by Robert Neill
‘I’m sorry,’ she said brightly. ‘I came only to say I shall go walking. I didn’t know I was disturbing you.’
‘Of course not. You--er--met Grant this morning, and he said you invited him here.’
‘I thought you’d wish to see him.’ She turned brightly to Richard. ‘The Plough looked after you, I hope? Gave you a proper breakfast?’
‘Excellent, thank you. Where do you walk this morning?’
‘Montpellier, I think. Perhaps a little further.’
‘I’ll walk with you.’
‘Oh?’ An eyebrow lifted carefully. ‘You think I need an escort, to Montpellier?’
‘Or perhaps a little further. Are you ready?’
20 The Leading Lady
Mr. King was apprehensive as he thought of what the evening might bring. It could be appalling if they did not like it; which meant if the nobility did not like it. It would reflect on Cheltenham, and, what was worse, on the Master of Ceremonies. But what else could he do?’
He glanced again along the gleaming floor of the ballroom, and saw that it was ready. He looked up, at the fine plastered ceiling with the moulded cornice and the great crystal chandeliers. Already the candles were lighted, though the curtains were not yet drawn and the tall windows at the end were open to the summer wind. He glanced at his watch, which said a quarter to eight, and dancing was ‘from eight till eleven precisely’. Time, perhaps, to open the doors, but again he hesitated. He looked at the panelled walls with their hanging lustres, and at the gallery where the orchestra was already whimpering softly as strings were tuned--and there lay the rub. The music for the gavotte would be there, and for the minuet and the quadrilles, but somewhere in the pile was also the music for the waltz; and this was dangerous. It was a lascivious dance, as Mr. King well knew. He had tried it once at Bath, with unhappy results. Yet what else could he do? The Earl of Hildersham had specially asked for the waltz, and a request from his lordship was a command. It could bring only a bow of assent. Mr. King glanced again along the gleaming empty floor, and again he slipped his watch from its fob. It was ten minutes to eight, and he whirled round with an angry wave of his arm as he thought that guests might be waiting when doors had not been opened.
A half-hour later they were still arriving, some in their carriages and some--as was proper in Cheltenham--on foot, walking up the High Street as the last gold of the sun was on the front of the Assembly Rooms. Mr. King, in the anteroom now, was bowing continuously as he greeted them with his easy smile and his store of charming phrases. Behind him, through the open doors, where the footmen were like painted statues, the orchestra was pounding away at the quadrilles, and the pulse and lilt of it was flooding into the anteroom to set a head lifting here and a foot tapping there. Already the floor seemed filled, and now, as the daylight dimmed and the candles gained in power, it was a pool of moving colour, gentlemen in black and green and white, ladies in every hue that could be made. Laughter was beginning to be heard, and on the seats that ran beneath the dado the more elderly were at ease, watchful and talkative. Mr. King bowed, smiled, spoke words of welcome, and wondered when the devil the nobility would come. He felt he needed them. He could not risk the waltz without them, and he snatched a moment between arrivals to send an urgent message to the orchestra that they were on no account to play the thing until he told them to. Then he bowed again and smiled; and this time it was in heartfelt relief as Hildersham came strolling in.
‘Ha, Mr. King!’ He spoke at once, big and genial in his dark-green coat, white waistcoat, and sage-green breeches. ‘I’m here to do my duty.’
‘Pleasure, surely, my lord?’
‘Well, it’s supposed to be.’ His deep voice seemed on the edge of laughter. ‘I mean I must dance. I’m told I’ve been neglecting the ladies. Been hearing about it.’
‘The common lot, my lord. Ah, good evening--sir.’
He had turned, caught in uncertainty as a man came in whom he did not know, a tall dark fellow with an arrogant air of consequence. Hildersham took a surprised glance and then came to the rescue.
‘Don’t you know each other? Mr. King is the Master of Ceremonies. Mr. King--Sir Thomas Luttrell.’
‘Honoured, sir,’ said Mr. King.
‘Servant.’ He nodded curtly. ‘Jack, is this place fit to go into?’
‘I’m going in.’
