'How did he treat her, at Vauxhall, when she claimed to have hurt her ankle?'
'I thought he was rather impatient with her, though also amused at her trying to play off such tricks on him.'
'He told me she had demanded he carry her, and he said she was too heavy. That was why she was sulking, apparently.'
Brigid laughed. 'Oh, really! How could he? She's the slightest little thing!'
'Yes, I have hopes my brother is canny enough not to be trapped by a scheming hussy!' She looked conscious-stricken and clasped her hands over her mouth. 'Oh, Brigid, I'm being such a cat!'
'You need not mind me. I want to abuse them too, for being so pushy, and trading on your friendship with me to insinuate themselves into your circle.'
*
Later that day Colum appeared in South Audley Street, saying he hoped to be permitted to take Brigid driving.
'I want to know you better,' he said. 'I have a curricle and pair outside that I am considering purchasing for while we are in town. I left my own in Dublin. Do come with me and give me your opinion.'
Brigid did not wish to go, but told herself it was an opportunity for her to get to know Colum, so she agreed and went to change. She immediately rejected her new clothes, and chose an old but comfortable cloak to cover a gown three years old. It had a hood, which she pulled up over a small close-fitting hat.
A groom was walking the horses up and down the road. They were showy-looking greys, with dark manes and tails, but of unequal height. One was at least a hand shorter, and he had his ears laid back, and jibbed when a cat ran across the road in front of him.
Colum handed Brigid into the curricle, climbed in himself and took hold of the reins.
'I'll see you back at the stables, in about an hour,' he said to the groom, and flicked the reins.
The groom tried to protest, but Colum ignored him, and the horses started off in an uneven trot. Brigid clung on to the side of the curricle and decided she would be surprised to get back home in one piece.
Somehow, despite the pair being quite uncoordinated, they reached the Park gate without causing any major disruption. Brigid was thankful South Audley Street was so close and they did not have to negotiate too many corners. A high perch phaeton had been obliged to take evasive action, and the driver had flung some uncomplimentary remarks after them. A dog had raced alongside for some time, and caused the smaller horse to rear and almost overturn them, but by some miracle they reached the Park.
Colum had been too preoccupied trying to manage the unruly pair to talk, but now he turned to Brigid and grinned.
'Now all those idiots are out of the way we can see what these two are like,' he said, pulling on the reins and cracking his whip. 'I mean to try all their paces.'
However, it seemed as though the pair had only one pace, an ungainly trot. And since the smaller one lagged behind, taking more steps than the other, and trying to drop into a walk, it was a most uncomfortable ride.
Colum swore, almost caught Brigit's cloak hood in his whip as he tried to catch the end, and declared he would never again patronise the livery stable from where he had hired this equipage.
'And I mean to demand my money back,' he said. 'They said these were sweet goers, but they are half-broken slugs!'
To Brigid's relief the horses dropped back to a walk. At least there was less likelihood of overturning now. Colum had been a competent rider, so she was surprised he was so unhandy a driver. She recalled Sinead's scorn over his mishap with the overturned curricle, and wondered how many other accidents or near accidents he had managed to have. Telling herself that even falling from an overturned curricle, which was unlikely in the Park where there were no hidden ditches, would not be likely to kill her, she tried to relax. She was able to look about her, and found herself staring at Matthew, mounted on a superb black horse and coming towards them. He smiled and raised his whip but did not stop. Several other men, some in military uniform, were riding with him, and as they went past there was a gale of laughter.
'Puppy! That fellow's too damned high in the instep!' Colum snarled. 'What my silly little sister sees in him I can't imagine. He doesn't even have a title, and from what I hear he has two older brothers and two nephews, so is hardly likely to inherit one.'
Brigid didn't know whether to laugh or be angry.
'Are you and Sinead hoping the brothers and nephews might all die?' she asked bluntly.
'Eh?' Colum suddenly laughed. 'Of course there's no hope of such a thing, and one has to be realistic.'
'Is that why Sinead has come to London, to find a titled husband?' she asked.
