Contrary Cousins

by Judith Harkness

  “How provokin’! So it is to be tonight! Well, I had better set to, then. Lord, Roland, you should laugh! But does not Bentley make a fine accomplice? He ought to have been in the Army. What was it you used always to say about aide-de-camps? ‘A good one knows his place, but an excellent one knows yours?’ That was it! Well, then? And there was that other—let me see, somethin’ to do with a phalanx, was it? Ah, yes—‘A phalanx on the right for strength, and a scrimmage on the left, to create a diversion.’ Interestin’! So, is it to be a scrimmage I must have, my dear?”

  And her ladyship cocked her head ceilingward, as if attending to a reply, which, when she seemed to have received it, made her chuckle the harder, and clap her hands as if delighted.

  Chapter IX

  Having whiled away the better part of the morning (which had commenced at eleven, with his tea) upon his toilet and his letters, Freddie determined to set forth into the drizzle for some exercise. In truth, it was most unwelcoming weather, being one of those dreary days in late fall when the world has not yet determined whether to go into full mourning or no: the sky was black as ink, storm clouds rolled by at intervals, and the fog was so dense as to be nearly unnegotiable. But Freddie had opened his eyes, nonetheless, with a very merry feeling in his heart, for today was Thursday, and in seven or eight hours, if he could occupy himself till then, he should be putting on his cloak to go to the Opera, and in the company of the prettiest woman he had ever seen.

  Freddy’s infatuation had only blossomed the more since first clapping eyes upon Miss Powell. Nor could he attribute his intensified emotions to that absence which is often held accountable for deepening love, for he had been several times to Pendleton House in the last week, and though he had only managed to find his inamorata at home on one of these occasions, that visit had been sufficient to assure him that none of his first impressions were ill-founded. Quite the contrary; Antonia had looked even lovelier than he had remembered, had displayed the same merry wit, the same she-devilish (and oh! how delicious) tricks of eyes and laughter, had even attended to him, he thought, with greater interest and admiration in her look.

  Since that day, Freddy had been in a fever to see her again, but try he would not, until he could be sure of having all her attention to himself. The elder Miss Powell, though perfectly shy and quiet, was ever-present, making any intimate conversation impossible. But tonight—ah, tonight would be quite another matter! Tonight he would have Antonia all to himself, for Cuffs was agreed to occupy her cousin.

  Feeling very cheerful indeed, and looking forward to the speedy passage of the daylight hours, therefore, Freddy was just putting on his hat to set forth for his club, when the manservant came in with a tray bearing a letter upon it. Half in a mind to leave it until later, Freddy picked it up and glanced at the hand. With a start, he saw it came from his father, Lord Cumberford. The fact made him all the more eager to drop it upon a table for a later perusal, but some instinct, some dark forboding, made him tear off his hat, open the envelope, and take it with him to a chair by the window.

  The missive commenced with the usual frigid greetings, for the Earl was not blessed with any easiness of style, even when addressing his own kin. There followed a somewhat more lengthy, but no less unusual critique of his younger son’s monetary habits, together with a warning that any further incursions into debt should result in a permanent reduction of Freddy’s allowance, which, as his lordship pointed out, “is far surpassing that of most second sons I know of, and ought to suffice admirably for all your needs. For what can your needs be? You have no wife nor family, no estate, no lands—no obligations at all, in fact, save to clothe and feed and amuse yourself—a task which, I gather, you accomplish in all too frivolous a style.”

  Such criticism, however, being anything but unusual, Freddy did not take the words much to heart, but glancing over this part of the letter hastily, read on.

