The Foundling

by Джорджетт Хейер

  “I was a great deal too young to know anything of the matter. He was presented to me by my parents: I doubt if I had clapped eyes on him above half a dozen times in my life. But I became very sincerely attached to him, as I hope you may do to Sale. But be upon your guard, my child! You have a romantical disposition, I am afraid, and you are a great deal too fond of showing when you feel a strong partiality for anyone. And that, you know, may lead you into jealousy, which will never do! A man may have his chères-amies: they do not concern his wife. She must turn a blind eye towards such little affaires.”

  “Perhaps,” said Harriet, turning away her face, “he may welcome caresses from his chères-amies!”

  “Very likely, my love. It is something I am happy to think neither you nor I can know anything about. A man of Sale’s breeding will expect a different style of conduct of his wife, that I can vouch for! Remember it, Harriet!”

  “Yes, Mama,” said Harriet unhappily.

  Chapter V

  The Duke, returning to Sale House, spent an unprofitable half-hour, trying to draft an advertisement for the Gazette. He gave it up finally, exclaiming aloud: “It seems I need a private secretary besides all the rest!”

  The door into the library opened. “Your Grace called?” said his footman.

  The Duke stared at him in gathering wrath. “Were you standing outside the door?” he demanded.

  The man looked quite scared. “Yes, your Grace!”

  “Then don’t do it!”

  “No, your Grace! I beg your Grace’s pardon! I thought your Grace had called!”

  “I did not!”

  “No, your Grace!” said the footman, much discomposed, and preparing to bowhimself out again.

  “When I need you, I will ring for you,” said the Duke. “At this present I want nothing! At least—Yes, I do! If Mr. Scriven should not have left the house, desire him to come to me, if you please!”

  “Yes, your Grace!”

  It seemed that Mr. Scriven had not left the house, for in a very few minutes he presented himself in the library. He found the Duke sitting at the big carved desk, biting the end of a quill, and regarding with dissatisfaction a scrawled sheet of paper. Several screwed-up balls of paper cast in the direction of the fireplace bore witness to frustrated literary endeavour.

  “You wished to see me, my lord?” said Mr. Scriven, advancing into the room.

  The Duke looked up, a boyishly rueful smile in his eyes. “I can do not the least thing for myself, Scriven!” he said. “Here have I been wasting I know not how long trying to write the simplest notice, and making the sorriest work of it!”

  “You know you may depend upon me, my lord, to do anything for you that you desire,” said Mr. Scriven, in a soothing voice. “May I know what it is that is giving you so much trouble?”

  “Merely the notice of my engagement for the Gazette! You would say a simple matter, but only see what a botch I have made of it!”

  Mr. Scriven had been moving towards the desk, but at these words he halted. “Your engagement, my lord!”

  “Yes, to the Lady Harriet Presteigne. It must be announced, you know, and I shall be very much obliged to you if you will draft a suitable notice for me.”

  “May I say, my lord Duke,” said Mr. Scriven, deeply moved, “that there is no task you could lay upon me which I could undertake with more gratification? I hope your Grace will permit me to offer my sincerest felicitations upon this most happy event!”

  “Thank you: you are very good.”

  “I shall take advantage, my lord, of my long association with the House of Sale, to say that nothing could afford those who have your interests at heart greater satisfaction than thus intelligence. And I venture to say, my lord, that there is no one amongst your dependants who has not your interests at heart.”

  “Thank you!” said the Duke again, startled, but a little touched.

  “Your Grace may safely leave this matter in my hands,” said Mr. Scriven. “The notice shall be sent immediately to all the society papers: I shall attend to it myself. May I enquire when the Happy Date is to be?”

  “I do not precisely know. In the spring, I think: nothing is fixed yet!”

  Mr. Scriven bowed. “We shall have to see to the refurnishing of the Duchess’s apartments,” he said. “In fact, there will be a great many details to be attended to, my lord. You may rely on me!”

  The Duke, who felt that he had listened to enough plans for his marriage for one day, said hastily that he was sure of it, but that there was time and to spare. Mr. Scriven thereupon bowed again, and went off to enjoy himself very much in drafting an advertisement in terms grandiloquent enough to satisfy his sense of what was due to his noble employer’s dignity.

