Isabella choked a little. “Yes, doesn’t she? So — so ethereal, and not a bit like the little girl she usually seems. But I forget — she is grown up, after all… ”
Her voice trailed off. There was silence for a moment, then he leaned over, and lightly touched one of her hands. “You do not feel that you can confide in me?” he asked softly.
She drew her hand hastily away, and affected a laugh.
“Confide? What nonsense is this, sir? What should I have to confide? Had you not best go and greet my sister, for it is her evening, and all must do her homage, you know.”
He shrugged lightly, and his expression closed in again.
“You do well to remind me of my duty. I shall not be long away, and then perhaps you will do me the honour to dance with me?”
She assented, and in a moment he was lost from her view.
Amanda had rejoined her parents when Charles Barsett finally ran her to earth. He made his bow solemnly, and offered congratulations. She thanked him with a hint of reserve in her manner.
“You must allow me to compliment you upon your looks, little sister,” he said ironically. “Such beauty holds me spellbound.”
“It could not, however, bring you here in good time, sir,” she retorted with a sarcastic smile.
“You have me there,” he answered, in mock dismay. “But the blame lies at my valet’s door — I shall dismiss him instantly when I return.”
“That would be a pity, for your absence has not put me about in the slightest.”
He looked at her reproachfully. “But you must not assume such cruel looks, Miss Amanda. I protest, they do not accord with your attire, which is that of an angel.”
The compliment was ironically under-lined. She sketched a little curtsy. “I thank you, sir. No doubt you know well how an angel should look. I must thank you, too, for my gift from you.”
“Gift? Ah, my roses — an offering at the shrine of beauty. Dare I hope that you approved them?”
“Vastly.” She dimpled. “But I fear the Greeks even when they bring gifts — more particularly in such sinister shape!”
He raised an eyebrow in the way she disliked. “So you had the advantage of a classical education? I congratulate you.”
“Miss Brown taught me most things, sir, except perhaps how to — get the better of a rogue!”
“And that,” he said, smiling, “your own native wit can teach you, I’ll be bound. But may I hope for the honour of leading you out in the dance at some time during the course of the evening?”
“Alas, sir,” she said, with apparent regret, “you are come so late that I am promised for the duration of the ball! It is melancholy, is it not?”
“It is indeed,” he answered, and there was a tinge of real regret in his voice. “Is there not the smallest chance —?”
“Why, here is one of my partners come to claim me!” exclaimed Amanda, not letting him finish. “You will excuse me, sir?”
He watched her go off on the arm of some young dandy; there was a twinkle in his eye. Of a certainty, these sparring matches did give a certain zest to his occasional meetings with Miss Amanda.
“Mr. Barsett!”
He turned at the sound of his name, and groaned inwardly when he saw who it was who addressed him.
“Why, Mr. Barsett!” cooed Miss Dunster. “We have not met in an age! I must congratulate you upon your recent engagement: it was such a surprise.”
“You are most kind, madam,” he murmured, looking about him for some way of escape. At the present moment it appeared hopeless; there was no one in sight to whom he could present the lady as a partner, for the dance was just about to begin, and all about him were already leading their partners out.
“Can I perhaps procure you some refreshment?” he asked, in desperation.
“I declare that is most thoughtful in you!” she gushed. “I should like a glass of lemonade of all things — but do not be too long away — there are so many things I want to say to you.”
This remark echoed his own fears, and he made his way to the refreshment table with alacrity, thankful for the respite, and on the look-out for some way out of his difficulty.
As he was procuring the promised glass of lemonade, he came across his father, sampling the punch with every evidence of satisfaction. “My dear sir, you are well met,” he said, clapping his hand upon his parent’s shoulder. “There is someone here to whom I positively must present you.”
“Have a care, Charles!” warned Lord Barsett, as some of the liquid spilt from the glass he was holding. “This stuff’s too good to waste. I want to see you, too, my boy. When’s this wedding to take place, eh?”
