by M C Beaton
The long strips of fields ran down to the river, glinting in the distance. The warm air was heavy with the smells of grass and wild flowers. As the carriage rumbled to a halt at the Chiswick toll, the clear song of a lark came floating down to Betty's city-jaded ears, bringing with its song such a longing for Eppington Chase that she bit her lip to fight back the tears.
She was not obsessed with Eppington Chase, she told herself. It was her home. It was natural she should long for it.
There was a sudden flash of yellow as a coach and four driven at breakneck speed dashed past them, so close that it nearly grazed their wheels. "What the deuce!" cried Hester sticking her head out of the carriage window. "Sodding bugger!" yelled Hester after the retreating coach.
"Hester!" screamed Bella and Betty in unison. "Such language," cried Betty. "Remember the child."
"Sodding bugger!" repeated Simon gleefully, dropping his man-of-the-world poise.
Bella swelled with wrath. "If Miss Armitage were to hear you now, my young lord, she would take the birch rod to you."
"Miss Armitage would not dare to touch my person," said Simon loftily.
"But I shall," said Betty coldly, "should I hear such language on your lips again. Hester! Pray, what kind of example is this . . . to shout obscenities in such a hurlyburly manner."
"Sorry," mumbled Hester, alarmed at having so roused her gentle sister. Betty nodded in acceptance of the apology and then began to worry whether Miss Armitage were a strong enough tutor for the boy. "What we need is a man in the family," she thought, and, all unbidden, a picture of the Duke flashed before her mind's eye. Not that she wanted to marry him, of course, but even if she did, such a thing would be impossible. Hester would give him a disgust of the family even if she herself did not.
Hester, who longed for the old days when they were poor and roamed the countryside and flirted with the village boys. Hester, who still sometimes wandered the lanes around Westerby with her gun over her shoulder frightening some of the villagers to death who thought they were seeing the ghost of the Marchioness. Nostalgie de la boue, that's what the French called it, mused Betty, this longing of Hester's to return to her old, rough ways. If only Captain Dunbray were not so short in stature. He does not seem to mind Hester's ways.
Betty became aware that the carriage had left the road and was now bowling up a well-kept drive where rhododendrons from India blazed in the sunshine.
The breakfast was to be al fresco. Tables were spread out on the smooth, shaved lawns in front of the house.
The Westerby contingent made their bows to the Chudleighs and went into the large cool mansion to freshen themselves after their journey.
The smells of a country house revived Betty's longings for home—beeswax, potpourri, woodsmoke, all mixed with the scents drifting in from the garden.
Simon was hopping from one foot to the other, anxious to be out on the lawns under the trees. But he waited while the ladies fussed with their hair and Hester, producing a patch box from her pocket, proceeded to put no less than three patches on her face.
At last, the ladies pronounced themselves satisfied with their appearance and Simon was led out to the garden. Almost immediately, Betty saw the Duke and Captain Dunbray. They were seated at a long table facing Fanny and Frederica while Mrs. Bentley sat nearby watching them with that curved smile of hers deepening on her face. As well it might. She had bribed the Chudleigh servants well to effect the desired seating arrangement. Fanny Bentley was attired in her favorite pinks and rose colors, her face was patched and enameled to perfection. The deep square neckline of her gown revealed the top halves of two excellent breasts. The Duke was laughing at something she was saying.
He looked disturbingly handsome and not the cold and pompous man that Betty had forced herself to remember. Captain Jimmy seemed to be rattling on at a great rate to Frederica and Betty noticed that Hester gave a slight toss of her dark curls as she saw them.
Betty and Hester found they had been placed at a table where the average age seemed to be fifty-five. There were some other children at other tables and Simon looked at them cautiously. He was unused to playing with other children.
Bella, like her late mistress, Lady Harriet Comfrey, became quickly bored in the company of people of her own generation and began to ramble on to herself, holding imaginary conversations.
When the long meal was at last over—five hours it took to get to the port and walnuts—the company was free at last to stroll in the cool, early evening air and admire the gardens.
