“Then where the devil can they have got to?” Pamyngton muttered, in some concern. “It’s high time we were moving off, unless Mrs. Hailsham is to be put about by your late return.”
“Why, there are their horses, tethered to that post!” exclaimed Catherine, pointing to a spot not far away, where several horses were standing. “Do you know what? I’m certain that wretched Nell has persuaded Mr. Eversley to take her on to the fair ground! I declare, it’s a great deal too bad of her, for we said we mustn’t stay.”
He scanned the nearest booths and stalls for a while, then shook his head, frowning.
“It’s no use trying to find them from here,” he said, decisively, “and to go down into the crowd will take too long. I’d best convey you home. There’s a man in charge of their horses, I see, and we can leave them a message with him.”
“But I can’t go home without Nell!” cried Catherine, in dismay. “What would Fanny say?”
“That you have done the most sensible thing, I should imagine,” he said, reassuringly. “Time goes quickly to people who are enjoying themselves, and if we see them back here in half an hour, I confess I shall be surprised. No harm can come to your sister while Freddy Eversley has her in charge. You may be quite confident on that score.”
“That may be so, but I had far rather stay here until she comes back,” replied Catherine, obstinately. “You wouldn’t understand, but I’ve always taken care of Nell. She’s so headstrong, you know.”
“While you, of course,” he returned, with gentle mockery “are never given to impetuosity.”
“Oh I know you believe I am just as foolish,” she told him, with a slightly shamefaced look, “and I’ll admit you have some cause. But if you knew both of us really well, you would be forced to admit that Nell is even more — more heedless of danger — than I am myself.”
“Very well,” he conceded reluctantly. “We will wait for them, since you cannot be comfortable otherwise.”
It was really no hardship to sit there in the curricle, watching the constantly changing scene before them. Catherine’s eyes were drawn to a group of gipsies standing a little distance away, selling fairings to the crowd. She had a sudden impulse to jump down and ask them to read her fortune. She confided this to Pamyngton, laughing a little self-consciously.
“I dare say I could tell your fortune as well as any gipsy may,” he teased her.
“Oh, could you, then?” she challenged him, with a smile. “Well, do so. Here is my palm.”
She extended her hand towards him and he took the soft, white fingers in his own firm ones, looking up into her eyes.
“Your eyes are the colour of sherry wine,” he said, suddenly.
She laughed. “But that is not to tell my fortune, sir! You must tell me something I do not know, such as that I will meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger — or take a journey over the water —”
“You will meet a tall, fair, very ordinary man,” he interrupted “in a most out of the ordinary way. You will be vexed with him —”
She gave him a saucy smile. “Yes? And then —?”
“He will be desolated — utterly cast down,” he continued, audaciously. “You will forgive him, and he will be in transports of delight.”
“Oh, you are cheating! You must tell what neither of us knows — you must forecast the future, to be a true fortune-teller!”
He shook his head sadly. “Alas, would that I could do so! I might perhaps forecast the gentleman’s part in the story with reasonable accuracy; but as for your part — your future, Katie —”
His voice had changed subtly, with the last few words. She coloured a little, and snatched her hand away.
“You are no good at all as a gipsy,” she said, trying to hide her confusion. “I must wait for a real one to know my fortune, I can see.” Her tone changed to a more serious one. “Do you not think, sir, we should go down into the crowd in search of Nell and Mr. Eversley?”
“I will do so, if you wish; but I think you would do better to stay here. You will be jostled unmercifully in the crush.”
She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t regard that, I assure you. I should be glad to get down and walk for a while; I am quite tired of sitting still!”
He felt that courtesy forbade him to oppose her further. The curricle was left in charge of the man who was keeping watch over the tethered horses, and Pamyngton, not without some misgivings, guided his charge on to the fairground.