‘You’ve some queer tastes. Well, sir, will I do?’ He had turned again, tall and contemptuous, perfectly turned out in his black coat and breeches, white marcella waistcoat, black silk stockings and buckled shoes. ‘Up to your rustic standards?’
‘Really, sir---‘
‘D’ye know, Jack, they wouldn’t have me the other night? Didn’t like my boots?’
‘If they were your coaching boots I don’t blame them. We don’t like mud on the floor.’
‘We? My God!’
‘And the ladies don’t like it on their dresses.’
‘You get on better with women if you tell ‘em what they like. Damn silly to ask ‘em. Who’s inside?’
He pushed past both of them and went striding to the inner doors, staring contemptuously at the footmen and then disappearing into the ballroom. Mr. King was aghast.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Hildersham. ‘He’s had a drink or two I’m afraid. I’ll see what’s happening.’
He went quickly after Luttrell, while Mr. King stared after him and tried to remember what Lord Barford had said. This ill-mannered fellow must be the Luttrell he had spoken of, who had fought a duel with ... Mr. King whirled round, recovering his poise and words of welcome just in time. Lord Barford had come through the outer door, with Lady St. Hollith at his one side and Captain Grant at the other. It must be Captain Grant. Mr. King could vaguely remember him from Bath, and a sickening feeling was inside him that it could hardly have been worse, with Luttrell . . .
‘I’m enchanted to greet your ladyship. We all are.’ His smile was as charming as ever as he bowed. ‘My lord, your servant always. Sir, I am sure we have met?’
‘At Bath, in the winter.’
‘Of course it was. Captain Grant, I think?’
He was quite sure of it by now. He was far too good a Master of Ceremonies not to remember a face, and he was telling himself that he must make a reappraisal. Perhaps he should have done it yesterday, after his talk with Barford. At Bath this Captain Grant had been an obscure sea officer whom nobody would have heard of if he had not pushed himself into the gossip columns by fighting that duel with--and again the thought swept through him of Luttrell swaggering into the ballroom. Anything could happen now, and . . .
Mr. King forced it from his mind, knowing that he could not think of it now. He must think of Captain Grant, who was in front of him. He was with Lord Barford, and Lady St. Hollith. There was a tale that he knew Hildersham. So he could not be an obscure sea officer. He must be well connected--his mother, perhaps, from a noble family--linked perhaps with the Barfords--something like that, and he must be treated accordingly. Mr. King drew the inferences quickly, and did not let them impede his flow of talk.
‘I hope, sir, you’ll like our ballroom here? Not quite as spacious as Bath, but our new one, next month, will be second, I hope, to none. But you did not, I think, dance very much at Bath?’
‘I didn’t know these shore dances. But never fear, sir. I’ve been taking lessons.’
‘A worthy spirit, if I may say so. And your lordship?’
‘At my age,’ said Barford cheerfully, ‘I must be represented by my niece.’
‘And who could do it more charmingly?’
‘You’ll make me vain,’ said Mary.
She was laughing happily, in spite of that, as he stood aside to bow them to the door. Then he turned yet again, bowing with a proper deference as the Marquis of Malloch came in with his wife and two of his daughters. They were escorted across the anteroom, and as they passed through the inner doors Mr. King had a glimpse of Captain Curry in talk with the noted Mrs. Masters. Mr. King stood fr
owning thoughtfully. He was not quite sure of Mrs. Masters. She had Hildersham’s protection, of course, which might offset some other facts about her; or it might not. It was hard to foretell; and between that and Sir Thomas Luttrell there were some chances that Mr. King did not like. It was high time, he thought, to be in the ballroom himself, and after another glance round he slipped unobtrusively through the doors.
The gleaming floor was filled with dancers, doing an old-fashioned gavotte, and he sauntered round with no appearance of care or hurry. Captain Grant, he noted, was on the floor with Lady St. Hollith. Luttrell was by the wall, in talk with Sir Michael Murphy. Captain Curry had taken the floor with Mrs. Masters, so for the moment all was well. Mr. King breathed more easily, and looked for the others. Lord Barford was sitting with the Mallochs, and Hildersham was standing by himself, a little apart and aloof. Mr. King’s professional manner returned at once.