The Chudleighs were an elderly couple, rouged and patched so much that with their round faces and round bodies, they looked like a pair of Dutch dolls. Everyone must see their new water garden, they enthused. Their new gardener had done wonders with the old stream at the bottom of the garden.
Tripping along on their high heels, or mincing in an apologetic half crouch, as was the fashion, the guests began to make their way in the direction indicated. A golden sun was burning low in the east and turning the calm English garden into a paradise of green and gold.
Simon begged to be allowed to run off and play with the other children who had found tennis racquets and ball and were busy hitting it about the lawns.
Betty sent him off and turned back to go to the water garden and found Hester's tall figure was already being partnered by the short one of Captain Jimmy Dunbray.
Bella had fallen asleep on a rustic bench in the sun rather like an old tabby.
"May I escort you, Lady Betty?" Betty looked up quickly into the green eyes of the Duke of Collingham. He had meant to avoid her but, he persuaded himself, there was a mystery surrounding the Westerby family which cried out to be solved. The thought that Betty was looking remarkably pretty, he severely put from his mind. "Perhaps Miss Fanny will be looking for you," Betty could not help suggesting.
"Perhaps," he said coldly, falling into step beside her. He quite obviously considered her remark impertinent, but he continued to walk beside her, quietly emanating disapproval.
Betty glanced at him from under the shadow of her hat. If only he would not be so stiff and formal, she thought, he would be very attractive indeed. And why must he plague me with his attentions?
The Duke was wearing a suit of uncut velvet covered in a small design in soft shades of red and green which gave the whole costume a pinkish hue. He wore his coat open over a long waistcoat of the same material, embroidered with a graceful flower pattern.
His hair was powdered but his face was free from paint and patches. The long pigtail of his hair swung down his back as he moved leisurely along and Betty had a schoolgirlish impulse to pull it hard to try to crack some of his chill reserve.
The rest of the company had gone some way ahead so they were virtually alone. The path to the water garden was made of cut logs, very pretty and rustic, but very slippery. He held out his arm and she delicately laid her fingertips on it, but her treacherous little satin shoes with their high red heels slipped so much that she had to clutch wildly at his sleeve. He silently took her hand in his and drew it through his arm and Betty, who had opened her mouth to say something conversational about the scenery, closed it again, startled at the fluttering emotion engendered by his proximity.
Ahead there came sudden loud squeals and cries. "The water garden must be extremely beautiful, I think," said the Duke, "or someone has slipped and fallen in."
Betty made a reply somewhere between a gulp and a mumble. She could not understand why her arm in his should upset her so much. Again she glanced up at him to see if he could possibly be sharing some of her feelings, but he was gazing indolently about him, seemingly without a care in the world.
Weeping willows hung over their path, water lilies floated in pools, tall iris stood sentinel at the side of the path. The gardener had cleverly achieved a blend of the cultivated and the wild. Among the neatly labeled plants and trees rioted a mixture of ragged robin, speedwell, harebells and purple vetch. The mellow golden light slanted through the trees.
&nb
sp; Betty was just summoning up courage to comment on the idyllic scene when she wrinkled her nose. There was the most awful smell rising from the water and, as she stared down at it, a great gas bubble rose slowly to the surface and burst, sending a foul stench up into the evening air.
The Duke was still strolling along, seemingly oblivious to the smell which was becoming decidedly worse.
He was, in fact, musing over the strange feeling of elation this girl inspired in him. He was concentrating on this new experience so much that he forgot where he was. His nose had become trained to ignore the horrible smell of the London streets and for the moment he found nothing amiss.
Betty, turning paler by the minute, found she could not bear it any longer.
"Your Grace!"
"Lady Betty?"
"The smell of this place is quite abominable. I cannot understand it."
The Duke stopped and stared down at her in surprise. He wrinkled his nose fastidiously, took out his eyeglass, polished it on his sleeve, held it to his eye and stared at the water in such an accusing manner that, sick as she felt, Betty was overcome by a desire to giggle.