“We’ll discuss that later, father. Just now I have urgent work for you to do.”
He took up the glass of lemonade, and propelled my lord gently but firmly in the direction of the waiting Miss Dunster.
“Damme, boy, let be!” protested his lordship. “I’m as well here as anywhere, give you my oath.”
“Doubtless, but there are duties to be performed.”
“Duties? Nothing to do with me Twyford’s affair,” stated Lord Barsett decidedly. He had found the punch excellent, and was reluctant to leave it.
“But we must consider ourselves in some sort connected with the family,” coaxed Charles, as he led him onwards relentlessly. “We must help to make Miss Amanda’s ball a success, eh, sir?”
“Fine little girl,” commented my lord. “Like your mother, Charles. I thought the other one was, but this girl’s got more spirit — nearer your mother’s colouring, too.”
Charles made no comment to this, for by now they had reached Miss Dunster’s side, and he was busy with the presentations. His father cast him a reproachful glance, which deepened as Charles presently took the opportunity to slip away.
Ditched, b’God! thought his lordship resentfully. If it isn’t all of a piece with that precious whelp’s behaviour —!
He applied himself to Miss Dunster, however, with all a gentleman’s courtesy, and presently was enabled to escape from her side by his nephew, Roger, coming to his rescue. He noticed that his graceless son was now dancing with Isabella, and paused for a moment to watch them, a frown between his eyes.
They danced well enough together, but seemed to derive precious little enjoyment from it. Yet she was a strikingly handsome girl, the Twyford female —
His thoughts were interrupted by the discovery that Amanda Twyford was at his side. She, too had her eyes upon her sister and Charles.
“Well, my dear?” he addressed her. “Why ain’t you dancing? Are all the young men blind?”
She dimpled at him, and sank into a nearby chair.
“I am fatigued, my lord; I would as soon watch for a while.”
“They make a handsome couple, do they not?” he asked, following the direction of her gaze.
“Ye-es,” she admitted, doubtfully. “But not, I think, a very lively one, sir!”
“What d’ye expect?” he asked jovially. “Love is a serious business, my dear.”
“Love?”
There was a trace of scorn in her voice. He looked at her, surprised. “You don’t set much store by it, eh?”
“On the contrary,” said Amanda emphatically, “I am a great champion of love! But I fail to observe much of the grand passion in this case.”
“Hrrmph! No, maybe you’re in the right of it there. He’s a cold fish, that son of mine.”
“I wonder?” asked Amanda, reminiscently.
“Eh?”
“You know him best, my lord,” she said impetuously. “Tell me, is he really as cold and — detached as he appears to be?”
Lord Barsett shook his head. “Don’t ask me, child. I know him less than anyone, it seems.”
“How can that be? You are his father.”
My lord gave an embarrassed cough. The influence of the punch was making itself felt, however, and loosened his tongue.
“There has been little sympathy between Charles
and myself, I fear. Some fault may have been on my side — my wife died when the child was born, and I had little time to spare for him.”
“Poor infant,” said Amanda, softly. “To lose a mother and a father at one fell blow.”
He glanced at her quickly. “Mayhap you feel that I should have taken more interest in the child? Well, perhaps so. During these last months, for some reason, I have taken to asking myself the same question. At that time, I felt that I had done what was necessary in providing a substitute mother and a brother for the child, in the shape of my sister and her boy. It worked well, too, for a while. Charles was fond of his cousin — in fact, fond is too mild a word —”
“Yes, of course,” said Amanda, musingly. “Of course, it would be don’t you see, sir? For there was no one else to whom he could give his affection —”
“I —” He stared at her, bereft of speech. “You go too fast for me, m’dear,” he said, after a pause. “What are you trying to say?”
She hesitated in her turn. “I — I’m not sure myself,” she answered slowly. “For a moment I felt that I had made some discovery — but it is gone before I could properly lay hold of it.” Her expression changed, and she smiled. “Would you not like some punch, my lord? I see my father is by the refreshment table, and I must soon leave your side, for I am engaged for the next dance.”