  As you must know by now, your elder brother is gone to town. Upon my recommendation, St. John has taken a house in Mount Street for the winter. The address is a favorable one, and shall suit his station and his time of life, for it is high time he married, as I have told him, and he has promised to find a wife before the year’s end. I make no doubt he shall have no trouble in doing so, for he is an exceeding eligible man, and, if he be not encumbered by the embarrassment of possessing a brother always in debt and involved in every sort of flimflammery and scandal about London, there is no desirable lady who would not have him. I mention this only, as you must now suspect, as I hope you shall have sufficient sense to curb your style of life before you cause chagrin, not only to you father, but to your brother as well. I am

  Yr father,

  G. Howard, Earl of Cumberford.”

  With no more affectionate phrase did his father close his letter, a fact which neither amazed nor dismayed Freddy, who barely noticed the ending of the letter. Nor did the injunctions to “curb his style of living” make him cringe, for Freddy, though he was very frequently in debt to his tailor, had not a gambling habit, nor did he owe any of his acquaintances above the price of one night’s dinner. He was not ashamed of himself, in fact, despite his father’s low opinion of him, for he scarcely knew a dozen men of his position who owed less than he, and hardly half that number who owed nothing at cards.

  Whatever his father might have suspected, he was in truth, for a man of his class and tastes, very little obliged to anyone. As to the imputation that his allowance was greater than any other second son of a peer, he knew this to be false. He knew, too, that his father, who was possessed of a very great fortune, could give him more without noticing, and that he in fact did give his elder brother an income exceeding that of several dukes. Freddy, however, did not take exception to any of this letter, nor find it surprising, for he was well accustomed to the Earl’s letters, and to his sentiments. And yet the letter did excite his interest, and even his dismay, for Freddy certainly did not know of his brother’s arrival in London, and found the idea displeasing. That his brother was “in search of a wife” surprised him a little, but not so much as it amused him. Freddy, however, had little time to indulge either his amusement or his dismay, before a knock came at the door, and the manservant appeared again.

  “The Viscount Rollins to see you, sir.”

  “Oh!” exclaimed Freddy, in horror. “Well, tell him I am out, in Heaven’s name, Hastings.”

  “I am afraid, sir—” commenced the valet, but what was cut off just at that instant by a voice behind him.

  “—That he has already told me you are at home, my dear brother,” drawled the voice, in accents most heavily laden with sarcasm. “And as I can see for myself it is true, I shall just come in, if it is not too great an inconvenience. Lord! Don’t trouble to get up!”

  St. John Howard, Viscount Rollins, strolled into the room with these words, insofar as it is possible for a man whose girth nearly exceeds his height to stroll. He stood in the center of the room, breathing somewhat heavily from the exertion of climbing two flights of stairs, and glared, or rather gloated, at his younger brother, who indeed had not deemed it necessary to rise.

  “No doubt,” continued the Viscount, who was a man of about thirty years, but looked rather older, due in part to the corpulence of his figure, and in part to the scarcity of his hair, which he wore plastered down with French pomade to hide a receding brow and a bald place, and atoned for with a great many curling whiskers on his cheeks. “No doubt you have more important affairs to attend to than greeting your brother, whose absence I am sure, you can scarcely have remarked.”

  “Why!” cried Freddy, who had finally found the use of his legs, “I only just discovered this moment that you was in town! I—I thought perhaps you would not be coming down so soon, you know.”

  “No doubt,” drawled the Viscount, lowering himself into a small armchair, the legs of which Freddy watched rather fearfully as they received the full weight of his brother. This gentleman having composed himself—having crossed his curiou
sly small feet in their patent boots, having drawn a lace handkerchief from his sleeve, and brushed a speck of dust from his unmentionables, now drew forth a snuff box, and having used it, sneezed daintily.

  “Do,” said Freddy, with a cheerful smile, having watched these arrangements, “have a seat, St. John! Make yourself at home!”

  “Thank you,” replied the Viscount, apparently unaware of his brother’s humor. “I shall take but a moment of your time, my dear brother. Perhaps you had better be seated, as well.”

  “Thank you, I shall,” said Freddy gratefully, resuming his old chair. “Wine, St. John?”

  “Thank you—no. I do not take wine before one o’clock. It is most unhealthful to do so, Frederick.”

  Freddy received his brother’s meaningful look without a blush, and waited.

  “I have been in London for only a week, Frederick,” commenced the elder man after a moment’s pause, “else I should have called upon you before. I have taken a house in Mount Street—a very admirable house. I mean to set up there for the winter, if not beyond.”

  “So Father tells me,” murmured Freddy, nodding at the letter which reposed beside him upon a table. “I only just got his letter. I suppose the House is in session?”