‘Alone, my lord? The hearts that are grieving!’
‘For me? And this?’ Hildersham was laughing as he indicated the gavotte. ‘My grandfather used to do it, and I expect his grandfather did. But don’t ask me to. How about that waltz.’
‘It’s ready, my lord, if--er . . .’ Mr. King stopped, perhaps to gather courage, and then he plunged at it as the gavotte came to its dignified end. ‘It--er--is a dance in which a gentleman must place himself exceedingly close to a lady.’
‘That’s why I like it. But what were you saying?’
‘I was--er--hoping, my lord, that you would yourself lead this dance--perhaps with some other gentlemen. My lord, it would go far to win the company’s approval.’
‘Would it?’ The chuckle sounded deeper than ever.
‘Then I must see what I can do. Who else is there? Grant, can you waltz?’
‘Can I what?’ He had just joined them, Mary at his side, and he found himself smiling at Hildersham. ‘I can attempt it. But are you thinking of it here?’
‘Yes, and we’re being asked to lead it. So you’re a pressed man. Murphy’s another. But how of the ladies? Mary?’
‘I haven’t even seen it.’
‘Take lessons, please--tomorrow. Now who else? There’s old Malloch yonder, and his two girls have been learning it. They’ll have to do it. So we need another lady. Ha!’
He sounded as if he had solved the problem as he turned to where Curry was still in talk with Marion across the room. He waved to them to come, and Curry would have done it nonchalantly. But Marion knew better. His gesture had attracted attention and she stood still and erect, poised to be seen, while she smiled at him. Then she sank into a curtsey, slow and confident, and a little gasp ran round the room as they saw her diminutive elegance so perfectly displayed. Then she gave Curry her arm.
‘Doing her tricks,’ said Mary in a whisper. ‘She learned that one at Barford’s. Did it when we left the dining-room.’
‘I expect she did, but don’t say it now,’ said Hildersham in a fiercer whisper. ‘This is a spa, and you can find anybody here.’
‘We seem to have done.’
‘Silly!’ He was half laughing now at her. ‘We don’t ask questions here, and the point is, she can waltz. Now then--Curry, can you waltz?’
‘Can I what?’ Curry shook with horror and made a twirling movement of his fingers. ‘That thing? Dear fellow--after dinner! Giddy now.’
‘All right. But Marion can, so you’ll have to lend her. Grant can have her. Where’s Murphy?’ He waved imperiously across the room again. ‘Good. Now I’ll just warn the Malloch brood, and then we’re ready.’
He went striding away to where the Marquis of Malloch still had his daughters sitting with him, and the others looked at each other in something near stupefaction.
‘Jack’s getting out of hand,’ said Mary calmly. ‘He’s going to his own house tomorrow, thank God! Oh, good evening--er--Marion.’
‘Good evening--milady.’ She was decidedly more diffident now. ‘I don’t quite understand.’
‘There’s a lot that I don’t understand, but it looks at the moment as if we’re all doing as we’re told--by his lordship.’
‘Yes, milady.’
There was an awkward silence, and at once Mr. King drew from his small talk to fill it. He addressed himself to Richard.
‘Very wise of you, sir, to have learned this dance. Move with the times, as they say. You’ll have seen it in London, no doubt. At the Argyle Rooms, perhaps?’
‘It was at Almack’s.’
‘Oh!’
Mr. King’s eyes widened. Entry at Almack’s! It would be family connections, of course. Almost certainly a link with the nobility. It was all coming clear to Mr. King, and . . .
‘Here we are!’ said Hildersham jovially. ‘And I think we’re ready. Malloch girls in a twitter, Murphy in another. How about this band of yours, Mr. King? Are they ready?’
‘Oh yes, yes. If I--er--might say a word to the company--by way of explanation?’
‘Say it sweetly, and let’s be at it.’
The leader of the orchestra tapped with his bow. The drum banged noisily, and then the opening chord of the quadrilles went echoing round the room. Mr. King hopped with fury, and gestured wildly at them. The oboe whispered frantically, and suddenly they faded into silence as he walked alone to the centre of the floor.
