Contrary Cousins

by Judith Harkness

  And so she had sat on, through the gathering dark of the afternoon, accusing herself bitterly for her many instances of stubbornness and foolishness, and vowing that if a miracle occurred to restore Serena to them before she had been compromised by that man, she would make her cousin amends, by whatever sacrifice was required on her part. That she would lead an altogether different life, in future, was in any case determined. To temper her spirits, and give up her frivolous ways, she was resolved.

  By six o’clock, the winter afternoon had turned almost into night, and the ladies, each in her different attitude of watchfulness and worry, still sat silent in the gloom. Bentley, coming in to light the candles and draw the curtains, startled them both.

  “So sorry to disturb you, my lady. You did not order any tea,” he said, with a quite reproachful look. Bentley had been told nothing, but with that sixth sense which had always placed him a tier above the rest of his confederates, the butler seemed to understand that something very dire was afoot.

  “Oh! I quite forgot!” exclaimed her ladyship, nearly jumping out of her chair. “Antonia, would you like some tea? We ought to, of course! Do bring it up, Bentley—some nice cakes and things, too. We shan’t be dinin’, I don’t suppose.”

  “I am not a bit hungry, Auntie,” murmured Antonia.

  Bentley stayed by the door, with his hand upon the knob.

  “The Viscount Rollins called, my lady.”

  “Lord! He did not? I hope you sent him away!”

  “Yes, my lady. I said you were all gone out.”

  “Good of you, Bentley! How provokin’! Last person upon earth I wished to see!”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  When the butler had bowed himself out, her ladyship stood up with a sharp movement.

  “Well! No good sittin’ about thus, my dear! We had better look a little lively, lest we are needed!”

  “But Auntie, whatever can we do?” wailed Antonia, getting up as well. Any movement at all, after the frustration of sitting quite helplessly all the afternoon, was welcome. “I have been wracking my brains, but it does seem useless!”

  “I have been wrackin’ mine, too, Antonia,” muttered the small woman, with a knowing glance at her companion. “So provokin’! And in a way, I suppose it is all upon my shoulders!”

  “What, Auntie!” exclaimed Antonia, “How can you say so? You did everything you could to prevent either of us being ill-used by him! I am the one to blame!”

  “Oh, tosh, child! You merely fell in love with a handsome fellow, which is not too surprisin’ for a young girl. But I—well, I suppose I had better confess somethin’ to you, dear.”

  With the most acute wonder did Antonia now watch the Marchioness sit down as abruptly as she had stood up, and, having drummed her fingers against her cheek for an instant, commence in a stern voice. “You see, it was all a plan I had, to make Cumberford eat his own cake! It was somethin’ that had rankled me for a great while, my dear.”

  “The Earl of Cumberford, Auntie! What can he have to do with all of this?”

  “Nothin’ much—and everythin’! It was to give him a good setdown I had you over in the first place. ’Twas why, in fact, I went to visit your papa in Philadelphia. You see, pet, Cumberford used always to take a great delight in sayin’ things about Roland. He thought it was the height of comedy that he was a soldier, and whenever there was a battle, Cumberford would lay odds upon him, as if he were a horse in a race! Of course, Roland was worth eight of him—with his dotty notions about the peerage, and how one ought merely to stay at home and finger one’s money, rather than goin’ off to do anythin’ at all in life! ’Course, Roland always thought it plain idiotic, and never stopped tellin’ me so, but Cumberford was my brother, and I took it rather to heart. It always did rankle, and when Roland was killed, Cumberford said some maddenin’ things about him! I could not forgive him for sneerin’ over his grave! And a hero, too—when Cumberford should have been a mere nothin’, had not he been lucky enough to inherit that title! So I vowed I should give him a run for it—in any case, a nasty shock.

  “Cumberford sneers at everythin’, my dear—perhaps you shall meet him after all, one of these days—but there was always one thing he could not sneer at, and that was the story of how Papa came into the title at all. I think all his life he has lived in dread that one day one of your family—some heir presumptive or other—might turn up to claim the title for your family. He fairly quakes at the mention of any of you!”