Chapter XIII: A Summons
On the evening immediately following the ball, Mrs. Thurlston sat opposite her brother in the drawing-room at St. James’s Square. There was a faint air of suffering on her thin, angular face, and several times she stifled a yawn.
“I declare I must be getting beyond these late hours, James, for I find myself overcome with fatigue today after the Twyford’s ball last night. An insipid affair, don’t you agree? But, of course, one had to attend.”
My lord stifled a yawn, in his turn. His sister’s company was never stimulating; fortunately he was seldom at home to endure it.
“Oh, I don’t know. The punch was excellent. Of course, our dancing days are over, Fanny, but the young people seemed to be well enough entertained. The Twyford chit — little Miss Amanda — was here, there, and everywhere. Pretty little thing — plenty of spirit, too —”
Mrs. Thurlston made a gesture of distaste. “A hoyden!” she said waspishly. “How her mother can tolerate such conduct passes my comprehension. If she were my daughter I should place her upon a diet of bread and water for a few days, or else pack her off to the country until she had learnt her manners!”
“You’ve always been critical of other people’s children, haven’t you, Fan? Only your own son could ever win your approval.”
“I flatter myself that I am not easily pleased,” said Mrs. Thurlston complacently. “I am not so readily taken in as some people appear to be. As for Roger, has he not always been everything that is desirable in a young man?”
“Yes,” answered my lord slowly. “I suppose so —and yet —”
“Yet what?” she asked sharply. “Is there any count on which you can justly offer criticism?”
“That’s just it. Damme, Fanny, I wonder sometimes if the boy’s human! He doesn’t seem to have any faults.”
“You should be very glad of it. Your own son has enough, in all conscience.”
My lord’s eyes flickered towards the portrait hanging over the mantelshelf. His sister noticed the movement, and a spasm of irritation crossed her features.
“True,” he said. “But it occurs to me that I may perchance be somewhat to blame myself in that.”
“To blame — you?” She stared at him incredulously. “I’m sure you have always given him every opportunity — from childhood upwards, he has been denied nothing —”
“Except perhaps the most important thing,” answered my lord, quietly.
She made a gesture of impatience. “Pray, what has come over you, James? What important thing could he possibly have lacked?”
“Affection,” replied Lord Barsett, tersely, avoiding her wide opened eyes. “The interest of a truly loving parent — he never had that, Fanny.”
“What nonsense is this?” she asked scornfully. “I think you must have sat too long over the wine, James!”
He shook his head. “I am as sober as you, sister. It’s taken me close on thirty years to see my error, and even now I doubt if I should have done so, but for a chance word from a slip of a girl.”
“What girl? Do you speak of Isabella Twyford?”
Once again he shook his head. “No, but of the other one — little Amanda — the one you called hoyden.”
“Oh, she!” Mrs. Thurlston said tartly. “What has she been saying to you, pray? Something vastly pert, I’ll be bound! She is for ever putting herself forward.”
“I can’t recall her exact words anyway, they don’t signify: it was the tenor of her speech. She said something to the effect that Charlie lost both his parents at one blow. I tell you, Fan, it made me think. If — if Kitty had lived, that boy would have been the apple of her eye — ay, and of mine, too, I don’t doubt.”
“How can you be sure that he would not have disgusted her?” said his sister contemptuously. “This is maudlin sentiment, brother, if ever I heard it.”
Her words brushed past him, seeming to make no impact.
“I blamed him for Kit’s death,” he said, in a low, despondent tone that was very unlike him. “He was a babe — helpless — and I turned my back on him, swallowed up in my own selfish — yes, I see it now — selfish grief. She would have found such a thing hard to forgive.”
“Nonsense!” said Mrs. Thurlston briskly. “You should take one of those powders I told you of — whenever I have the vapours they do me a power of good. It is very likely all these late nights undermining your constitution. You are not a young man, you know. I will have Thomson fetch you one of them immediately.”
