he exclaimed, with a laugh. “Did you know, ladies, that he is a first-rate cricketer? Now you see what I meant when I called him a smooth customer, a while back. Make what you can of that answer, Miss Eleanor!”
Eleanor shrugged. “Oh, well of course, if it is such a secret —!”
“You talk a deal of nonsense, Nell!” exclaimed Catherine, tartly.
Frederick had sisters of his own, and saw trouble looming.
“Which of us does not?” he asked, smiling. “Here’s Pam, for example — I ask him a straight question; will he accompany me to Brighton for the Races; and can I get a straight answer out of him? Nothing but a farrago of nonsense, I assure you, every time I broach the subject. However, I’m off tomorrow, and he must do the best he can without my company. I dare say, you know, he’ll manage tolerably well, especially if you young ladies will take pity on him, and allow him to visit you now and then.”
“I think you talk more nonsense than any of us, sir,” laughed Eleanor, quite restored to her former good humour.
Pamyngton nodded. “Indeed, he does, Miss Eleanor. And I’ll give you a straight answer now, Freddy, if you like. I’ve made up my mind to accompany you to Brighton tomorrow.”
“You have? Capital! But why could you not say so at first, my dear fellow?”
“Put it down to my perverse nature.”
This interchange was overheard by Lady Nevern, in the intervals of an animated conversation with her neighbour, Sir George Denham. A shadow crossed her face, and she tried to catch the eye of Lady Denham, who was sitting on Eleanor’s other side. Failing in this, she ventured to voice a smiling protest.
“Perverse? You, James? Never! I am sure no one can have a more compliant nature. Oh, very well, I have done!” she finished, noticing the impatient look which momentarily crossed her son’s face. “I know I must not praise you.”
She turned to give her attention once more to Sir George, fervently hoping that she had managed to avoid showing her disappointment at this sudden change in her son’s plans. But later, when dinner was over and the ladies were sitting alone in the drawing-room while the gentlemen lingered over their wine, she drew Sophia Denham aside.
“What are we to do, Sophie? Here’s that wretched Eversley boy spoiling our little plan by persuading James to accompany him to Brighton! I must confess that William and I are disappointed on our own account for we had hoped to keep him at Nevern Hall for a few weeks, at any rate. However, when one’s offspring are grown men and women” — she gave a little sigh — “one must be grateful for seeing them at all. You are more fortunate, my dear, in having six children, for you will never lack for the company of one or another.”
“You would not think so,” replied Sophia Denham, dryly, “if you had to look about you for six eligible husbands! Fanny is settled, of course, thank goodness, and my two youngest are still in the schoolroom; but there are these three to establish creditably.”
Lady Nevern cast an approving glance at the Denham girls, who were gathered around the pianoforte. They certainly made an attractive picture. Louisa’s white gown accentuated the fairness of her skin, and showed her slim figure to advantage. Catherine was bending over some music, so that the candles on the pianoforte caught the bright tints of her chestnut ringlets; and Eleanor’s expressive face was full of vitality.
“There should be no difficulty,” she said, consolingly. “They are all that they should be — charming in person and disposition alike. But then there’s no reason why they should not be. You were a belle in your day, Sophia — I think perhaps Louisa has most the look of you, because she is of the same colouring, although the other two have something of your cast of countenance.”
Lady Denham laughed deprecatingly. “Well, you were an acknowledged beauty yourself, my dear, so possibly you may be allowed to be a judge! Do you recall how Tadworth and Acton fought a duel over you, and —”
“Let us not revive old memories,” interrupted Ariadne Nevern, hastily. “What is to be done now, Sophie? If James goes to Brighton, I have little hope that he will return here for more than a few days before going back to his house in Town.”
Lady Denham hesitated. “As far as that goes,” she said, slowly, “my girls have been promised to their sister in Brighton for some time — in fact, I must confess that I deferred their visit on receiving your note telling me that James was to come to you. They were a trifle disappointed at having to put Fanny off, so there should be no difficulty at all in persuading them to go to her, after all.”
“Why, that is capital!” exclaimed Lady Nevern. “And perhaps, dearest
Sophie, this little affair may go on better without our presence. Young people do not like to be pushed — but I am persuaded you don’t need me to tell you that.”
Chapter Six
THE DONKEY RIDE
“Oh, no, oh, no! Pray do not — I don’t wish to be dipped! I don’t, I tell you! It’s by far too rough! Put me down instantly!”