'Why the devil else would we be here? Mama doesn't think the men in Dublin are good enough for my dear little sister.'
Brigid wondered whether he had always been jealous of Sinead. She was undoubtedly lovely, and might well attract an acceptable husband but, she thought, he would have to be unusually tolerant or simply besotted to endure her silliness.
'Ought we to go back now?' she asked. 'There are some black clouds coming up.'
'If you are tired of my company, then, I'll take you home,' Colum said, as sulky as his sister had been at Vauxhall.
'I don't wish to get wet!'
Colum cursed, used the whip, and flicked the reins to no avail. The horses did not care to be hurried, and maintained a steady walk. The clouds let loose some heavy rain and Brigid was soaked by the time they reached South Audley Street. She had been wondering whether Colum would be able to halt the wretched beasts, since he seemed to have little control over them, and whether, since they were going so slowly now, she would have to leap from the curricle. To her relief the groom who had been with them was waiting outside the house and stepped into the roadway to catch their bridles and halt them. She scrambled down, and without bothering to thank Colum scurried into the house, vowing never to drive with him again, or, if possible, be alone in his company.
*
When the Langstons and Brigid reached Wimpole Street some days later they found another couple there before them.
'Do come in,' Mrs O'Neill trilled. 'Fancy, we met some Dublin friends at the play last night. Mr and Mrs O'Keef. Patrick is the son of our attorney, and Cecilia is a daughter of Lady Frances, who was one of dear Lady Melbourne's friends, you know.'
Sophia considered Patrick an exceedingly handsome, if somewhat effeminate man. He was about thirty years old, tall, with dark locks rather longer than was fashionable, a pale complexion, and a dreamy expression. He was, he informed the Langstons, a poet.
'I am currently composing an epic about the revolution in France, and we are going to Paris next week so that I may absorb the atmosphere of where the terrible events took place.'
'Do they still have the guillotine set up?' Matthew asked, and Sophia stifled a giggle.
'One can, if one is receptive to atmosphere, imagine the scenes,' Cecilia said. 'I am writing a novel, with all the horrors of the time. I maintain real horrors are more important than the imagined ones of certain authors like Anne Radcliffe.'
Sophia nodded, unable to speak. To her relief dinner was announced and they trooped down to the dining parlour. Mrs O'Neill swiftly seated her guests, and Sophia found herself on Mr O'Neill's left hand, with Colum on her left. She resigned herself to a tedious couple of hours.
The table was covered with dishes, so closely placed that little of the tablecloth was visible. There were two soups, and the guests were urged to try both the turtle and the mushroom. A joint of beef, a boned knuckle of veal, a leg of pork, a serpent of mutton, lobsters, and a whole salmon were the main dishes.
Mr O'Neill was as taciturn as always, confining his remarks to an instruction to try everything, saying his wife was an excellent provider. Did they eat all this every day? Sophia exchanged a wry glance with Matthew, seated opposite her next to Cecilia O'Keef, who seemed to have given up trying to talk to her host and was claiming his attention. On his other side Sinead was also chattering away to Matthew, ignoring Alex who sat back a
nd waited for his hostess to turn to him.
When the first course was removed, several capons, a goose, green peas, pigeons, artichoke bottoms and asparagus were brought in. Sophia wondered whether the O'Neills' cook had managed all these dishes, or whether a chef had been hired for the occasion.
Jellies, creams, cakes and a huge bowl of fruit followed. Sophia refused all except a small helping of jelly, saying she really had eaten far more than she was used to.
'I pride myself on keeping a good table,' Mrs O'Neill said. By now the talk had become general, though Brigid had been very quiet throughout the meal. Sophia felt for her. The O'Neills were exhibiting some of the worst aspects of social climbers, and it must be very uncomfortable for her.
When Mrs O'Neill gave the signal to the ladies to leave the dining room Sophia breathed a sigh of relief. The ordeal was almost over.
She was premature. As soon as they were seated in the drawing room Mrs O'Neill began complimenting Sophia on Matthew's looks and deportment.
'I understand that even though he is the third son, he has a large house and a fortune of his own,' she began.
