Stung, the donkey emitted a bray and hurtled forward. Unprepared for this burst of activity, Catherine slipped, clawed desperately at the donkey’s mane, and with a faint scream, fell to the ground. The donkey took no heed of its rider’s fate, but went galloping onwards, never stopping until it had drawn level with the others.
Pamyngton let out an exclamation. The next moment he ducked under the railings, jumped down to the beach, and was running to Catherine’s side. So were a number of other people, including the donkey boy, who was afraid of getting into trouble.
Pamyngton reached her first, just as she was struggling into an upright position.
“Are you hurt, Miss Catherine?” he asked, anxiously.
She turned her head and stared at him in amazement. She was a little shaken, but not at all hurt, having had the good fortune to land on a sandy patch instead of on the pebbles. By now, quite a little crowd was gathering; but she ignored everyone except Pamyngton, continuing to stare at him until recognition slowly showed in her eyes.
“So it’s you, is it?” she said, resentfully, when she could recover her breath. “I might have known it! It only wanted that!”
Other voices now joined in, asking her how she was, and if she had broken any bones. She brushed the queries aside disdainfully, and started to rise.
“Allow me to assist you,” said Pamyngton, quickly offering her his hands so that she might pull herself up.
“Thank you, no,” she replied, in chilling tones. “I can manage perfectly well by myself.”
This proved to be untrue. Her skirts had twisted round her when she fell, and were awkward to manage. She made several abortive attempts before at last he stepped forward, and placing an arm about her waist with a murmured apology, helped her to her feet.
She glared at him ungratefully. “Thank you,” she said. “I dare say you might have arranged all this with that diabolical animal. You are kindred spirits, if ever I saw any!”
Pamyngton was wise enough to make no answer to this beyond a rueful smile. By now, Louisa and Eleanor had joined their sister, and were treating the incident each in her own characteristic way.
“Well, of all the ham-handed females I ever did see!” exclaimed Eleanor in disgust. “Can’t even keep your seat on a poor little donkey — for shame, Kate!”
Louisa was anxious to make sure that her sister was not hurt. Frances, who had hurried down to the beach by the slipway and joined them at that moment, soon satisfied everyone on that point by a brief, but thorough, examination.
“Raise your arm, Katie, so — does that hurt? No? Now the other. Now walk forward a few steps. You feel no pain? You’re sure? Anyway, we will get Dr. Bransome to look at you when we reach home, but I think you have taken no harm.”
“No harm at all,” said Catherine, impatiently. “Pray do not fuss, Fanny.”
“It was that boy’s fault,” declared one of the bystanders. “He whipped the donkey hard, and the poor, dumb beast jumped with the pain, and so flung the young lady from his back.”
“That beast may be dumb,” remarked Catherine, grimly, “but his silences are eloquent. Evidently he’s a creature of action rather than utterance.”
“Please, ma’am,” protested the donkey boy, who had paled slightly, “’tweren’t my fault, really it weren’t. I allus gives ’em a touch of the whip when they’re stubborn — Master says to do it — an’ never before has one leapt off like that. An’ now if ye’re to tell Master what’s ’appened, ma’am — y’r honour” — this was to Pamyngton — “it’s me as’ll get a leatherin’, an’ likely the sack to go with it.”
His thin, young face looked appealingly into Pamyngton’s.
“What do you say, Miss Catherine?” asked Pamyngton. “Do you want this young rascal brought to book?”
She glanced at the boy, and her expression softened. “No. No, I don’t. It’s nothing, really — I wish you wouldn’t all fuss. Anyway, the boy can’t be blamed. It’s the fault of that stupid animal, and I suppose” — here she grinned ruefully — “myself, for not being a better rider.”
“Very well, my lad, you can go. Have no fear, we shan’t complain to your master. But next time you apply your whip, make sure it’s not too hard.” He held out his hand and slipped a coin into the boy’s grubby palm. “That’s all.”