  The Duke, who had previously ascertained that his cousin was on guard-duty that day, thought that he might perhaps be dining at White’s, and determined to seek him there. He did not succeed, however, in leaving the house without encountering a good deal of opposition, first from his valet, who took it amiss that he did not mean to change his pantaloons for knee-breeches and silk stockings; then from Borrowdale, who had not supposed that his Grace meant to dine from home, and thought that it looked like rain; and lastly from Chigwell, who, forbidden to send a message to the stables, was horrified, and exclaimed: “But your Grace will have the carriage!”

  “I do not need it; I am only going to White’s,” replied the Duke, taking his cane and gloves from his footman’s hands.

  “Your Grace will not go on foot, and alone! Only let me call a chair!”

  “Chigwell, I am not a child, nor shall I melt for a drop or two of rain!” said the Duke.

  “No, indeed, your Grace, but they say the town abounds with pickpockets, and street-robbers! I am sure his lordship would desire you to take a chair, and a linkboy!”

  “I shall take neither, however.”

  Chigwell and Borrowdale both looked very much upset. “But, your Grace, you will be very much more comfortable in your carriage!” protested Chigwell. “It can be brought round in a trice, and—”

  “No!” said the Duke, with sudden and unaccustomed violence.

  They fell back, and the porter, who had been standing all the time by the door thought well of opening it.

  “As your Grace wishes!” said Chigwell feebly. “At what hour will your Grace be returning?”

  “I have not the smallest notion,” said the Duke, drawing on his gloves.

  “No, your Grace. Quite so! And your Grace would not wish to have the carriage call for you—?”

  “I would not!” said the Duke, and ran down the steps into the forecourt, leaving his faithful henchmen to stare after him in great surprise, and no little perturbation.

  He did not find his cousin at White’s, but just as he was ascertaining from the porter that Captain Ware had not been seen in the club that day, Viscount Gaywood walked in, and instantly pounced upon him. “Sale! By God, I was in half a mind to call at your place! My dear fellow, how do you do? I have just heard the news! Never more glad of anything in my life! Come and dine with me!”

  Lord Gaywood, who was tall, lanky, and a great rattle, bore little resemblance to his sister Harriet, but had a beak-like nose that brought Lady Ampleforth forcibly to mind. He was said to be a severe trial to his parents, and had certainly occupied his adult years in tumbling in and out of a great many scrapes. He swept the Duke upstairs to the coffee-room, saying cheerfully: “Well, this is a capital go, old fellow! But what a complete hand you are! I was ready to swear you were not hanging out for a wife yet awhile! Why, I don’t believe you ever so much as gave Harry’s hand a squeeze at hands across!”

  “Well, do not shout it to the whole world!” said Gilly.

  “Oh, no one ever attends to me!” replied his lordship. “You know, it’s not for me to puff m’sister off, but she’s a devilish good girl, Sale, and deserves her fortune. The shyest thing in nature, mind you, but you’re a trifle in that line yourself! I’m glad you didn’t declare o
ff: don’t mind telling you my mother was thrown into gloom when you left town without coming up to scratch! What a business it is! They will be trying their hands at finding a bride for me next, I daresay. Do you want to buy a horse?”

  “Yes, but not one of yours,” said the Duke frankly.

  “What do you mean, not one of mine?” demanded his lordship, affronted. “I’ve got a prime bit of blood I wouldn’t mind selling you. Shows off well; complete to a shade!”

  “Touched in the wind?” asked the Duke, taking his seat at the table.

  “Devil a bit of it! Perfect in all his paces!”

  “I may look like a flat, but I’m not such a green one that I’d buy one of your breakdowns, Charlie,” said the Duke.

  Lord Gaywood grinned. “Well, it ain’t a breakdown, but I never crossed a greater slug in my life! fit only to carry a churchwarden!”

  “Thank you!” said the Duke.

  “Oh, well, there’s no saying! he might have taken your fancy! What made you take this bolt to the village, my tulip? You did not come merely to offer for Harriet!”

  “That, and to buy a horse—not your horse.”