Sophia blinked. 'He has a small manor house, but not a fortune,' she managed. She would dearly like to give the encroaching woman a set down, but she was a guest and that was unthinkable. She contented herself with being as brief as possible, but when Mrs O'Neill continued to ask impertinent questions she had to resort to disclaiming any knowledge of exactly how big Matthew's income was, or the acreage surrounding his house.
She was then faced with another dilemma. Cecilia O'Keef said they were giving a party for all their friends before they left for Paris, and she did hope the Langstons and Brigid would do them the honour of attending.
'Just a rout, nothing elaborate. We wait in England until after the wedding of the dear Princess Charlotte,' she explained. 'This will be an opportunity to see all our friends at once, and we have so many friends here, it is impossible otherwise to meet them during a short visit.'
Surely they did not anticipate being invited to the Princess's wedding? It was to be a very exclusive affair at Carlton House.
Sophia had not begun to go to many parties yet, after Beatrice's birth, and she was sure Mrs O'Neill knew this, for it had been mentioned at dinner. She had to resort to a promise to attend if her husband had not made arrangements she did not yet know about.
'He may have done so, it is a habit of his,' she said mendaciously, and carefully avoided looking at Brigid.
Her relief when the men came into the room was enormous, and when Alex said he must take her home, for she was still not fully recovered, she could have kissed him there and then.
*
When the men were left to their port, Colum filled his glass, emptied it in one swallow, and refilled it before passing the decanter to Patrick. Mr O'Neill emerged from the almost total silence he had maintained during dinner to ask Patrick how his father did.
'He gets ever more forgetful,' Patrick said. 'My brother does most of the work now.'
'Will you be joining him?'
'Goodness, no. I have my poem to complete, and then I am planning another on the history of Scotland.'
'That will take a long time,' Matthew said. He had very scanty knowledge of Scottish history, except he rather thought there was a good deal of it.
'And you, Mr Childe? I understand you have sold out from the army. What do you intend doing now?'
'I have a small estate to manage, in Yorkshire.'
'Indeed? Tell me, I am so ignorant of estate matters in England, how much does it bring in a year?'
'Not enough to satisfy Sinead, I'll warrant,' Colum sneered, slurring his words.
'Colum!'
The word was said so quietly it was barely more than a whisper, but Matthew, to his surprise, saw how instantly Colum responded to it by dropping his head and firmly closing his lips. Mr O'Neill, it seemed, had some control over his family.
Alex began to talk about the current session of Parliament, and the question of Matthew's estate revenues was dropped, to his relief, for he had only the vaguest idea himself. He resented such probing into his affairs. He had existed on the rent and his army pay for years, and hoped that whatever the estate had brought in previously, the changes and improvements he was putting into place would bring in more.
To Matthew's relief the men soon rose to join the ladies, and shortly afterwards they were able to make their farewells.
'Whew!' Matthew said as they drove back to South Audley Street. 'I'm sorry, Brigid, to be impolite to your relatives, but I beg to be excused from any other convivial evenings in Wimpole Street!'
*
Chapter 6
Alex Langston insisted they accepted the invitation to the O'Keef rout.
'I have no desire to encourage any of them,' Sophia protested.
'Bear with me, my love. I have a special reason for wanting to know who their friends are. We need not stay long. I'll persuade Matthew to go, you convince Brigid she needs you there. You are still weak.'
That was true, Sophia felt. She had not regained her former robust health. Was this the result of a difficult pregnancy, or was it that at over thirty years of age she was too old to bear children easily? Yet there were women who had a dozen or more children, even occasionally into their forties. She sighed. Alex so rarely insisted she did anything, she would obey him in this. Quite what he was up to she could not imagine, but if he did not wish to tell her he would not. In his way he could be as uncommunicative as Mr O'Neill!
Brigid was as reluctant to attend as Sophia.
'I've no wish to encourage them,' she said. 'I was so ashamed of their behaviour, the ostentatious dinner menu, and Aunt Mary's inquisitiveness over Matthew's situation. I suppose she is looking at him as a possible husband for Sinead, since the girl is showing such a decided preference for him.'