  Antonia, at this juncture, could really not suppress her amusement and astonishment at such a notion. “But Auntie,” she pointed out, “even if any of us wished for the title—which I never thought of—but even if we had, well! There are no male Howards left! My uncle was the last of them, and he died long ago! So what can the Earl be frightened of?”

  “Of what he don’t know!” retorted the Marchioness, visibly worked up by her narration. “Cumberford is such an idiot, he hasn’t the vaguest idea whether or not there is a male extant, nor even if there is any law which could make him—if he existed—a claimant. Nevertheless, I think he is convinced of it. He’s gone rather crackers, my dear, stayin’ up in that old mansion by himself, countin’ his money! And so I thought I should just pop over to America, and see for myself how the land lay, don’t you know? I saw at once there was no son amongst all the lot of you. But then I saw you, my dear!”

  “Me?” echoed Antonia, puzzled.

  “Yes, indeed, pet! And you were such a pretty, high-spirited thing! I thought perhaps if we could persuade St. John to fall in love with you—which I’m afraid you rather dashed—it might give Cumberford the devil of a fright! Oh, I knew you shouldn’t like him a bit, no one could, I don’t suppose. But you could give him a setdown, and then Cumberford should find that his American cousins, whom he has always scorned, had bested him after all!”

  Antonia could only gape. “Auntie!” she whispered, appalled.

  Lady Pendleton nodded rapidly, and looked vexed. “I know, my dear, I know! I am a silly old goose, just as Freddy says—they oughtn’t to allow me about! Nevertheless, ’tis done! And now we must extricate ourselves, if ’tis at all possible. Oh, Roland should have been so annoyed with me! He did always say I couldn’t keep my fingers out of things! Provokin’!”

  “But, Aunt Winnie,” put in a still perplexed Antonia, “what was Serena for? I mean to say, I was meant to give St. John a setdown, I think, but what about Serena?”

  Lady Pendleton stared for a moment. “I didn’t really have a plan for Serena, dear. She was stayin’ with you in Philadelphia for a while—I thought her rather sweet. And it did cross my mind that she might make it all seem less plain. Tut! But I did not count upon her bein’ so difficult! I did not count upon any of it bein’ so difficult! What with Freddy fallin’ in love with you, and you with Lord Blandford, and Serena and Mr. Lytton-Smythe, and so forth—it does seem to have got quite out of hand!”

  “I should say so,” breathed Antonia, really on the point of laughing. Her nerves had been stretched so tight all day that this narration nearly killed whatever of reserve she still possessed. But the sudden realization of the inescapable realities made her grow suddenly grave.

  “Aunt Winifred!” she exclaimed sharply, “whatever shall we do? It’s nearly night! If Freddy and Mr. Lytton-Smythe do not find Serena before long, she shall be compromised—and then she shall have to marry him!”

  “Tut! Don’t even think of it, dear! They are such clever young men, I am sure they shall find her!”

  “In the whole of England?” murmured Antonia to herself. “Rather like finding a needle in a haystack!”

  Bentley, coming in just then with the tea tray, prevented any further conversation for a while. The two females partook of a halfhearted tea, while they wracked their brains a little longer.

  “What we need,” said Lady Pendleton at last, “is a plan, my dear!”

  Chapter XXVII

  “Not another plan, Auntie, I beg of you!” cr
ied Freddy in a passionate voice.

  Whirling ’round, feeling that she was in a dream, Antonia beheld the figure of the young man standing in the doorway. Her teacup nearly clattered to the floor, so amazed was she!

  “Serena?” she cried, hardly daring to hope.

  And then, from behind the dusty and haggard figure of Freddy, the young woman stepped out. Her face was ashen, her hands trembling slightly, but she was alive—and safe!

  “Serena!” cried her younger cousin, flying into her outstretched arms and hugging her, as if the slightest loss of pressure from her arms might let her slip away again! “Serena, Serena, my dear, dear friend! You are safe! I shall never allow you out of my sight again! Oh, darling—come sit down, you are trembling!”