"The cesspool," he said at last. "The enterprising gardener has dug these pretty pools and rechanneled the stream so deeply that they have joined up with the Chudleighs' cesspool. It all shows the folly of widening and widening one's cesspool. They should really clear it out. In fact, they would be better advised to. I must tell them that."
"Sir," choked Betty, her handkerchief to her mouth, "much as I would love to stand here and listen to you digress on cesspools all night, I fear the fumes are rather too much for me."
"Then why didn't you say so," he said crossly, leading her away. "You have become quite green."
He led her quickly back the way they had come. "That must have been the reason for all those cries of distress. Ah! I hear music. Perhaps you will favour me with a dance, Lady Betty?"
"I shall be honoured," said Betty, wondering what on earth Mrs. Bentley was going to think of this fortune on two legs wasting his time with anyone other than her daughter.
As they walked up from the garden where the smell now seemed to hang like a great yellow cloud, Simon came strutting across the lawns, a haughty expression sitting ill on his young face.
"Simon!" cried Betty. "Finished playing so soon? Where are the other children?"
"It is not fitting for me to play with them," said Simon pompously. "James Entwhistle is only the son of a baronet and Lucy Antruther is only of the gentry."
"And who are you, my young sprig, to consider yourself so high?" demanded the Duke wrathfully.
"Simon, second Marquess of Westerby," mumbled Simon, fiddling nervously with the hilt of his sword.
"Well, Simon, second Marquess of Westerby," said the Duke, pressing Betty's arm to silence her, "you must not talk such fustian again. Ladies and gentlemen are so, irrespective of rank or title. To be so high in your manner at your age denotes the prig. It has also given your features a sulky cast. I suggest you cease plaguing your aunt with your humours and return to your play. It better befits a gentleman, mark you, than hanging on your aunt's skirts. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Your Grace," mumbled Simon, blushing to the roots of his hair. He turned and scampered away. Betty drew away from the Duke and said hotly, "You had no need to be so hard on the boy. You, of all people!"
"And what do you mean by that remark?"
"You are the one who judges people by their birth and rank. You are the one who places yourself above the rest!"
"Were I so concerned with birth and rank," said the Duke icily, "then I should not be favouring you with my company, Miss Blacksmith."
Betty drew away from him, slowly backing away across the grass.
"Lady Betty," he said impulsively, "Forgive me! Forget that remark. It was abominable. . . . I did not mean . . ."
With a cold little curtsy, Betty turned on her heel and marched into the house, her head high.
The Duke made a move to follow her and then stopped. She had already entered the house, and through the long windows he could see she had been joined by her sister. He decided to take a walk in the garden to clear his head. He strode across the lawns, wondering if he had always behaved so stupidly or if there were something about Lady Betty that made him open his mouth and say the first awful thing that came into his head. But she had hurt him, he had to admit that. Then let her dance with other men! He did not care. He had a sudden picture of her, dancing prettily and looking into some other man's eyes and he realized with a shock that he did care. He cared very much.
A small sob coming from the bushes nearby penetrated his thoughts and he stopped and looked about. The sob came again.
He walked around a clump of rose bushes. On a marble bench, in the gathering dark, sat Simon, second Marquess of Westerby, sobbing bitterly, the tears running unchecked down his cheeks.
"Gad's 'Oonds, lad! What's amiss?" demanded the Duke, coming to stand over him.
"Nothing," mumbled Simon, rubbing at his eyes with his embroidered cuff.
The Duke looked down at him thoughtfully and then, as if coming to a decision, sat down beside the small boy.
"We are both in disgrace this evening, Simon," he said. "I have been too top-lofty with Lady Betty and have been well and truly punished for my sins. Now I have told you my troubles, will you not tell me yours?"
His voice was very gentle. "I-I t-tried to g-go back to p-play with James and L-Lucy," sobbed Simon, "but they jeered at me and told me I was a prig. Y-you s-see, those things I said to you, I had s-said to them."
The Duke sat silently for a moment and then he drew out a serviceable pocket handkerchief and handed it to Simon. "Blow your nose," he commanded, "and I will tell you what we must do. You must listen closely now, for it will take all our courage."
