The Smile of the Stranger

by Joan Aiken

  “There you are, my pretty runaway! Did you think to give me the slip, my little charmer? But you are justly served for your unfriendliness,” continued he, looking out at the rain, which continued to beat down on the cobblestones, “for unless you intend to arrive home looking like a drowned mermaid, you must e’en put up with my company. I will call for my chariot directly.”

  “Indeed, sir,” said Juliana most earnestly, “I would be infinitely more obliged to you if you would but order me a hackney carriage, so that I need not trouble you.”

  “Unthinkable!” he croaked, giving Juliana a look of malicious relish which made her shiver at the prospect of being shut up in a carriage with him. “No, no, my dear enchantress, wait you there a moment while I summon my conveyance”—and he limped off.

  At this moment a voice behind Juliana inquired in the most solicitous tones, “Madam, may I ask if that old gentleman is annoying or distressing you? If so, I shall be most happy to send him to the rightabout! Only give me your commands.”

  Juliana turned herself round in mingled amazement and relief—to see the young man whose resemblance to King Charles the First had so forcibly struck her!

  He was looking at her with what seemed the most earnest kindliness and solicitude; he added, “Forgive me, ma’am, for importuning you in what must seem a strange manner—but I could not help observing your looks of distress. And I believe that shared feelings of animosity towards a common object may, perhaps constitute a bond between us? If I am wrong, a thousand pardons! But if I am right, I shall be happy to do whatever lies within my power to help you.”

  “Oh, sir!” exclaimed Juliana, too much relieved to mince her words. “Indeed, indeed you are not wrong, and I shall accept your help with the most heartfelt gratitude. If you could but order me a chair, I should be infinitely obliged.”

  For she had recollected that, once arrived at the house in Berkeley Square, she could very well instruct her aunt’s porter to pay the chairmen.

  “That will be the easiest thing in the world, ma’am,” said the young man with a graceful bow, and he was as good as his word. In a moment he had somehow contrived to summon a chair from the seething crowd outside the Pantheon building, and soon saw Juliana bestowed in it. She was too happy at this swift rescue to object to the fact that the chair was quite sodden from rain inside and smelled most dismally of damp burlap and wet horsehair.

  “Would you please direct the men to take me to number forty, Berkeley Square?” she asked her rescuer, and, as he was about to turn away, she inquired, “To whom, sir, may I address my thanks for this most welcome assistance?”

  He made her a low, graceful bow, and as the chairmen began to move away, she just caught the words, “My name, ma’am, is Davenport—Captain Francis Davenport.”

  Six

  On the morning after Juliana had given Sir Groby the slip and returned home from the Pantheon without escort, she naturally expected a severe trimming from her aunt. But, strangely enough, her escapade went unrebuked. Possibly, she thought, Sir Groby had been too mortified at his prey’s having eluded him to make any public complaint about it; and perhaps he had not been aware of the young man’s instrumentality in the matter. Juliana, when questioned by her aunt, said merely that, having become separated from her party and being in considerable distress and agitation, she had been befriended by a stranger who had procured a chair for her in which she had returned home alone; a fact readily confirmed by the porter who had paid off the chairmen.

  Lady Lambourn did scold her for her carelessness, to be sure: “We were looking all over the room for you, were we not, girls? And sent Sir Groby in search of you, for our coach was blocking the way and we must needs be off. It is strange that Sir Groby did not find you. Let this be a lesson to you, miss, to keep your wits about you and be less shatterbrained in future!”

  Juliana privately resolved that it would indeed; she did not intend to be left alone again with Sir Groby if she could possibly help it.

  The following day dawned brilliantly fair. Fanny and Kitty were invited to ride out in Hyde Park with the Ellesmeres; since Juliana possessed no habit, and had not been offered the use of a mount from her uncle’s stable, and, in any case, did not know how to ride a horse—she suggested to Miss Ardingly that, if the latter had nothing better to do, they might take the air together on foot. Miss Ardingly readily agreed to this.

  “We may as well go to St. James’s Park; I have not been there this age.”