  “Since Monday last.” The Viscount, who took his civil responsibilities very seriously, nodded solemnly. “But, alas, I was unable to attend the whole of last week. I am endeavoring to atone for my absence now. So many of the Members treat their duties lightly—it is encumbent upon the rest of us to compensate their levity.”

  Freddy nodded, thinking that “levity” was certainly not one of his brother’s weaknesses. No more solemn a peer could ever have sat in that famed hall than St. John—solemn, at least, in regard to himself.

  “There is a great dispute going on upon the Corn Question. You will have heard of it, no doubt?”

  “Corn, eh? No, I cannot say that I have, I’m afraid,” replied Freddy.

  “No? I am astonished. A most weighty matter, brother. We must all concern ourselves with it, if we are not to be undone by the Colonials.”

  “Why, what can they have to do with it?” inquired Freddy.

  “My dear Frederick! Your ignorance is sometimes astounding! Do not tell me that you have no idea?”

  “None at all. But—let me guess,” continued Freddy, “they are producing an abundance of corn, and sending it all over here, in the guise of a new sort of beverage, and shortly we may all be drinking corn liquor in place of tea!”

  St. John appeared unamused by his brother’s attempt at humor. “They are producing it, in fact, Frederick, and in very large quantities. However, they are attempting to persuade us to feed it to our livestock, if you please! Only fancy what we shall come to next!”

  “I cannot, St. John,” returned Freddy, with the utmost gravity. “The very prospect appalls me.”

  “Indeed it ought.”

  St. John, looking excessively dignified, sniffed delicately into his handkerchief, and raising one soft pink hand to his lips, coughed slightly.

  “However,” he continued, “I did not come this morning to discuss with you the matters of our kingdom, Frederick. I came, on the contrary, to apprise you of the fact that I am going to be married.”

  “No!” exclaimed Freddy, jumping up. “I cannot believe you, St. John!” To have found a wife so readily! Really, you are an amazing fellow! Pray, who is the lucky lady?”

  Smirking, the Viscount raised his hand to quell these effusions. “I do not know as yet, Frederick.”

  “Oh!” exclaimed Freddy, disappointed, “you mean you have not found a wife, yet? Well, I was a little amazed. I mean to say—a week is rather spurring things along a bit, is it not?”

  “I do not know what you are talking of, Frederick! Pray, sit down, and be quiet for a little. Your continual jumping up and down is perfectly horrible. I don’t wonder but I shall have a headache before I leave. Now, where was I? Ah, yes! To be married. Well, what do you advise?”

  “Advise, advise?” repeated Freddy, a little stunned. “Why, I suppose that, if you wish to be married, you had better first find yourself a wife!”

  “That is perfectly obvious,” drawled the Viscount, with a slight sneering effect. “I did not come to be told that! I mean to say, where do you suppose I will find one?”

  Now, it must be said that Freddy would dearly have loved to be able to reply something like, “Why, under the sofa, to be sure, St. John!” or, “Have you tried the pantry?” as such kinds of little witticisms as this were utterly lost upon his brother. Seeing, however, that St. John was in earnest—not an extraordinary occurrence, to be sure, but in view of the fact that he was earnestly entreating his younger brother for help, which he would certainly have less preferred than dying—Frederick took pity upon him. He said, quite seriously, therefore, “Lord! I only wish I could tell you, St. John! There are women everywhere, to be sure—but wives are not so easily found. I suppose you must wait until you fall in love!”

  “Fall in love!” cried the Viscount. “Why, I certainly cannot wait for that! I have not got ten years, Frederick, you know. I wish to be married at once—as soon as possible, at any rate. Of course, I will not have just anyone. She must be worthy of her new station in life, and of our family heritage.”

  “And beautiful, I suppose?” inquired Freddy, smiling.

  “Yes, yes, to be sure—at any rate, strikingly handsome.”

  “And rich, if it is possible?”

  “To be sure, though, of course, that is not of such great importance as her breeding. She must certainly be well bred!”

  “Certainly,” murmured Freddy. “And witty, too, I suppose?”