Simon stopped sobbing and blew his nose and looked up at the Duke in awe.
"I must humbly apologise to your Aunt Betty," said the Duke, "and you, my boy, must apologise to James and Lucy. I am not in the way of apologising for my behavior and I cannot remember ever having had to do such a thing before." He smiled wryly. "Now, if I have to learn such a hard lesson at my great age, how much easier at yours! Come, my little friend, and let us take our medicine."
"It will be very hard," whispered Simon. "What if they do not accept our apology?"
"Then that becomes their affair. We, however, must make the effort."
"Will you go first, sir?" asked Simon. "Perhaps if I see how you do it, I could contrive . . ."
What a plague these Westerbys are, thought the Duke, but he said aloud, "Very well. My apology first."
Dancing had commenced in the chain of rooms on the first floor of the great mansion. Simon followed behind the Duke, one small, chubby hand hanging firmly onto the skirts of His Grace's coat. Couples were performing a minuet, but Betty was not among them. Bella was standing against the wall, her arms folded, her eyes bright and alive, refreshed after her sleep and enjoying to the hilt her role of chaperone.
"Where's Aunt Betty?" asked Simon, peeping around the skirts of the Duke's coat.
"Why, mercy, my lord, how you do give a body a start, popping out like jacks-in-boxes. Lady Betty, well, now, her do like to go and sit somewhere quiet."
"It will be like hide-and-seek," said Simon eagerly. "Where shall we look, Your Grace?"
"Probably somewhere away from the dancers," said the Duke, beginning to lead the way.
They threaded their way through the dancers, past Sir Anthony Blake, performing a clumsy minuet with Philadelphia who had decided to allow him to dance with her this evening lest he disgrace himself again. Fanny was dancing with a Mr. Jennings, one of her former beaux, and as she turned, her eyes met those of Sir Anthony in a long and mournful look. Hester was dancing with Captain Jimmy and when they met in the figure of the dance, the little Captain's eyes were on a level with Hester's bosom. Hester's eyes were roaming restlessly about the room, as if seeking a taller partner.
At the end of the chain of rooms was a small saloon with only three couples who were walking about, examining the pictures and ornaments. Simon and the Duke looked behind the curtains but there was no sign of Betty.
"That door," said Simon, who had forgotten his woes in the excitement of the hunt. "Where does it lead to?"
"Let us look," said the Duke, proceeding to a door at the far end of the room.
He pushed it open and entered with Simon following at his heels.
Betty sat behind a branch of candles, reading a book. The room was, in fact, a small library. She looked up, startled, as they came in.
"We've been looking everywhere for you, Aunt Betty!" cried Simon, seizing the Duke's hand and tugging him forward, "for His Grace wants to make you a very numble apology."
The Duke's face was lit by that heart-twisting smile as he looked down at her. "And will you accept my very numble apology, madam?" he said softly. "I behaved like the veriest coxcomb and I cannot have any peace until I know you have forgiven me."
"I forgive you," said Betty, suddenly as happy as she had been miserable a moment before.
"Now it is your turn, Simon," said the Duke.
"Turn for what?" asked Betty curiously.
"That is a secret between us," said the Duke. "Go to it, my little man."
Simon scampered off, pausing only to turn at the door and demand, "You mean we have a secret which only we share, Your Grace?"
The Duke nodded solemnly, and Simon left, feeling that this apology business would not be nearly so hard as he had imagined.
The Duke sat down on a small sofa next to Betty. "What were you reading, Lady Betty?" he teased. "Something more fascinating than the delights of a party?" He took the book from her hands and his eyes widened. "Fie, for shame! 'Henry's List of Covent Garden Ladies.' Is that how you pass your evenings?"
"Oh," said Betty, turning pink with mortification. "I confess I was not aware of what I was reading."
He put the book aside. "Lady Betty," he said, "I have been trying to find out who sent the rocking horse to Simon, without success. I visited the Bentleys—Lady Hester, in her shock and distress, accused Mrs. Bentley of murder. I told Mrs. Bentley this, perhaps I should not. I wanted to see her reaction."