  On quitting the house they had not walked above fifty paces when Juliana observed in the distance the very same young man who had come to her rescue at the Pantheon. She recognized him at once. He, approaching, bowed very gracefully, and said, “Pardon my seeming presumption, madam! I had had the intention of calling to make inquiries as to your welfare—as to whether you had returned safely to your friends’ house after your misadventure.”

  Juliana, eagerly thanking him yet again for his timely help, begged leave to introduce him to Miss Ardingly, who, meanwhile, had been surveying him with a very shrewd and piercing eye.

  “This is Captain Davenport, ma’am, who was so very kind as to procure me a chair when I was all alone at the Pantheon Rooms.”

  “Davenport—hmm,” said that lady. “Are you related to Sir Marcus Davenport, of Kettering?”

  “My uncle, ma’am,” said the young man, with another bow.

  “And how is it that I have not seen you about town before this?”

  “I have been abroad, ma’am, the last five years—attached to the British Embassy in Rome, from where I am but just returned.”

  Juliana was enchanted to discover that he had been in her beloved Italy. As Miss Ardingly appeared to find the young man unexceptionable enough, when he begged to be permitted to escort them on their promenade, saying that he had come to that part of town with no other object but to satisfy himself of Miss Paget’s well-being, she gave him gracious permission to bear them company as far as St. James’s Park. Walking with them, accordingly, along Piccadilly and across the Green Park, he conversed in such a well-bred, sensible, and spirited manner, his air and address were so open, amiable, and engaging, that Juliana, already half won by his resemblance to her hero, could not but acknowledge to herself that he was the most interesting and agreeable man that she had ever met. Even the critical Miss Ardingly seemed greatly taken with him, for he addressed his conversation equally to both ladies, and there could be no doubt that the escort of such a personable and gallant young man must give them consequence in the Mall. Juliana found herself greatly disappointed by this much-spoken-of walk—it was a long, straight road of dirty gravel, very uneasy to the feet, with houses at either end. Nothing remarkable about it whatever! But she was bound to admit that the company abroad upon it was very fine: the day was so clear and warm and the personages strolling to and fro were so numerous and so gaily dressed that she would not have changed her situation for the world.

  After walking for above an hour and conversing on general topics—about Italy, the Prince’s forthcoming wedding, the entertainments to be enjoyed in town—they returned to Piccadilly and parted from Captain Davenport, he bowing gracefully once more, and begging that he might do himself the honor of inquiring after Miss Paget’s welfare again at some future time.

  “Well, miss, you seem to have lost no time in finding yourself a beau,” remarked Miss Ardingly, observing him through her quizzing glass as he walked away. “And indeed he seems a monstrous fine young man! But it will be of no use hoping for anything to come of his addresses, I must warn you, for none of those Davenports have a penny to bless themselves with—it is pockets to let with all of them—and I doubt if this one is any exception to the rest. So far as I can remember, his father was quite burnt to the socket with gambling losses, and had to retire to the Continent. However, at least it must be said for this young man that he appears to have found a respectable means of earning his livin
g. And his air and address are very pretty. But do not place any expectations on him, child! Your aunt would never countenance such a connection.”

  “Why, ma’am!” cried Juliana, coloring up. “How can you be so—how can you make such a suggestion? I am sure the young gentleman was only prompted by true politeness and solicitude.”

  “In course he was!” remarked Miss Ardingly in a dry tone, sharply observing Juliana, who, with flushed cheeks and sparkling brown eyes, showed more animation than she had done since arriving in town.

  “Besides,” she argued, “what can his father’s financial affairs—or his own—signify, if he is of good family and truly a gentleman?”

  “You will have to ask that question of your aunt,” tartly replied Miss Ardingly as they re-entered the house.

  The afternoon was spent by Juliana in devising for herself an elegant evening robe in cream-colored muslin, low on the shoulders, with a fichu gathered on the breast, and a black-edged frill running down the front of the skirt. It was modeled on the satin gown of a lady whom she had carefully observed at the Pantheon. The latter’s dress had been embroidered with beads of jet round the hem, but as time was short, Juliana substituted for the embroidery a decoration made from knotted black ribbon, which also adorned the fichu.