‘My lords, my ladies . . .’ He knew just how to do it, and at once he was bowing to the corners of the room, a flourish that gave everyone time to turn and attend. ‘I am happy to bring before you now the dance from Bohemia that in London is received in the most elegant and fashionable circles. It is danced at Almack’s, and in the houses of the nobility. Ladies and gentlemen, the waltz!’
There were gasps in the room, and a stir of surprise, faces that looked excited, and older ones that looked forbidding. A hum of whispered talk broke out, quenched as Mr. King held up his hand for silence.
‘Damned hayfield romp.’
The voice came clearly across the room, deep and contemptuous. Mr. King ignored it, Hildersham stared angrily, and Marion jerked round as if she had been stung. Mary, too, had turned quickly, as if she remembered that voice. But Mr. King was speaking again.
‘I am happy to announce that we shall be led into the waltz by three gentlemen well acquainted with its performance. The Earl of Hildersham, whose presence is an honour to us all. Sir Michael Murphy, known for his wit and geniality, and for the distinction of his services in the late war. He is as skilled in the pursuit of Terpsichore as of Mars. Lastly, Captain Richard Grant, an officer of the most polished accomplishments and distinguished connections--the fine fruit, if I may say it, of that fine old family. So the orchestra waits, the gentlemen are ready. The distinguished ladies who will join with them are ready. Ladies and gentlemen--your partners, please, for the waltz!’
There was no rush. Here and there, among the younger or more daring, a man came to his feet, but most of them had no choice but to sit. They did not know the waltz, though they had heard much talk of it and were now very willing to see it. So they sat watchful and attentive while Hildersham and Murphy presented themselves before the Malloch daughters and Richard looked doubtfully at Marion. Inwardly he was damning Hildersham for pushing him into this. He had no wish to attempt it before these people, and no wish to attempt anything at all with Marion, but there seemed no help for it.
He glanced quickly at Mary, and had an amused smile in return.
‘You’ll have to,’ she whispered. ‘Blame Jack. Good luck!’
He had another smile from Marion as he led her out, even though it was a little rueful.
‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered. ‘They won’t know when we’re wrong.’
‘I only half know it myself.’
‘But they don’t know it at all. We’ll be all right if we don’t fall down.’
‘Yes--if.’
But all was well. He had a sailor’s sense of balance, and Marion was as sharp and nimble in her feet as in the rest of her. Confidence began to grow, and soon he even felt
able to speak as they swayed and turned.
‘It’s Hildersham’s doing,’ he grumbled
‘He loves it. He made Anice learn it.’
‘Oh--did he?’
‘Yes. And then---‘
She cut off short. They were turning a corner of the room and she had just caught sight of Luttrell, leaning negligently against the dado, hands in pockets. For an instant he stared coldly at her, and then his head went back against the wall as if she did not exist. She seemed to flutter in her movement.
‘Oh!’ she said. ‘It’s Tommy Luttrell.’
‘I know it is. What’s the trouble?’
‘He knows me. I mean, he knows who I am. He went to Brighton.’
‘Driving you? But does it matter?’
‘If he doesn’t tell anybody.’
‘He doesn’t look interested enough.’
‘He always looks like that.’
‘Then forget him.’ He looked down at her with sudden sympathy. ‘Marion, all these people are watching you, and in these days you mustn’t be seen looking worried and troubled--which is what you are doing. Didn’t Anice tell you?’
‘Oh, of course. I. . .’ She squared her shoulders, and then there was a little quiver of her lip before her smile broke out. ‘Is that better?’
‘Much.’
‘And they say it’s easy. I’d like some of them to try it.’
‘So would I. So now we’ll talk of something else. Where did you learn this dance?’
‘Anice made me learn--when I was with her. She said I’d need it. I can’t do it as she can, though. I can’t do anything as she can.’
‘She’s all by herself. Nobody can be like her. Does she know you’re here?’
‘Oh yes. She sent me, really. I mean, it was her idea. And I’ve written to her, telling her all about. . .’