  And no small wonder that the young woman trembled, and smiled very faintly, as she was led to a chair and made to sit, while Antonia, kneeling at her feet, massaged her wrists and begged to be told the whole. It was not for some minutes, however, that any information was to be transmitted, for Freddy was very firm in his demand that Serena be allowed to recover for a few minutes, to have a cup of tea, and to be left entirely alone after her ordeal. The young man himself partook of some refreshment before he could respond to Lady Pendleton’s desire to know what had happened. At length, however, seeing that Serena had regained some color in her cheeks, and was actually smiling and reassuring her cousin that she was quite all right, he commenced his story:

  “When I left you, Auntie, in St. James’ Street, I went directly to Blandford’s place in Grosvenor Square to interrogate the servants. By happy chance, Blandford had mentioned something about the Great North Road—which was a blessing, as, had we not had any other hint, we might have taken the Highway. Blandford had the lead by three hours, of course—but then you never can tell, and we were upon horseback, whereas he was driving a cabriolet, which gave us a bit of an edge.

  “We tore out of London, as you can imagine. I never rode so fast in all my life! And I must say”—this with a smile at Serena who smiled faintly back—“I never have seen such a look upon a face as that on Lytton-Smythe’s. I thought he would tear into anything that moved, if it crossed his path! We knew we had not much of a chance, but neither of us would speak of it. We said not a word, I think, the whole time, but rode like the wind! I don’t know what was in Cuffs’s head—though I can well imagine—but as for mine! Well, I can tell you, I was determined to murder the man, if I saw him!

  “But we passed neither riders nor carriages for above an hour. The whole road seemed to be deserted, save for us, and, about an hour and a half outside of Town, with our horses in a great lather, we spotted a smithy’s shed beside the road. Cuffs thought we ought to inquire if a black cabriolet had been seen going past, and how long before. The smithy—a great beef of a man—was standing beside his door, and inquired, when we drew up, if we were returning to London straight away, for he had a message he wanted delivered there. Cuffs gave him quite a brusque reply, I think, and then demanded if he had seen a black cabriolet, containing a man and woman?

  “The man’s eyes narrowed, and then he seemed to laugh. ‘A black cabriolet, was it?’ Yes, he’d seen it, all right. And then he wanted to know if we knew the gent? Cuffs said, ‘Not as little as I’d like,’ and the smithy laughed. ‘Well, ’tis down the road apiece, I’ll wager,’ said the man. ‘But not too far.’ We asked him what he meant, for he had a very queer look in his eye. And then he told us, of all things, that Blandford had broken down just before his shop, and had ripped his wheel off! He said he didn’t like the look of the man, and that the lady—Serena here—had tried to get his wife to send a message to London. When the ‘bloke’ as he called him had tried to buy him off with money, he had got the idea that the man was a blackguardy sort, and put the wheel back only well enough to get them about five miles further, before it ripped off again. ‘They’ll be walking by noo,’ he said, ‘and most like lookin’ for some other smithy’s shop!’ And he gave a great guffaw!

  “Well, you can imagine our feelings! We thanked him profusely, and tried to get him to take some money, but he’d have none of it. ‘Only find that poor lady, gents,’ he told us. ‘I knoo she couldno’ be ’is wife!’

  “About five miles down the road, just as the smithy said, we saw a pair of figures walking along the road’s edge, and sure enough, it was Blandford and Serena!”

  “Oh, la!” cried Lady Pendleton. “Did ever you hear anythin’ so wonderful! My dear, I am sure that is the best endin’ to a story I ever heard!”

  “It is!” cried Antonia warmly. “But what happened then? And what did you do with Blandford, and where is Mr. Lytton-Smythe?”

  “Well,” said Freddy, enjoying the admiring looks of all three females, “it was simple enough, once we’d found ’em. Simply a question of coming up from behind, to surprise Blandford. Naturally he put up a fight, but we trunched ’im quite properly. Cuffs was amazing to behold, I must tell you—I never knew he had any liking for boxing!”

  “However did you withstand so much excitement, Serena, dear?” inquired Lady Pendleton. “Did you faint dead away? I should have!”

  Serena smiled faintly, “No, Auntie, I did not. It is quite amazing how clear one’s head seems to grow, when one needs it!”

