“Really, my dear? Why, how perplexin’! And when is it to be ready?”
“Madame assured me it would be ready in a few days’ time. And Auntie—” Here Antonia paused, for it was the brunt of what she wanted to say. “I do hope she will have an opportunity to wear it soon! It would be awful if she put it away, and forgot about it. I think it essential she be made to feel how pretty she can be. If she is only admired once, it will do her a world of good.”
Her ladyship seemed absorbed in the dressing of her hair, and for a minute, Antonia thought she might not be attending. But suddenly she demanded, “It is Thursday you are to go the Opera, is not it, my dear? Shall it be ready in time for that?”
“Why, in plenty of time, Auntie!”
“Good—then I shall see you are invited to a ball afterwards. It is my night to dine at Carlton House, so I shan’t be with you. But Freddy shall escort you very prettily, I’m sure. How provokin’!”
She cried suddenly, “Celeste, what on earth are you about?”
The young French girl flushed crimson, and murmured, “Mille pardons, madame! My lady, it was that I attended not enough.”
“I should say so,” muttered her ladyship, gazing in dismay at a tangle of ringlets, which, however, were quickly rearranged with great expertise.
Antonia had found out what she wished to know, and having thanked her ladyship, quit the chamber. She returned to her own rooms for a few minutes and then descended the stairs to the drawing room. On the landing above the main floor of the house, however, she was startled to find Celeste waiting for her.
“Mam’selle,” murmured the young maid, blushing, “I wished to inquire, if it is not impertinent, if you will allow me, on the day you are to go to the Opera, to dress Mademoiselle Serena’s hair?”
“Why, Celeste—it is just what I wished for!” exclaimed Antonia. “I watched your work just now, and am perfectly admiring of your skill. But why, if I might inquire, do you wish to do so?”
The girl smiled, and shrugged her shoulders. “How do you say, mademoiselle? It is such a pity to see such beautiful hair going to waste! I am an artist, if you like—I do not think such good material should be thrown away! I saw your friend, mam’selle, the other evening—she had all her lovely hair down about her shoulders, and I said to myself, ‘Celeste—here is your chance to prove what you can do. Here are all the materials for beauty, gone abegging.’ Also, mam’selle,” added the maid with a shy look, “she is très sympatique, Mam’selle Serena, n’est-ce pas? I feel a pity for her in my heart!”
“Yes, Celeste,” replied Antonia, affected by the sincerity of the little maid’s manner, “she is most ‘sympatique.’ ”
With the prospect of at least one grand event before her, and with the excitement of readying her cousin for a proper introduction to English Society, Antonia found it a little easier in the next days to submit to a continual round of sightseeing. With the Marchioness’s coachman as their guide, the cousins were given a thorough tour of London and its environs. The coachman’s tastes being what they were, this tour was not confined to great monuments and gardens, museums, and castles: more than once, they found themselves on the outskirts of some fairground or other, observing the commotion within, while their guide desported himself among the betters or viewed a boxing match. On their way to Sion House, they made a detour through a squalid village where the elegant coach, amid much clamoring from a herd of dirty-faced little children, drew up before a cock pit. But if their view of London was a little broader than it might have been, they did not suffer, but rather found themselves hugely diverted by some spectacles which otherwise they would certainly never have been privy to.
Antonia, meanwhile, amused herself with secret conferences with the obliging Celeste, during which a whole range of ornate coiffures were designed and discarded, until at last one exceedingly elegant and simple one was selected. Lady Pendleton was not a stranger to these preparations, either, and busied herself with the selection of a suitable necklace for the gown which she had heard described. Serena’s amethysts were reset into a brooch and splendid earrings, and the sightseeing was intermittently interrupted by shopping. Without raising her cousin’s suspicions, Antonia endeavored to fill in those sad voids of her wardrobe, pressing her into the purchase of slippers, gloves, fans, and shawls, and all those other little items of the toilette so necessary for any lady of fashionable pretensions. For Antonia had determined in her heart that Serena would be fashionable before she was finished, and that all of London, without excepting Mr. Howard, would be astonished at her handsomeness.
Such kinds of plans filled her head, and so enthused was she by them, that there was hardly room for any others. But all the while, she could not forget the most important scheme of all—the one which had brought them to England in the first place, and which moved her, even beyond any consideration of Serena’s happiness—to wish the elder girl to make a favorable impression here. For while she dearly wished to impress all the world with her cousin’s sweetness and good looks, and while she longed for some amusement for herself, she desired above all to make the acquaintance of the Earl of Cumberford—her mother’s cousin—and his heir, St. John Howard, the Viscount Rollins. She knew very little about them save for their names and titles, and what else she did know had been prejudiced by her father’s opinion of them.
Mr. Powell, did not, in truth, know much about them either—but he was disposed to hate anyone who had caused a breach between his wife and her family, or who, upon the basis of his father-in-law’s choice of homes, should refuse to communicate with his daughter. This, added to a stubborn temperament, had made him refer to Antonia’s English cousins all her life in the most derogatory terms, when he begrudged them any notice at all. It had led to his refusal to accompany his niece and daughter across the Channel, and, save for Lady Pendleton’s overtures the year before, he would certainly never have given permission for the young ladies to cross. Had the Marchioness not written to him in such flattering good faith, had she not charmed him, on her visit to America, with her endearing eccentricities and ill-concealed curiosity, and had she not assured him that two young ladies could not be said to have lived at all, if they had not lived through at least one Season in London, he certainly should not have allowed it.