Sophia looked at her keenly, and smiled inwardly.
'Matthew will have something to say about that,' she said slowly. 'He is, I think, both amused by her naive attempts to gain his interest, but repelled by her brashness too. Matthew is fastidious. Can you imagine his ever wishing to be connected to such a family? To her mother and brother in particular,' she added.
'Well, no, but the cleverest men sometimes permit their feelings to overcome their common sense.'
'Matthew won't, I can assure you. Now, you must come with us to the rout. We need not stay for long, Alex has promised me. From what Mr O'Keef said, there will be so many people there we might even escape notice. And I need you to support me,' she added, seeing Brigid's expression.
Brigid laughed suddenly.
'Very well, I will come to support you. I confess it will be interesting to see what friends the O'Keefs have, and, if they are as important as Cecilia O'Keef implied, how my Aunt and Colum behave in exalted company.'
*
Matthew was on his way to visit an army friend, Peter Salcombe, passing through St James's Square, when he saw a familiar figure in front of him. Colum O'Neill was walking along with an older man, someone his brother Kenelm had warned him against when he first lived in London.
'He's one of those sharks who prey on young men, especially if they appear to have large fortunes,' Kenelm had said.
Matthew had laughed. 'Then I am safe. A large fortune is not something you can accuse me of having.'
'You have enough, and you don't want to lose it in Charles Twyford's company.'
Since then Matthew had heard more of Twyford's activities. One of his military friends had been ruined by being introduced into a dubious gambling club by Twyford. At first he had won, then began to lose, and trying to recoup his losses had wagered bigger and bigger stakes. Eventually he had been forced to sell out, and only the intervention of Matthew and another friend had prevented him from taking his own life. With a job as a land agent given by this friend, he had retreated to the country and begun to rebuild his life.
Was Brigid's cousin in danger of a similar fate? Matthew strolled
along behind the pair and saw them admitted to a house where he knew cards were played for very high stakes. It was not, he admitted, the sort of disreputable hell concerned parents warned their sons against, and which might deter young men who still had a vestige of pride in their family position. It might well appear to be the height of sophistication to men unable to gain entry to the hallowed rooms of White's or Watier's. Sensible men did not go there, however, and the hostess was not received in Society.
It would, Matthew knew, be utterly pointless for him to speak to Colum. The silly fellow was jealous of him, and would accept no warning from a man not much older than he was himself. Like many young cubs, he thought he knew everything, and could look after himself. Should he warn Mr O'Neill? Colum's father had shown, at the dinner party, that he had control over his son. His single quiet word had silenced Colum, even when the boy was half fuddled with wine. Would the man consider he was interfering? Would he take it as evidence Matthew intended to become more closely involved with his family? Matthew shuddered. He was well aware of Sinead's machinations and did not wish to do anything to encourage the chit.
He would consult Alex. And perhaps, when he was at this wretched rout the O'Keefs were holding, that Alex had persuaded him it was necessary for him to attend, he could drop a quiet word into Colum's father's ear.
*
Rather to Sophia's surprise, many of the people at the rout were leaders of Society, including a couple of the Patronesses. She recalled that Cecilia O'Keef came from one of the important landowning families, and would know everyone of influence. Would her connections manage to provide Mrs O'Neill with the coveted vouchers for Almack's?
Why had Cecilia married a man such as Patrick O'Keef? Had his looks, and poetic pretensions, attracted her? If she had ambitions for a literary career herself, she may have seen in him a soul mate. She decided she could acquit Patrick himself of marrying her for social advancement, since the man did not appear to care for anything but his pretentious poetry. Cecilia's money must be what they were living on. The younger son of a Dublin attorney was hardly likely to have much income, and he had seemed unconcerned about earning a living with his poetry. Then she laughed at herself. She had not heard a word of his verse, and was judging him by his own arrogance. For all she knew he might become the rage, another Byron. She hoped, however, he would not emulate Lord Byron and his scandalous behaviour.
The Irish Bride Page 6