The donkey boy cut short his thanks on hearing the tone of dismissal. Like most lads who had been obliged to earn a living from an early age, he knew how far to push his good fortune. He swiftly shepherded the donkeys away; and the crowd, disappointed that events had not turned out more dramatically, dispersed almost as quickly as it had gathered.
“If you ladies would care to rest for a while, ma’am,” said Pamyngton, addressing Frances, “you are very welcome to make use of my private parlour at the Ship.”
“Why, thank you, sir,” Frances was beginning, then broke off at the sight of Catherine’s face. “I believe we must not trouble you,” she went on, smoothly. “We are only five minutes’ walk from home.”
“Then perhaps I may escort you there?”
“You are very good, Lord Pamyngton, but it seems a pity to take you out of your way. But I hope that you will call on us sometime in West Street, and renew your acquaintance with my husband,” she went on, in defiance of Catherine’s dark looks. “It has been a pleasure to meet you again, and thank you once more for coming to my sister’s aid.”
He bowed. “I am happy to have been of service,” he said, with what to Catherine seemed suspicious gravity. “And I shall certainly do myself the honour of calling on you.”
He did not linger but took his leave gracefully. Frances looked after him for a moment, reflecting how well he carried himself and what an agreeable man he was. Then she turned to Catherine.
“You puzzle me, Katie. You seem as though you’d taken that charming man in dislike — come to think of it, he said he feared that he’d annoyed you, though he would not tell me how. Pray, how can he possibly have offended you?”
Catherine did not reply.
“You may well ask,” put in Eleanor. “There is some secret between them, but neither of them will tell.”
Catherine shrugged. “Oh, do stop talking nonsense, and let me go home!” she exclaimed. “My dress is ruined — it’s all dirty and I’ve torn the hem! I feel a fright!”
“It’s very fortunate that you aren’t hurt,” Louisa reminded her. “When I saw you about to fall, I had difficulty in suppressing a scream.”
“Oh, pooh! No one can get hurt falling from a donkey!” scoffed Eleanor.
“Not I, certainly,” agreed Catherine wryly. “I’m far too used to falling off horses’ backs! No, the only thing that’s hurt is my dignity, and I dare say that will mend.”
Chapter Seven
NEW ACQUAINTANCES
When they reached home, they found that both Masters of Ceremonies in the town, Mr. Wade of the Castle Inn and Mr. Yart of the Old Ship, had called and left their cards.
“Oh,” remarked Fanny, picking these up and setting them down again, “they only wish to place your names in their book, so that they can make arrangements for you to attend the assemblies. However, I believe we can dispense with their good offices, for John will introduce you to enough officers to provide you with three or four partners apiece, I promise you. Indeed, if you’re looking for husbands, my dears, you could be very well suited in Brighton! That reminds me — talking of husbands, which of you is to have Pamyngton? I understand from Mama that Lady Nevern is quite determined it should be one of you.”
“Nell,” replied Catherine, promptly. “She’s in love with his house — oh, and his title.”
“Well, at least there’s no mystery about my dealings with the gentleman,” retorted Eleanor, darkly.
“How intriguing all this talk of a mystery is!” exclaimed Frances, with relish. “Come, Kate, you can’t be so unkind as not to enlighten us.”
“Oh, you know Nell,” replied Catherine, airily. “She loves to dramat
ize things.”
“Do I?” demanded Eleanor. “Well, how do you account for the fact that he recognized you that day when we met him on our way to the village, and yet we had none of us ever set eyes on him before? Or at least,” she amended, in a teasing tone, “we were none of us supposed ever to have met him before. Louisa and I had not, at all events. Yes, and when we dined with the Neverns you were behaving most oddly towards him — you noticed it, too, didn’t you, Lou?”
“Well,” admitted Louisa, reluctantly. “I must confess there did seem to be something in your manner, Katie, towards Lord Pamyngton that evening. You had not quite your usual self-assurance.”
“Oh, Katie, this is all too tantalizing! Pray do let us into the secret,” begged Frances, eagerly. “Had you met him before? When? Where? How? Tell us all!”
“Nell can tell you a deal better than I can, because it all exists in her imagination,” said Catherine with a shrug. “I’m going upstairs to change my gown.”