Almost at once, they were surrounded by people who were at cross-purposes to themselves; for whereas they wished to hurry on from one point to another in search of their lost companions, everyone else on the fairground seemed determined to loiter in front of every booth and sideshow. At first, Pamyngton tried to steer Catherine through the press of people by drawing her arm within his; but after a while, he found that the only way to shield her adequately from the constant jostling and pushing was to place a protective arm about her shoulders. She suffered this necessary familiarity without comment, but all the same she was conscious of it, in spite of the novelty of the occasion.
After being pushed hither and thither for a while at the whim of the crowd, they found themselves standing close to the gaily painted roundabout with its glassy-eyed horses which whirled and twisted in response to the tireless efforts of the man who cranked the mechanism.
“There’s Nell!” cried Catherine, suddenly, pointing to a laughing rider on this contraption. “And Mr. Eversley, beside her! Nell! Nell!”
Her voice did not carry as far as the riders on the roundabout, but several people close at hand heard her, and stared curiously. One of them, a man with a slightly rolling gait, who was dressed in apparel that had been high fashion a few years back, came closer and gave her a long, appraising look. Then he touched his hat with a tipsy gesture.
“Haven’t we met before, young lady?” he asked, familiarly. “Seems to me I know your face — and a pretty one into the bargain, if your beau there won’t take the remark amiss.”
Pamyngton felt Catherine shrink within the shelter of his arm. He looked down into her face, and saw that it was pale, even in the flaring light of the torches. He raised a questioning eyebrow, and she shook her head almost imperceptibly in answer.
He turned to address the speaker. “No proper compliment to a lady can come amiss,” he said, smoothly, with just a faint emphasis on the second word. “But you are mistaken, sir. This lady does not know you.”
“Well, now, me buck,” replied the man, poking a waggish finger at Pamyngton’s top waistcoat button “I think it’s you who are mistaken, for I’ll warrant she knows me very well indeed if she chooses.”
“I don’t, nor do I wish to!” exclaimed Catherine on a slight note of hysteria.
“You heard that, I think,” Pamyngton addressed the man in a clear, incisive tone very different from his normal pleasant one. “And should you require to have the matter made more plain, I would be most happy to oblige you.”
The man backed a step or two at this, staggered a little, and waved his hand airily. “Not at all. I’m no spoil-sport, to come between a beau and his belle. If she don’t choose to know me, let be, let be.”
He turned and pushed his way back into the crowd. One or two of them had paused to listen to the interchange in the hope of seeing it come to a fight; being disappointed in this, they, too, went about their own concerns.
Pamyngton steered Catherine skilfully into a space at the back of a booth, which housed the Two-Headed Lady of the Orient, who being in reality no lady, was at that moment enjoying a tankard of ale with his neighbour, the Strong Man.
“It occurs to me,” Pamyngton said, in a low tone, “that our friend was none other than that Sir Galahad who came to your assistance on the road when first you and I met.”
She nodded. Her face glowed palely in the gathering shadows which were unrelieved here by the light from the torches. “Yes, he was,” she whispered. “I was terrified for one awful moment that he would make some attempt
to snatch me away!”
“You need have no fear on that score,” he replied grimly. “All the same, I think it will be best for us to return to the curricle and await the others there. You have suffered enough buffeting for one evening.”
She submitted readily enough, only pleading that they might go back by way of the roundabout, in case Eleanor should still be there. Accordingly they left their comparatively quiet spot and plunged once more into the turmoil of the crowd, Catherine within the protective shelter of her escort’s arm.
They reached the roundabout just as it stopped. Pamyngton, whose height enabled him to see over the heads of most of the intervening crowd, scanned the contraption carefully.
“There they are!” he exclaimed presently. “I caught a glimpse of Eversley over in this direction.”
He steered Catherine towards the roundabout as he spoke, trying to dodge people who moved back and forth with no regard for anyone’s convenience but their own. It took a few moments to reach the front; when they succeeded, they saw a knot of people gathered in one particular place, where the centre of attention seemed to be a lady who was sitting in a woebegone attitude on an upturned packing case, her pretty blue riding dress trailing on the ground. A comfortable-looking woman was bending over her, offering some kind of restorative in a cup; and hovering in the background was a fashionably dressed young man who obviously wished himself elsewhere at that particular moment.