“There, me pretty dear,” soothed Martha Gunn, the bathing woman, as she held the squirming figure in its long flannel smock over the foaming billows crashing on the beach. “You’ll soon get used to it, an’ it does ye a power o’ good. There, now.”
As she spoke, she lowered her writhing burden into the sea. The victim let out an anguished scream. At the sound of this, a head peeped nervously out from one of the blue bathing boxes which stood nearby.
“Oh, dear,” said the owner of the head, in tremulous tones, “Is it so very bad, Celia?”
But the lady addressed was far too busy screaming to make any reply. Her open mouth took in a quantity of seawater, and she began to choke and cough. The face at the door of the bathing box paled visibly, and was quickly withdrawn.
Four ladies who had been strolling along the East Cliff and whose attention had been drawn by the screams, stood leaning against the railings which separated the road from the beach, watching. The eldest of them, an attractive young matron in a cherry coloured walking dress and a straw bonnet, laughed heartlessly.
“We must take you down there one morning,” she said to her companions. “Wouldn’t you like to try it, Katie?”
“Me?” replied her sister, heedless of grammar. “You must be in jest, Fanny! Why, sooner than find myself at the mercy of that dreadful old harpy in the blue jacket, I would — I don’t know what, but something quite extreme, at all events!”
“That’s Martha Gunn,” explained Frances Hailsham. “She’s the most experienced of all the bathing women, and quite a character. She dips the ladies, and old Smoaker Miles looks after the gentlemen. They bathe from the other side, of course. There’s a tale about old Smoaker that he once pulled the Prince of Wales out by his ear because he thought His Royal Highness was venturing in too far. He said he’d no wish to be hanged for letting the heir to the throne drown, or at least that’s the story as John told it to me.”
“They look such frights, don’t they?” asked Eleanor, as the four sisters continued to gaze at the unhappy female bathers. “Those dreary garments make them appear for all the world like corpses in their shrouds!”
“Ugh!” exclaimed Louisa, with a shiver.
“My dear Nell, have you ever heard of a screaming corpse?” asked Catherine, derisively.
“Oh, well, you know what I mean. But just look at that coal brig unloading its cargo right beside the bathing machines! I dare say those poor females will come out of the sea looking like blackamoors! Can they not do it somewhere else, Fanny?”
“Oh, they generally unload here; only Martha hasn’t been able to take the machines right out into the sea today, as it’s so rough. There’s always something or other unloading on the beach. Sometimes it’s fish,” she added, wrinkling her nose. “And at other times, horses and carriages from the packet boats.”
“Oh, do look!” exclaimed Eleanor, tugging at Fanny’s arm suddenly. “See, there are some females riding on donkeys — how famous! Oh, where do you hire them, Fanny? I must — I positively must ride one! Aren’t they sweet?”
Half a dozen or so donkeys with ladies sitting on their backs, were ambling along the beach in the direction of the bathing machines. They appeared to be in the care of a ragged urchin of nine or ten years old, who carried a whip.
“Yes, aren’t they?” agreed Fanny, following her sister’s gaze. “Well, if you’d care for a ride, Nell, there is no more to do than to step down on to the beach and tell the boy in charge of the animals.”
“No, really?” demanded Eleanor, eagerly. “Oh, do let us go! Now — at once! You will come, won’t you?”
She turned expectantly to the others, but they showed a disappointing lack of enthusiasm.
“Is it quite proper, Fanny, do you think?” asked Louisa.
“Lord, yes,” replied her sister, easily. “Everyone does all manner of things at the seaside. Besides, all the fashionables will be strolling on the Steyne at this hour — you need not fear being observed by anyone of our acquaintance.”
“You must excuse me,” said Catherine. “Equestrian exercise is not my forte, as I know you’ll agree, Nell. Besides, we’re not dressed for riding.”
“Oh, nonsense!” exclaimed Eleanor. “Donkeys are the most sedate of creatures — even you can’t fall foul of one. As for dress, what in the world does that matter? These walking dresses will answer well enough.”
“All of you go,” urged Frances, “and I’ll stay and watch you from here. It is only a short trot, you know, and won’t occupy more than a few minutes.”
Louisa and Catherine still demurred; but Eleanor, always eager to press any new scheme, finally managed by an adroit mixture of bullying and cajolery to persuade them. They left Frances and moved off, still disputing, in the direction of a slipway which led down to the beach.