She rose as if to summon the servant, but he stayed her with a gesture, and himself rose from his chair, moving towards the door. “Spare yourself the trouble, Fanny. There is more here than a powder may cure. I’ll bid you good night.”
After he had gone, she sat on for a while, a worried frown on her thin face.
Presently she heard Roger’s step, and rose to greet him.
“Still up, Mother?” He bent to kiss her cheek. “Where is my uncle?”
“He’s retired — or so I think. Roger —” She caught at his arm urgently. “He is in a very odd humour.”
“What kind of humour?” he asked, frowning.
She repeated as nearly as she could remember it the conversation which had taken place between herself and her brother. He heard her out in silence, brow lifted.
“So Miss Amanda Twyford grows upon him, does she?” he said at last, softly. “So much the better.”
“What do you mean? Roger, I am alarmed for your future. It has never been very secure, and now that James has found this sudden new tenderness for your cousin —”
“Never fear, Mother,” he smiled at her reassuringly. “I know a trick worth two of that.”
“What do you mean to do?” she asked, alarmed. “I pray you, go carefully, Roger. You have nothing of your father’s gambling streak as far as money is concerned, but I sometimes wonder if you do not play for too high a stake with your fate. If all your expectations fail, son, you could wed that West Country heiress — the plain one — what is her name? I noticed yesterday evening that she seemed very taken with you, and there is no one else in the field for her.”
He grimaced. “Miss Dunster? Charles calls her the suet pudding, and, on my oath, he’s in the right of it! I should need to be desperate indeed to consider such a step, and all is not yet lost. Like you, I am coming to rely less upon my uncle’s goodwill, but I fancy I know a way, Mother, to hook a fortune and a pretty face into the bargain.”
“You don’t mean Amanda Twyford?” she asked quickly. “I cannot abide the female, but if you think there is a chance —”
“I did have the notion, at one time, b
ut now I have more knowledge of how things stand, and an altogether better plan. I do not mean to tell you what it is, Mother, and then there is no danger of your betraying me.”
“I betray you!”
Her tone was bitter and incredulous. He put an arm about her, soothingly. “Not wittingly, I know, but it is easier for you to be in complete ignorance of my affairs.”
“I have seldom known what you were about,” she said, complainingly. “You were ever one to keep your own counsel.”
“And have I not so far managed our affairs well enough?”
She nodded, grudgingly. “I suppose so; we have been comfortable here all these years. But that is not all to your credit.”
“I grant you that; you have contrived wonderfully. But only trust me now, and we shall both reap the benefit, you’ll see.”
Over a week passed, and nothing of moment occurred, save that the weather suddenly took a turn for the better, and became very hot. Charles Barsett escorted Isabella to the play; the lady was gay, vivacious, but aloof, the gentleman ironically gallant. Amanda contrived a clandestine meeting in the park with John, and explained the plan she had in mind. Mr. Thurlston had as good as indicated that he did not wish Webster to know who was helping her in the affair, but she inadvertently let it out before she could stop herself. John received her communication dubiously.
“You can’t go about sneaking into other people’s houses, Mandy. It’s not at all —”
“The thing,” Amanda finished for him, in mocking tones. “I refuse — yes, positively refuse — to argue this point again. Are you with me, John, or are you not?”
“I can’t think,” he objected, “what this other fellow is about to contemplate embroiling a female in such a — a hare-brained scheme. Either he must be wanting in his wits or else —” He paused, and relapsed into thought.
“Or else what?”
“Damme if I know! Is he taken with you, Mandy?”
A little colour came into her cheeks. “No, of course not, nothing of that kind. What can have put such a notion into your head? But he is willing to help me — possibly out of kindness — because he, too, feels that Mr. Barsett is not worthy of Bella — possibly —” She broke off.
The Georgian Rake Page 15