Catherine let out a little shriek. “Great heavens, it’s Nell! Something is wrong with her!”
She left Pamyngton, and elbowed her way through the crowd to her sister’s side.
“Nell! Whatever’s amiss? Are you hurt?”
Eleanor looked up, her face drawn with pain.
“Oh, nothing to signify! Don’t take on, Katie. I missed my footing getting off the roundabout, and I seem to have ricked my ankle. Only the worst of it is, I can’t walk very well.”
“My fault, I’m afraid,” said Freddy Eversley, ruefully. “I started to help Miss Eleanor down, but wasn’t quick enough.”
“You mean she jumped down before you could get to her,” said Catherine, percipiently. “I know. That was the way of it, wasn’t it, Nell?”
Eleanor gave a rueful grimace.
“Well, never mind that” went on Catherine, briskly. “What can’t be cured must be endured, as Nurse used to say to us. You’re quite sure it’s nothing more serious, Nell?”
“Of course I am. And for heaven’s sake get this crowd to go away, Katie,” she went on, in a lowered tone. “The circus female there’s been very good, bringing me a restorative and so on, but I am perfectly all right now and don’t relish seeing everybody gather round me like vultures over carrion.”
Catherine conveyed this to Pamyngton in a whisper. He dealt with the situation with characteristic promptness by desiring the onlookers to move away so that the injured lady might have more air. He then thanked the female who had come to Eleanor’s aid, reinforcing his words with a suitable offering of money. This cleared a small area around Eleanor, and enabled the four of them to confer in comparative privacy about what was best to be done. One thing was quite clear in spite of Eleanor’s brave protests; she could not be allowed to ride home.
“It’s simple enough,” said Catherine. “She must go in the curricle, and I will ride her horse.”
“You ride that animal?” cried Eleanor, incredulously. “Don’t be silly, Katie — it’s far more spirited than Stella, and you know you can never stay on her for long!”
“I shall manage,” declared Catherine, stoutly.
They disputed the point. Pamyngton listened in silence for a moment, much struck by the sisterly solicitude which impelled Catherine to offer to make such a sacrifice. Then he intervened.
“I think the best way out of our difficulty is for us to hire a carriage to convey both you ladies home. We shall find one at the inn, not quarter of a mile away from here.” He turned to Eversley. “Freddy, a signal honour is about to be conferred on you. You shall drive my curricle with Miss Nell as your passenger.”
“Oh, yes, that’s a splendid notion!” exclaimed Catherine. “I shall easily manage on the horse for that short distance!”
“Perhaps, but I have a better scheme,” said Pamyngton. “That is if you have no objection to it. I propose to tie your sister’s horse to the back of the curricle, and take you up before me on Eversley’s.”
“Oh!” The short exclamation was almost a gasp.
“It is, after all, for a very short distance,” said Pamyngton, persuasively.
There was a moment’s silence, then she said, in an embarrassed tone “Yes — yes, I suppose it is. I am quite willing to try riding Nell’s horse, but — but if you feel this is a better way —”
“Oh, yes, Katie, I think so,” put in Eleanor. “And as it is dark no one will notice, you know.”
“A capital notion I’m sure,” approved Freddy, meeting Pamyngton’s eye in a brief but meaning look. “Come then Miss Nell, we must get you settled.”
This could only be done by the two gentlemen making a chair of their arms for Eleanor so that they could carry her to the curricle, where there was a slight difficulty in placing her comfortably aboard.
“I’ve always wanted to try my hand with your bays,” remarked Freddy to Pamyngton, as he mounted into the vehicle. “Odd how things turn out sometimes, ain’t it?”