  “Gilly, you skirter! Don’t try to come Tip-Street over me! If you have run away from that devilish uncle of yours, I don’t blame you! The most antiquated old fidget I ever saw! Quite gothic, my dear fellow! I’m frightened to death of him. I don’t think he likes me above half.”

  “Not as much,” replied Gilly. “In fact, I think he classes you with park-saunterers, and other such ramshackle persons.”

  “No, no, Gilly, upon my word! Always in the best of good ton!” protested his lordship. “Park-saunterers be damned! I’ll tell you what, my boy! I’ll take you along to a place I know of in Pickering Place after dinner. All the crack amongst the knowing ones, and the play very fair.”

  “French hazard? You know I haven’t the least taste for gaming! Besides, I’m going to visit my cousin Gideon.”

  Lord Gaywood exclaimed against such tame behaviour, but the Duke remained steady in refusing to accompany him to his gaming-hell, and they parted after dinner, Gaywood crossing the street to Pickering Place, and the Duke going off to Albany, where Captain Ware rented a set of chambers. These were on the first floor of one of the new buildings, and were reached by a flight of stone stairs. The Duke ran up these, and knocked on his cousin’s door. It was opened to him by a stalwart individual with a rugged countenance, and the air and bearing of an old soldier, who stared at him for an instant, and then exclaimed: “It’s your Grace!”

  “Hallo, Wragby! is my cousin in?” returned the Duke, stepping into a small hall, and laving his hat and cane down upon the table.

  “Ay, that he is, your Grace, and Mr. Matthew with him,” said Wragby. “I’ll warrant hell be mighty glad to see your Grace. I’ll take your coat, sir.”

  He divested the Duke of it as he spoke, and would have announced him had not Gilly shaken his head, and walked without ceremony into his cousin’s sitting-room.

  This was a comfortable, square apartment, with windows giving on to a little balcony, and some folding doors that led into Captain Ware’s bedchamber. It was lit by candles, a fire burned in the grate, and the atmosphere was rather thick with cigar-smoke. The furniture was none of it very new, or very elegant, and the room was not distinguished by its neatness. To the Duke, who rarely saw as much as a cushion out of place in his own residences, the litter of spurs, riding-whips, racing-calendars, invitation-cards, pipes, tankards, and newspapers gave the room a charm all its own. He felt at his ease in it, and never entered it without experiencing a pang of envy.

  There were two persons seated at the mahogany table, at which it was evident they had been dining. One was a fair youth, in a very dandified waistcoat; the other, a big, dark young man, some four years older than the Duke, who lounged at the head of the table, with his long legs stretched out before him, and one hand dug into the pocket of his white buckskins. He had shed his scarlet coat for a dressing-gown, and he wore on his feet a pair of embroidered Turkish slippers. It was easy to trace his relationship to Lord Lionel Ware. He had the same high nose, and stern gray eyes, and something of the same mulish look about his mouth and chin, which made his face, in repose, a little forbidding. But he had also an attractively crooked smile, which only persons for whom he had a fondness were privileged to see. As he looked up, at the opening of the door, his eyes narrowed, and the smile twisted up one side of his mouth. “Adolphus!” he said, in a lazy drawl. “Well, well, well!”

  The fair youth, who had been staring a little moodily at the dregs of the port in his glass, started, and looked round, as much as he was able to do for the extremely high and starched points of his shirt-collar. “Gilly!” he exclaimed. “Good God, what are you doing in town?”

  “Why shouldn’t I be in town?” said the Duke, with a touch of impatience. “If it comes to that, what brings you here?”

  “I’m on my way up to Oxford, of course,” said his cousin. “Lord, what a start you gave me, walking in like that!”

  By this time, the Duke had taken in all the glories of his young cousin’s attire, which included, besides that amazingly striped waistcoat, an Oriental tie of gigantic height, a starched frill, buckram-wadded shoulders to an extravagantly cut coat, buttons the size of crown pieces, and a pair of Inexpressibles of a virulent shade of yellow. He closed his eyes, and said faintly: “Gideon, have you any brandy?”

  Captain Ware grinned. “Regular little counter-coxcomb, ain’t he?” he remarked.