  Freddy grinned. “Fact of the matter is, Auntie, she delivered the death blow!”

  Now all eyes were upon Serena, looking, with her teacup poised just at her lip, for all the world like an Angel of Mercy, and not of Doom.

  “Death blow! My dear! What do you mean?”

  “I didn’t kill him,” said Serena reassuringly, “though I should not mind much if I had. I’d no idea it would have such an effect! I simply knocked him in the back of the neck with my reticule, and he fell down. It was quite amazing what an effect it had.”

  “Well,” put in Freddy modestly, “of course we gave him a blow or two before that.”

  “They certainly did,” confirmed Serena, looking well pleased with the memory. “And then Mr. Lytton-Smythe bound him hand and foot with his handkerchiefs.”

  “And what—what did he do with him?” demanded Antonia, her eyes widening. She was not sure what astonished her more—Serena’s perfect equanimity about the whole matter, or her boxing expertise!

  “Oh, Cuffs said he would like to have a little talk with the man,” replied Freddy airily. “He stayed about to deliver him to the nearest ditch, when he woke up. I shouldn’t have minded staying about either only of course Serena had to be brought home.”

  “ ’Course she did!” exclaimed her ladyship. “You were not thinkin’ of stayin’ about all night, were you, Freddy?”

  “We-ell,” muttered Freddy, glancing furtively at Antonia, “I had my own reasons to give him a bit of my mind, you know!”

  Serena gave him a grateful look. “Well, I am very glad you brought me back, Freddy,” she said warmly. “It is awfully pleasant to be here!”

  “I should say so!” cried Antonia, jumping up. “Auntie, I am going to tell Cook to make us a lovely supper, if that is all right?”

  But at that very moment, the door swung open, and Bentley stood in the doorway. His manner, as always, was grave and elegant, but he had—could it have been?—a faint twinkling about the eye.

  “Shall there be four for dinner, my lady?”

  The Marchioness gave a sharp nod. “Yes, Bentley. And tell Cook it must be savory!”

  “Very good, my lady.”

  Dinner went off as merrily as could be expected from such a grateful and exhausted company. As soon as they had sat down, Freddy and Serena were interrogated afresh and made to recount every detail of their adventure at least three times. Antonia grew quiet listening to her cousin and Mr. Howard, and, had anyone scrutinized her countenance as the soup was cleared away and the venison brought forth, they might have seen a strange, serious look upon that normally untroubled face. But even Antonia could not altogether resist being merry. If little was said between herself and Freddy, and if several qu
eer looks were exchanged—on the one hand full of questions, and on the other, of mortification—the tenor of the evening was one of triumph and gratitude. Much later that evening, when Freddy had gone home to St. James Street, and the Misses Powell stood together side by side before Serena’s fire, some greater expression was given to those feelings.

  “Shall you ever forgive me for being such a stupid wretch?” demanded Antonia, with a very humble look.

  “Oh, my dear!” cried Serena, giving the younger girl a hug. “I could forgive anyone tonight! But I shall never blame you, Antonia!

  “Truly? Then you are far too charitable.”

  “What?” said Serena, raising an eyebrow, “blame you for having your heart broken? Dear Tony, I do feel sorry for you!”

  “Oh! You oughtn’t to—not for that!”

  “Does that mean you are cured of Lord Blandford, dear?”

  Antonia gave the other girl a look which said many things, not the least of which was that she was “well and truly cured.”

  “I only wish,” said Antonia after a moment, and very softly, “that I had not hurt so many other people. You, of course, and—and.”

  “Mr. Howard?” inquired Serena softly. “I hope so!”

  “My only consolation,” said Antonia, with a sudden reemergence of her old lively self, “is that he shan’t suffer anymore for me!” To the questioning look leveled at her by Serena, Antonia only replied with a small ironical smile.

  “Well, I shouldn’t be too sure of that, dear,” said Serena.

  “Isn’t it queer, Serena?” murmured Antonia a little later, “about life, I mean. When we came to England, I thought I should have to teach you everything. And after all it is you who have been my teacher!”