Antonia, however, had not come merely to divert herself—though she certainly had come for that, too. She had come chiefly to heal the rift between the two sides of the family, to meet and woo the present Earl, and to be the instigator of peace between the separate shores of England and America. The argument was very old, and seemed to her rather foolish. It would be very fine to have noble English cousins to visit, and to send her children to. She herself was not above visiting a castle, or an abbey, or whatever the Earl’s seat was called, particularly as it might easily have been her own home, had fate not intervened. She was pleased with the idea of herself as peacemaker, and thought how glad her father would be in the end, when he could see for himself how little it behooved him to hate those he did not know.
Antonia’s ideas had been a little dampened, it is true, by the account Lady Pendleton had given of the Earl and his elder son. But Freddy was the Earl’s son, too—and there was so little that was objectionable about him that she could not fathom how his father and elder brother could be very terrible. Indeed, Mr. Howard had proved himself rather more interesting than he had looked at first on his second visit to Cadogan Place, and, though she was very far from being besotted by him, as he evidently was by her, she considered the plausibility of his helping her with his father and brother as not altogether an unpleasant idea. Surely he would help? But she would make him, if he was not inclined to do so straightaway. She knew from one glance at him that he was a man well accustomed to being flirted with, and that he knew nearly as much about the arts of coquetry as she did—but not quite! On that she must depend. She would give him a little more line than he was used to, and see if it would not make him get them an invitation to his father’s
house. Surely he could do that?
Chapter VIII
“Aggravatin’!”
Lady Pendleton, having completed four successful curtseys to the potted palm, collapsed in the midst of the fifth. She had grown so sure of herself that for half an hour she had done without the aid of Bentley’s arm, or even of the back of a suitably sized chair. She now found herself, legs askew, all in a heap, and in the discomfiting position (no less discomfiting to her pride than to her limbs) of having to call out for help.
Bentley, by happy chance and foresight, was positioned near at hand, polishing the already gleaming brass in the hallway. Leaping into action at once (for he had kept his ear cocked against such an eventuality) he proceeded directly toward the small drawing room. His pace, something between a hop and a trundle, slowed as he came into the room. He approached his mistress at a stately pace, and with a courtly bow, offered her his arm.
“Bentley, you are a gem,” panted her ladyship, brushing down her skirt when she had been hoisted to her feet. “Whatever should I do without you?”
The question, meant to be rhetorical, went unanswered, save for another courtly bow.
“I suppose I shall have to leave it at that,” continued her ladyship, grimacing at the palm. “If I collapse tonight, His Highness shall have to raise me!”
“I am sure you shall not collapse, my lady,” Bentley assured her gravely. “But, if I may make a suggestion, perhaps it would help if you were to balance yourself upon the other foot, thus.”
Raising one rather large foot behind him, Bentley executed a perfect curtsey to the ground.
“Amazin’!” cried her ladyship, watching in admiration. “If only you could go in my place, Bentley! I am sure you would be belle of the ball.”
Bentley resumed his normal posture with a modest look. “You flatter me, my lady.”
“Nonsense! Nothin’ like! I wish I could duck so low, and come up again so smooth. Never mind—have you seen to the little business I asked you about, Bentley?”
“Yes, my lady. It is quite in hand.”
“Excellent! We shall soon be hoppin’, Bentley!”
“Yes, my lady—I suppose that is what we shall be doing.”
“You look unhappy, Bentley, Anythin’ the matter?”
Bentley looked still more unhappy, but replied, “No, my lady.”
“Tell me, Bentley! I shan’t have you lyin’ to me!”
“It is only, my lady, that I am a little apprehensive as to our success.”
“Nonsense! We shall come out quite in the pink, you mark my words. Right shall be rewarded, wrong thwarted—that is how it should be, Bentley. His lordship always said so, did he not?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Bentley, however, continued to look uneasy, and even went so far as to shuffle one foot slightly upon the marble floor.
“Well, then? What is it?”
“It seems a trifle farfetched, my lady, that is all.”
Lady Pendleton looked amazed. “Farfetched! Bentley, what do you mean?”
“I mean, my lady,” replied the butler in firmer tones, managing to meet his mistress’s gaze, “that all this can do very little good, once the truth comes out. I mean, my lady, all this rumor-starting. What shall it avail, I cannot help but conjecture, when it comes to light my information is wholly false? I shall be the laughingstock of London, my lady.”
Upon hearing these words, spoken gravely, but with a very miserable look, Lady Pendleton’s eyes narrowed, and she stood regarding her servant severely for several moments together. At length, with a wonderfully regal effect, she pulled back her shoulders and raised her chin, so that she seemed to be gazing at the butler from several feet above his head, rather than several feet below.