  “I thought you had a Bartholomew baby dining with you,” said Gilly. “Matt, you don’t mean to go up to Oxford in that rig? Oh, my God, Gideon, will you look at his pantaloons? What a set of dashing blades they must be at Magdalen!”

  “Gilly!” protested Matthew, flushing hotly. “Because you are never in the least dapper-dog yourself you need not quiz me! It’s the pink of the fashion, bang up to the nines! You should have a pair yourself!”

  “Above my touch,” said the Duke, shaking his head. He looked up at Gideon, who had dragged himself out of his chair, and now stood towering above him, and smiled. “Gideon,” he said, with satisfaction. “Oh, I think I was charged with a great many messages for you, but I have forgot them all!”

  “Do you mean to tell me, Adolphus, that you have slipped your leash?” demanded Gideon.

  “Oh, no!” said Gilly, sighing. “I did think that perhaps I might, but I was reckoning without Belper, and Scriven, and Chigwell and Borrowdale, and Nettlebed, and—”

  “Enough!” commanded Gideon. “This air of consequence ill becomes you, my little one! Is my revered father in town?”

  “No, I am alone. Except, of course, for Nettlebed, and Turvey, and—But you don’t like me to puff off my state!”

  “This,” said Gideon, lounging over to the door, and opening it, “calls for a bowl of punch! Wragby! Wragby, you old rascal! Rum! Lemons! Kettle! Bustle about, man!” He came back to the fire. “Tell me that my parents are well, and then do not let us talk about them any more!” he invited.

  “They are very well, but I am going to say a great deal to you about your father. I think I came for that very purpose. Yes, I am sure that I did!”

  “You have never given Uncle Lionel the bag?” exclaimed Matthew.

  “Oh, no! He saw me off with his blessing, and an adjuration to visit the dentist. I have never yet succeeded in giving anyone the bag,” said Gilly.

  Gideon looked at him under his brows. “Hipped, Adolphus?” he said gently.

  “Blue-devilled!” replied the Duke, meeting his look.

  “What a complete hand you are, Gilly!” said Matthew impatiently. “I only wish I stood in your shoes! There you are, your pockets never to let, everything made easy for you, all the toad-eaters in town ready to serve you, and you complain—”

  “Peace, halfling!” interrupted Gideon. “Sit down, Gilly! Tell me all that is in your mind!”

  “Too much!” said the Duke, sinking into a chair a
t the table. “Oh, that reminds me! Would you like to offer me your felicitations? You won’t be quite the first to do so, but—but you won’t care to be backward! I have this day fulfilled the expectations of my family—not to mention those of every busybody in town—and entered upon a very eligible engagement. You will see the notice in the Gazette, presently, and all the society journals. I do hope Scriven will not forget any of these!”

  “Oh!” said Gideon. He pitched the butt of his cigar into the fire, and cast another of those shrewd, appraising looks at the Duke. “Well, that certainly calls for a bowl of punch,” he said. “Harriet, eh?”

  The Duke nodded.

  “I don’t wish to enrage you, my little one, but you have my felicitations. She will do very well for you.”

  The Duke looked up quickly. “Yes, of course! What a fellow I am to be talking in such a fashion! Don’t regard it! She is everything that is amiable and obliging.”

  “Well, I’m sure I wish you very happy,” said Matthew. “Of course we all knew that you were going to offer for her.”

  “Of course you did!” agreed Gilly, with immense cordiality.

  “Charlotte has contracted an engagement too,” observed Matthew. “Did you know it? It is to Alfred Thirsk.”

  “Certainly I knew it,” replied Gilly. “In fact, I very nearly withheld my consent to the match.”

  “Very nearly withheld your consent!” repeated Matthew, staring at him in the liveliest astonishment.

  “Well, I had the intention, but, like so many of my intentions, it came to nothing. Your father wrote me a very proper letter, expressing the hope that the alliance met with my approval. Only it does not: not at all!”

  Matthew burst out laughing. “Much my father would care! Stop bamming, Gilly!”

  “Bamming? You forget yourself, Matt!” Gilly retorted. “Let me tell you that I am the head of our family, and it is time that I learned to assert myself!”

  Gideon smiled. “Have you been asserting yourself, Adolphus?”