  “Wit,” returned the Viscount, rather coldly, “is not, to my mind, an admirable feature of womankind. It is far more essential that she be docile, obedient, and know what’s what.”

  “What’s what?” repeated Freddy, looking puzzled.

  “Why, to be sure! You know—how to order a fine dinner, and write cards of invitation, and the like. You would be amazed how little these modern young ladies are taught! I am told so upon good authority. It is crucial that my wife, being as she will, a countess, and the wife of a distinguished Member of Parliament, shall know how to entertain elegantly, how to run a large establishment, and the like. And of course,” added the Viscount after a moment, “she must dote upon me, you know!”

  Freddy smiled thoughtfully at his brother. “I think,” he said, after a moment’s consideration, “that you are asking rather a lot, St. John.”

  “Surely there must be some females about who fit my description!” cried the Member of Parliament.

  “Oh, to be sure—there are some who fit some of your requirements and some who fit others—but, you know, ladies are a deuced lot. Either they are capable, or they are pretty; either they are docile, or they are witty and clever. Few of them, in my experience, seem to be both at once—of course, I may be mistaken.”

  “Of course there must be some—one or two—who are everything I demand! And if they exist, or she, rather, than I shall find her! But, where shall I look, Frederick? I had rather thought of going to the Italian Opera tonight—they say a great many ladies go, and I am sure to catch the eye of one or two. It is an excellent opportunity to observe, in any case, as I am not very fond of music.”

  Here Freddy seemed to clutch his chest, and made a violent gesture with his hand.

  “No!” he cried.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said, ‘Oh!,’ St. John—it is really not a good place at all to see ladies.”

  “No? How extraordinary! I rather thought it would be. They love to dress up in their best finery, I know, and gaze about at all their acquaintance, with their opera glasses. I think it would be an excellent opportunity, Frederick. What better time to peruse their faces than when they are occupied with the spectacle upon the stage? I rather think I am right, you know! In fact, I am determined upon it.”

  “But—there is not
really a good singer tonight, St. John, and you know how you hate loud noises. I am told Madame Oscuri has a perfectly piercing voice—surely it would give you the headache?”

  The Viscount seemed to consider this news with some gravity, for he was, in truth, horrified by piercing noises, loathed singing on principle (as it deviated from everything rational which he admired), and lived in terror of his own head, which was inclined to cause him the most grievous pain.

  “It would be a great sacrifice,” said he, consideringly. “But! What better way to begin the endeavor, eh? I shall show my fidelity at once, by sacrificing my own pleasure to that of some female or other—whomever she may be. Now, my dear Frederick, I am afraid I must leave you. Pity I do not have more time, but I must be at Lord Denton’s to dine at five o’clock. Corn Question, you know.”

  “Yes, indeed, the Corn Question,” said Freddy, rising with his brother. “Well, old chap—good fortune and all that! Still, you know—I do not recommend the Opera. I have never noticed any pretty females there. They tend to be scrawny, and far too earnest. Music makes ’em that way, I expect!”

  “Eh? Indeed? Why, I abominate scrawny females. Well, perhaps I shall reconsider. Good-bye, Frederick.”

  With mixed emotions did Freddy see his elder brother safely down the stairs, and return to his own sitting room, there to ponder what he had just heard. Having done so—with several oaths—he took up his hat, and telling his valet that he could be found at his club, went out.

  Chapter X

  “I tell you,” said Freddy very emphatically, beating his cane upon the carriage floor, “I shan’t let him near her! I can just imagine his loathsome, ogling eyes popping out at the sight of her! Oh, horrid!”

  “Oh, horrider,” returned Cuffs, meditatively, “if he discovers who she is, old chap!”

  The pair were in train for Cadogan Place in Lytton-Smythes’s town carriage, which, much to his chagrin, bore the ducal arms of his uncle. Cuffs was not fond of having it be known he was a duke’s heir, but as the carriage had been a gift, and as Freddy had insisted upon using it this evening, he had not refused, but had directed the coachman to park the vehicle out of the light if possible. This, of course, was unknown to Freddy, who took great pride in his friend’s prospects, and thought it rather fine to be driving to the Opera in it.