“Bentley, I am astounded at you!” she exclaimed. “To suppose I might place you in such a demeanin’ position! To suppose I might require you to put about, to your friends and connections in London, what is not true, what is actually false!”
Bentley certainly looked rebuked at hearing this; however, as he was not possessed of that attitude of mind which dominated the majority of the servile classes—which made them incapable of contradicting their betters, if such a contradiction seemed called for—but, on the contrary, perfectly able to use his own brain, and to voice his doubts when he had them, he responded. He did this, it must be said, with great respect, and in a very gentlemanlike manner, but quite firmly nonetheless.
“I beg your pardon, my lady, but I cannot believe that I have spoken absolutely frankly when I have assured one or two of my fellow domestics about the town, that my lady has staying with her two perfectly elegant and ton-ish American ladies; I cannot be assured of my own honor, when I let it be known, that they are each more beautiful than the other, and bound to capture every heart in England; nor that it is already quite assured that one of them, at least, shall be the next Countess of Cumberford. Indeed, my lady, I could scarcely lift up my head when they are seen, and it is discovered that one of them, to be sure, is very handsome and elegant, but that the other—indeed, my lady!”
“They are both very handsome and elegant, Bentley,” returned Lady Pendleton with a certain force. “Or, if they are not yet, they shall be by this evenin’. Mark my words. Madame Violet has assured me she has made up the most elegant gown in Christendom for Miss Serena, and Celeste has been practicin’ upon her hair. Whatever is missin’, you may rest assured, shall be more than made up for by the imagination of those who see her, for I have often noticed that where beauty is expected, it is generally observed. I recollect that idiotic little Miss Tendervell, whose beauty was about as great as her wit, which was totally lackin’. And yet, a reputation for beauty preceded her into the City, and that reputation was upheld, though I can’t think why. Still, it is human nature, Bentley.”
“Yes, my lady. I hope you are correct, my lady.”
“Certainly I am! And by the end of this evenin’, when I have whispered a word or two into some ears at His Highness’s dinner, my young ladies shall be so highly thought of, it won’t matter a tittle how they look or how they behave. And I am sure they shall do very well on their own, in any case.
“Very good, my lady.”
“Yes, indeed! So now why are you lookin’ so pained?”
“I only wondered, my lady—taking for granted, of course, what my lady has just said—how prudent it may be to put about this rumor of a new countess coming into the family? I realize it may not be any of my business, my lady—”
“That,” observed her ladyship with some severity, “is very acute of you, Bentley. You are a trusted confidant of mine, but nonetheless, I feel there are some things which even you should not be privy to. However, you may rest easy that such an idea is not wholly unlikely. Indeed, a great many more improbable rumors have been put about in my time!”
It was hardly for Bentley to deny this. He knew nothing of the matrimonial plans of Lord Cumberford’s elder son, the Viscount Rollins, and only enough about his character to believe him a vain, pompous fellow, unworthy of the peerage and undeserving of his great family name. He disliked the idea of seeing him, heir to the earldom or no, married off to either of the Misses Powell. Miss Serena, though she was a poor drab thing, was very friendly and kind, and certainly ill equipped to deal with the arrogance of his lordship. The pretty Miss Powell, he rather fancied, might make a very amiable bride for Master Frederick, which gentleman had long held a soft spot in Bentley’s heart. The butler had seen him looking very admiringly at the young lady, and from a long acquaintance with Mr. Howard’s affairs, Bentley suspected that Miss Antonia was a far cry better than his previous inamoratas. Interested party though he certainly was, however, Bentley was not in a position to voice his own beliefs. He made one of his courtly bows, and looking as if water would roll off his back, made a motion to leave.
“Just a moment, Bentley!” said her ladyship. “Did you by any chance discover whether Lord Rollins is in town yet?”
“His v
alet assures me that the Viscount came up a week ago, my lady. He is,” added Bentley with as sly a look as he could muster, “to be at the Italian Opera this evening. He goes afterwards to Almack’s, which as you know, my lady, commences tonight.”
Her ladyship looked startled, and then satisfied. “How provokin’! But perhaps it is just what is needed!”
“My lady?”
“Never mind. You may go and lecture Cook now, Bentley. Tell her she had been puttin’ far too much lard in all the legumes of late. I shan’t touch another bite till she is made to stop.”
“Very good, my lady.”
“Oh—and Bentley, you may tell her also that I have changed my mind. It shall be a dinner party on Tuesday, instead of cards. Ask her to juggle her brain a bit, for I want it to be very fine. Six courses at the least, and lobsters if she can procure ’em. We must get Angus to send up some grapes with the flowers from the hothouses. Oh, and look into the wine cellar, Bentley, if you will. I never can remember what we have got.”
“Very good, my lady, What number is it to be?”
Her ladyship considered a moment.
“Well, we don’t need above five of ’em in truth. But I suppose we had better have forty.”
The butler, who was used to hearing Lady Pendleton consider out loud, appeared not to notice the peculiarity of her logic.
“Forty, then, my lady—very good. I shall look up the claret and brandy.”
So saying, he bowed and disappeared, and Lady Pendleton stood looking after his retreating back for several moments. At length, she gave a hearty little chuckle, and rubbed her tiny hands together.
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