The curricle moved slowly off, and Pamyngton lifted Catherine lightly to the saddle of the horse which they were to share. Then he mounted behind her, and sent the animal ambling gently in the wake of the vehicle.
Night was closing in, although the sky still held its summer lightness; trees and hedges were dark shadows lining the road which stretched palely ahead. At first Catherine sat stiffly within the enclosure of Pamyngton’s arms, her fingers twisted in the horse’s mane, staring after the curricle. She was thinking that circumstances had brought her very close in every way to this man tonight; and presently he made a remark which showed that this thought had also crossed his mind.
“We’ve shared quite a few adventures this evening, Katie, have we not?”
She agreed, turning her face towards him.
“Dare I hope,” he continued, “that you think a little better of me now than you did at first? Perhaps it is only wishful thinking, but I fancy there is some slight leniency in your attitude towards me.”
“What nonsense you do talk, sir!”
“Remember you promised to call me Pam — or at the very least, Pamyngton. And I am not talking nonsense now, I assure you. It is a matter of great importance to me that you should think well of me.”
“Oh, in that case I do!” she replied, trying to speak lightly. “I am no good at all at being hard-hearted, you must know, and invariably end by forgiving everybody.”
He sighed. “I often think, Katie, that whoever invented the bonnet as female headgear did a great disservice to the male section of the population.”
“But why, sir — Pam?” she asked, in surprise.
“Because it so effectively conceals a female’s face, and especially in this light — or should I say, dark? And since I cannot see your face, I have no notion whether or not you really mean what you say.”
Impulsively, she pushed her bonnet on to the back of her head, where it hung by the strings tied under her chin.
“There! Is that better?” she asked, with her usual saucy smile.
He looked down at her and caught his breath. Her eyes were dark and lustrous in the fading light, and a night breeze blew a lock of hair across the soft curve of her cheek. He had a sudden impulse to close his arms about her, an impulse which he found surprisingly difficult to control.
When he could trust himself to speak, he said lightly, “Indeed it is. Shall we initiate a campaign to suppress all bonnets?”
“But what would the milliners do then?” she asked, with a somewhat shaky laugh.
He answered her with some nonsense which made her laugh again;
and they continued talking in the same vein until they all reached the inn where a carriage was to be hired.
But Catherine had not been insensible of the atmosphere between them; and had Pamyngton given way to his impulse, he might have found her more receptive than he could ever have hoped.
Chapter Fourteen
A MUSICAL EVENING AT THE PAVILION
Like all the rooms in the Prince’s summer palace, the dining-room was unbearably hot. The table, polished to perfection and laid with fine silver and glass which glistened in the light of the massive chandeliers, was abundantly spread with good food. In the place of honour sat His Royal Highness. The conventional evening dress of tight coat, white knee breeches and stockings had the unfortunate effect of accentuating his plumpness, but he radiated good humour, even if his face was somewhat flushed from wine and the heat of the room. Next to him sat Mrs. Fitzherbert, wearing a soft blue gown which admirably set off her fair colouring and golden hair, and exposed glimpses of an ample white bosom. Richard Sheridan, who was also one of the small select party, appeared to be in one of his devil-may-care moods, for he cracked frequent jokes and once went so far as to dig my Lady Berkeley in the ribs. George Brummell, immaculately dressed as usual, allowed an expression of incredulous disdain to cross his face at this departure from the conventional.
Viscount Pamyngton, who was sitting next to the Beau, noticed this and smiled. Beau Brummell, he reflected, was certainly the greatest stickler for good form of any of those present. This might have seemed extraordinary in view of the Beau’s obscure connections and background; but the fact was that he had established himself as an arbiter of fashion and a valued member of the Prince’s intimate circle. It was said that Prinney rarely ventured to buy a new coat without his fashionable friend’s advice and approval.
Pamyngton gratefully accepted an iced dessert, and wished fervently that fans had not gone out of fashion for men. He turned to his neighbour, who, after silently surveying the dish with his eyeglass, had disdainfully waved it away.
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