  “Why, cousin, I wonder you do not set up as a modiste?” exclaimed Kitty, arriving with her arms full of garments in need of repair. “I daresay you would make your fortune. And perhaps that would be best, for Sir Groby has not called today, but Ma has had a note from him, and is looking monstrous grave. I’ll wager he is about to sheer off, on account of the trick you played him… Now, do, dear cousin Juliana, please contrive to have my azure silk fit to wear by this evening, for we are all to go to Almack’s, and Hugh Ellesmere has promised the first dance to me. You may not dance, of course!”

  “Oh, indeed?” inquired Juliana, biting off a thread. “And why not? Because I am in mourning?”

  “Lord, no, what does that signify? No, but you may not dance until the Patronesses give you leave to do so.”

  Juliana was later glad that her cousin had bestowed this caution on her, for by some oversight Lady Lambourn neglected to do so that evening when they arrived at Almack’s Assembly Rooms. Juliana was briefly introduced to the Patronesses, Lady Jersey, Lady Alvanley, and Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, who scrutinized her with care, and then gave her cool nods. Lady Lambourn, as was her custom, made direct for the card room, leaving the girls to their own devices. The Ellesmere boys were there, however, with some friends, and Juliana had no lack of partners. On the music striking up, however, mindful of Kitty’s warning, she took a seat near the wall, and resolutely refused all offers.

  A plump man who had just arrived stood conversing with the Patronesses. He was neatly dressed, without ostentatious parade, but in the most elegant good taste. Glancing around the room, he said to Lady Jersey, “Pray, who is the young lady in the cream and black who is seated yonder?”

  Lady Jersey, turning her lorgnette onto Juliana, replied, “That is Miss Paget. She is newly come to town to stay with her aunt Lambourn—who, silly, feather-headed woman, seems to take precious little care of her. But the gal herself seems pretty-behaved enough. Her mother, of course, was another matter. You remember Laura Paget?”

  “Oh, dear me, yes,” replied the gentleman, who spoke with a slight foreign accent. “Laura Paget, lieber Gott! However, that cannot be laid to the child’s account. Will you introduce me to her, Sally?”

  “Why, certainly, if you wish it,” replied that lady, giving him a needle-sharp look, “though it is a new thing in you, Frederick, to be concerning yourself with schoolroom misses!”

  Accordingly Juliana, listening with some envy to the lively beat of the music, was surprised to be approached by the august Lady Jersey herself. At first she could hardly believe that she was the lady’s object, but then rose and curtsied, full of confusion.

  “Miss Paget, allow me to present Count Fredrick van Welcker, who is solicitous of obtaining the honor of your hand for this dance.”

  Looking past Lady Jersey, Juliana only just managed to suppress a gasp of astonishment, and then, snatching hold of her presence of mind, said a little breathlessly, “The Count does me great honor—but—do you permit it, ma’am?”

  “Certainly child—go and dance with the Count before the set is finished.”

  “So we meet again, miss!” remarked Herr Welcker, leading her off into the middle of the room. Like many plump men, he was extremely light on his feet, and a very graceful dancer.

  “Oh, sir, I am so delighted to meet with you again! Tell me, did you arrive in time for the Prince’s dinner party? And was he pleased with what you brought? Did all the articles arrive in good condition? Was anything broken?”

  “Yes, yes, and no,” he replied, laughing. “I did arrive in time, and the Prince was delighted—poor fellow, he is in need of anything that will serve to cheer him up at the moment, with his wedding so imminent! And the only thing that got broken was one of those tedious Sèvres articles that took up so much room. But tell me about yourself, Miss Paget—at last I know your name! Did you find your grandfather’s abode without too much difficulty? And how does your father go on? Is he better from his illness?”

  “Alas, sir,” said Juliana sadly, “as you may see by these”—she touched her black ribbons—“I have suffered from a bereavement. He is no more. The journey proved too much for his waning strength. Oh, how I miss him!” she added from her heart. It was the first time she had been able to confide her grief to anybody.

  “Poor child,” said Herr Welcker sympathetically. “I feared it might be so, but hoped otherwise. And so you were cast all friendless upon a foreign shore. I trust that your grandfather received you kindly?”