A gentleman coming out of the Old Ship Hotel, which was situated almost opposite the point where the young ladies had been standing, paused a moment to watch the group. A flash of recognition came into his eyes; after a moment’s hesitation he crossed the road and approached Frances, who stood looking after her sisters.
He removed his hat and bowed. “How do you do, Mrs. Hailsham? It is some time since we met, so possibly you won’t remember me. I am Pamyngton.”
She turned towards him, her eyes travelling over the tall, elegant figure in the well-fitting dark green coat and fawn pantaloons.
“Of course,” she exclaimed, smiling and extending her hand. “I had a letter from Mama telling me that you were staying with your parents at Nevern Hall when she visited there recently. It is a long time since we met, is it not? It was at my wedding, I believe — oh, dear, how time does run on!”
“And how is your husband, ma’am? And your family — if my memory serves me, you have two children.”
“Oh, they are all in excellent health, I think you, sir! Are you in Brighton for the Races?”
He nodded. “I’m putting up at the Ship. I see your sisters are here with you, Mrs. Hailsham. I had the pleasure of meeting them for the first time when your parents dined with my family last week. They seem to have deserted you for the moment. Can I have the honour of escorting you somewhere?”
“I am only strolling along to the point where the donkey rides start,” she replied with a smile. “My sisters have decided to try their skill.”
He raised his brows. “What, even Miss Catherine? I understood that she was not addicted to riding, whether horses or donkeys.”
“Well, I must admit she didn’t seem over eager for the treat. But Nell had quite set her heart on it, and she would have called Katie a spoil-sport, which is not to be endured, of course.”
“Indeed not,” he assented gravely, falling into step beside her. “Do you suppose the young ladies would have any objection to my watching them at their sport, or would it be more tactful on my part to go away?”
“By no means,” said Frances quickly, mindful of certain other matters which Mama had mentioned in her letter. “If you have nothing more pressing to do, Lord Pamyngton, I shall be very glad of your company, for it is tedious work laughing on one’s own, besides appearing very odd to an onlooker.”
“You think the spectacle may prove amusing?” he asked, smiling. “Oh dear, then perhaps I had better not stay. You may be permitted to laugh at your sisters, ma’am, but I can hardly expect to be accorded the same privilege. And already” — he made a rueful grimace — “I fear I have had the misfortune to displease Miss Catherine.”
“Displease Katie?” Frances shot a keen look at him. “I cannot believe that — she is the most easy going girl in the world, and you must know you have consi
derable address, sir! Pray, what was your fault?”
“Well, possibly she may tell you about it herself, some time. But I think this is far enough along. See, they are about to mount now.”
They both turned their attention to the group on the beach gathered round the donkeys.
The impetuous Eleanor had already perched herself on a donkey’s back, and Louisa was being assisted into the saddle by the ragged urchin in charge of the pack. One or two other females were also mounting without any difficulty. Catherine and her donkey, however, stood eyeing each other with mutual distrust.
“Wretched creature!” said Catherine, softly, taking the reins in her hands and preparing to mount. “I know very well you are plotting all kinds of baleful things in that stupid head of yours!”
The donkey continued staring disdainfully at her, but made no protest when she finally managed to settle herself on its back. Slightly encouraged by this, she adjusted the folds of her yellow walking dress in a more seemly manner, and made sure her bonnet was not askew.
“Gee up!” shouted the urchin, flicking his whip through the air.
The donkeys, each with its precious burden, started forward at a sedate pace that could not possibly have alarmed the most nervous female. One animal, however, did not budge — the donkey on which Catherine was mounted.
“Oh, go on, you silly creature, go on!” she cried, drumming her heels against its sides, and jerking at the reins.
The donkey remained adamant. The other animals were now trotting placidly on the accustomed ride, steadily increasing the distance between themselves and the immobile member of their troop. Catherine redoubled her efforts, but it was all in vain. Her animal obstinately refused to move.
A laugh broke from Frances. Pamyngton glanced reproachfully at her, a smile trembling on his own lips.
“Oh, no, it’s too bad of you, ma’am. Your poor sister must feel so put out. I wonder if that lad happens to have a carrot about him? That might do the trick.”
At that moment, the donkey boy noticed his client’s predicament, and turned back to assist her. He did not possess a carrot, but he did hold a whip. He used it generously.
A Season at Brighton Page 5