“I wonder what she is concealing?” asked Eleanor, after her sister had left the room.
“Well, if she doesn’t wish to tell us,” remarked Louisa, “it’s not very kind to pry. One likes to keep some matters to oneself, after all.”
“Do you suppose she can be in love with him?” mused Frances, whose curiosity was as lively as Eleanor’s.
“Goodness, no!” replied Eleanor. “Nothing of that kind! It’s more as if she’s harbouring some kind of grudge against him. I know she was furious when Mama said we might not come and stay with you while Lord Pamyngton remained at Nevern Hall, and I wondered at first if it might be that. But you know how quickly Katie recovers from a pet; and anyway it all turned out right in the end, for luckily Mr. Eversley persuaded Lord Pamyngton to come to Brighton himself. I’ve puzzled my wits, but I can’t think of anything else; but I know that those two have certainly met before, and you may depend that something must have happened between them. But what?” she finished, throwing up her hands in exasperation. ‘And why won’t she tell us? She’s always told us everything before!”
“Well, don’t let it vex you,” said Frances, soothingly. “No doubt she’ll confide in you when she’s ready.”
But Catherine was certainly not ready to confide in anyone yet about her dealings with Viscount Pamyngton. If she could have laughed over them, it would have been a different matter; but she still felt foolish and just a little angry. It had been unpardonable of him to deceive her in that way, leading her on to say things which even now could make her blush, whenever she recalled them. The donkey incident had not helped, either. It seemed she was destined to cut a foolish figure in his eyes. Nothing could more successfully set a girl against a man.
In the afternoon, Colonel Hailsham and Frances took the three girls for a stroll on the crowded Steyne, Brighton’s fashionable parade. It was a gay scene; the pastel shades of the ladies’ muslins contrasted pleasantly with the more sober hues of the gentlemen’s coats, which were mostly of dark blue or forest green, with here and there a dash of military red. A band was playing ‘Nancy Dawson’, and the sun shone down with warm approval over all.
“That’s old Phoebe Hassell,” remarked John Hailsham, as they passed a fruit and gingerbread stall tended by a comical looking old woman dressed in a rusty black cloak and a bonnet with a red and white spotted neckerchief tied under it. “She’s a well-known character in Brighton — a rum story, hers.”
At once, the three girls clamoured for details.
“I’ll tell you,” said Frances. “She fell in love with a soldier — a common enough fate in this town” — here she gave her husband a saucy look not often seen on the face of a woman who had been a wife for five years — “and when his regiment was ordered abroad, she actually disguised herself as a man and enrolled in the Army herself, so that she could follow him.”
Her sisters exclaimed incredulously at this.
“But how in the world could she possibly manage to deceive everyone in that way?” asked Catherine. “I should have thought —”
Louisa nudged her, fearful of what she might say next in front of their brother-in-law. Catherine stifled a gurgle of laughter, and obediently subsided.
“As to that, I can’t say,” went on Frances. “But she fought alongside the other soldiers, and was actually wounded at the battle of Fontenoy. Her lover was wounded, too, though more severely, so that he had to be sent home; but she confided her story to the General’s lady, and was given a discharge so that she could follow him. Once they were at home, she nursed him back to health, and later on they were married. There! Don’t you find it a romantic story?”
“She doesn’t look particularly romantic,” said Eleanor, doubtfully, with a sidelong glance at the old woman. “Is it really true, or are you roasting us, Fanny?”
“Perfectly true, I assure you,” replied the Colonel.
“Well, perhaps you may not look so very romantic at that age,” said Fanny. “But look, there is Sir John Lade, driving that tilbury. He’s in charge of the Royal Stables, and a great favourite with the Prince.”
“What, that odd little man!” exclaimed Catherine. “He’s like an undersized groom, not a bit distinguished looking at all!”
“Be careful,” warned Fanny, lowering her voice. “It does not do to criticize the Prince’s entourage. Besides, he’s not at all objectionable. Now his wife is another matter. Before she married Sir John, she was under the protection of the Duke of York, and she’s as foul-mouthed a female as I ever want to meet. Yet she’s always included in the Pavilion parties.”