  “Well,” said Juliana with truth, “he did his duty by me. But I think he did not like me—he seemed glad enough to get rid of me—to dispatch me to my aunt Lambourn. Where my cousins look down on me because I have no portion.”

  “Ay, is that so? And how does your aunt use you?” It was so novel to encounter a friendly face and a sympathetic ear that Juliana could not help disclosing some of her troubles. She was quite surprised at her own pleasure in meeting Herr Welcker again. He seemed very different from her fellow traveler in that uncomfortable basket—he was cheerful and friendly, instead of being rather short-tempered. And, in place of the untidy brown coat, he was now most correctly dressed in a black superfine tailed coat, knee breeches, and silk stockings. His cravat was tied by the hand of a master, she could see; it differed completely from the laboriously tied neckcloths of the Ellesmere boys and their friends.

  “My aunt, sir, is not precisely unkind to me, but she makes me feel an encumbrance. And she seems to think herself obliged to find a husband for me—when all I want is some unexceptionable means of earning my own living.”

  “An encumbrance!” he ejaculated. “With your looks, and your story? I’d have thought you’d be the heroine of the hour, my dear!”

  “You mean, because I escaped from France in your balloon?” inquired Juliana. “But, you see, nobody knows that, sir.”

  “What? You never told anybody?” He was astonished. “Not even your grandfather?”

  “He did not wish to hear about our journey. And nobody else was interested enough to inquire. Also I—I felt that it was not my secret—that perhaps you might have reasons for not wishing your method of exit from France to be divulged.”

  He burst out laughing. “Why, Miss Paget, you are a regular nonpareil! If they had men of your discretion in the government, my dear, this country would have won the war by now! But you are hiding your light under a bushel. Allow me to rectify that!”

  And, indeed, when the dance was over, he led Juliana back to Lady Jersey, saying, “Ma’am, I daresay you have heard me a dozen times over extolling the pluck and coolheadedness of the unknown young lady who with suc
h presence of mind saved me from the French mob near St.-Malo. Now you must allow me to present her to you, for this is she!”

  “What, indeed, is that so?” cried the lively Lady Jersey, all curiosity at once. “Well, you are a sly dog, Frederick—no wonder you were taking such an interest in Miss Paget! And so, my dear, you were the heroine who bade the bloodthirsty revolutionaries stop when they were about to suspend Count van Welcker from a tree?”

  “Oh, it was nothing, ma’am,” said Juliana, rather confused at so much attention, for several other persons, hearing Lady Jersey’s exclamation, had begun to gather round. “Indeed, I gave poor Herr Welcker a great deal of trouble, for I told the people that he was a doctor, and so all the sick persons in the village came flocking to him for remedies.”

  “Ay, and a fine partnership we made of it, Miss Paget and I,” declared Count van Welcker. “We were at it for three hours together, I believe, handing out tinctures and poultices, before they would leave us alone.”

  “And do you mean to tell me that you then escaped with the Count in his air balloon, you intrepid girl?” demanded Lady Jersey, her face all sparkling with inquisitiveness and mischief.

  “What else could I do, ma’am? My poor father was grievously sick and longing to make his way to England before—before it was too late,” Juliana said in a faltering voice. “No ships were sailing and—and—and since Herr Welcker had been so kind as to make the offer—”

  “Well, it is the most romantic thing that I ever heard,” pronounced Lady Jersey. “A veritable case of a deus ex machina—though whether the Count is the deus, or you, my dear, are the dea, I am not quite certain.”

  Juliana was not certain whether to be glad or sorry that Count van Welcker had recognized her and made public her story to the society gathered at Almack’s. To be sure, it was very agreeable to see him again—but all the attention now focused on her made her uncomfortable. From this moment on, she was the undoubted success of the evening. Partners clamored for her hand, so many that she was obliged to refuse a great number. Young men vied for the privilege of bringing her lemonade, tea, and orgeat. Lady Lambourn, secluded in the card room, remained unaware of her niece’s sudden popularity; but Fanny and Kitty soon discovered that Juliana was always the center of an enthusiastic group, and cast her many sour looks of envy and dislike, especially when the red-faced Ellesmere boys asked them why they had never divulged that their cousin was such a bang-up heroine.