“Letitia Lade?” queried John Hailsham, making a wry face. “One thing I will say in her favour, she’s a first-rate whip — said to be the foremost lady horsewoman in the country, y’know.”
“Evidently a rival to our Katie!” remarked Eleanor with a laugh.
They had now reached Donaldson’s library, but decided to resist its many attractions for the moment, as the young ladies were eager to have their first view of the Pavilion. Two gentlemen in military coats who were just coming out of the library saluted Colonel Hailsham. He stopped and introduced them to his family as Captain North and Captain Crendon.
Captain North was a stringy looking young man with a slightly vacuous expression and an irritatingly high-pitched laugh. The other officer, who was a year or two older, was dark, with heavy eyebrows which suggested an autocratic will, and a slightly sardonic smile. He seemed to be a man of few words; but Captain North had a light, easy flow of conversation which quickly recommended him to Eleanor.
Seeing this, John Hailsham invited the two officers to join the party, and they all strolled on towards the Pavilion, finding it difficult to keep together because of the press of people. Presently they left the paved walk inside the railings of the Steyne to stand in the carriage road so that they could obtain a better view.
The Pavilion had originally been built on the conventional Palladian plan of a central Rotunda with two flanking wings. Some alterations had recently been made; there were now two additional wings placed at right angles to the existing building, and green canopies had been erected over all the windows.
“Well,” said the Colonel to Louisa, “what do you think of it, eh?”
“Oh, I like it! It is exactly my idea of a summer palace. The bow windows, and those little wrought iron balconies, give it such an elegant appearance! It is so very fitting for an English coastal town, I think.”
“More like Cathay inside, ma’am,” remarked Captain North, with one of his high-pitched laughs. “Chinese wallpaper, Chinese furniture, Chinese lanterns — regular touch of the Orient, what, Crendon?”
“The passage along the southern wing is certainly as you describe it,” replied Captain Crendon.
“No, really?” said Catherine, eagerly.
“Assure you, ma’am,” answered Captain North. “I understand it all started with some Chinese wallpaper that someone or other gave Prinney. Dashed odd, too, for chinoiserie’s been out of date for years,
what? But dashed if he don’t think now that it would be a good notion to do the whole place up in Oriental style, outside and in! All I can say is, I’d like to see it, what?”
“Oh, and so would I!” exclaimed Eleanor. “What a capital notion!”
“Capital,” remarked Captain Crendon, dryly, “is precisely what’s lacking to carry out such a scheme. His Royal Highness is never beforehand with the world, I fear.”
“All the same,” said Catherine, “I do hope we have an opportunity of viewing the interior.”
“Of course you will,” Frances assured her. “We are sure to be asked to one of the musical parties before long. John and I have been there several times, though not so frequently of late, for Mrs. Fitzherbert has been trying to persuade the Prince to live a little more quietly since his illness last year. But there are always banquets and parties in Race Week, and next month there’ll be the Prince’s birthday celebrations, too.”
Eleanor sighed with contentment. “Oh, how glad I am that we were able to come to Brighton!” she exclaimed.
“So are we, ma’am,” retorted Captain North, gallantly. “Deuced glad, what? Eh, Crendon?”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” replied the other.
Catherine smiled at his dry tone and gave him one of her saucy looks. He raised his dark brows a trifle.
“Most decidedly,” he amended, studying her thoughtfully until she turned away, a little confused.
“Well, I hope you have looked at the Pavilion your fill,” said the Colonel, moving over towards the two younger girls. “Shall we move on?”
They assented, and the party strolled back down the Steyne, past the Castle Inn, which was pointed out to them by Frances.
“That’s where the Grand Race Ball is to be held next week,” she said. “It’s the first Assembly of the season and will be opened by the Prince, so you may depend it will be a grand occasion. But I dare say your season in London last year will have quite spoilt you for balls.”
A Season at Brighton Page 6
