Arabella

by Джорджетт Хейер

  “Not in here!” shrieked his sisters with one accustomed voice.

  But as they had no expectation of being attended to, each damsel made a dive to snatch her own particular property out of harm’s way. This was just as well, since the room, besides being small, was crowded with knick-knacks. The brothers struggled and swayed together for a brief minute, or two, but since Harry, though a lusty lad, was no match for Bertram, he was very soon thrust outside the room, and the door slammed against him. After dealing the scarred panels a few kicks, and threatening his senior with gruesome reprisals, he took himself off, whistling loudly through the convenient gap occasioned by the loss of one of his front teeth; and Bertram was able to remove his shoulders from the door, and to straighten his cravat.

  “Well, you are to go,” he informed Arabella. “I wish I had a rich godmother, that’s all! Much old Mrs. Calne ever did for me, except to give me a devilish book called the Christian Comforter, or some such thing, which was enough to send a fellow to the dogs directly!”

  “I must say, I think it was excessively shabby of her,” agreed Margaret. “Even Papa said that if she had thought you had a taste for such literature, she might have supposed that you would find it upon his shelves.”

  “Well, my father knows I have no turn in that direction, and this I will say for him, he don’t expect it of me,” said Bertram handsomely. “He may be devilish straitlaced, and full of old fashioned notions, but he’s a right one at heart, and don’t plague one with a pack of humbug.”

  “Yes, yes!” said Arabella impatiently, “but does he know of this letter? Will he let me go?”

  “I fancy he don’t like it above half, but he said he could not stand in your way, and must trust to your conducting yourself in Society with propriety, and not allowing your head to be turned by frivolity and admiration. And as to that,” Bertram added, with brotherly candour, “I don’t suppose they will think you anything out of the way amongst all the nobs, so there’s precious little chance of its happening.”

  “No, I am sure they will not,” said Arabella. “But tell me the whole! What did Lady Bridlington say in her letter?”

  “Lord, I don’t know! I was trying to make sense of a whole rigmarole of Greek when Mama came in, and I wasn’t listening with more than half an ear. I daresay she’ll tell it all to you. She sent me to say she wants you in her dressing-room.”

  “Good gracious, why could you not have told me that before?” cried Arabella, stuffing the half-finished shirt into a work-bag and flitting out of the room.

  The Parsonage, although built on two storeys only, was a large, old-fashioned house, and to reach Mrs. Tallant’s dressing-room Arabella was obliged to traverse several corridors, all carpeted with a worn drugget, and all equally draughty.

  The living of Heythram was respectable, being worth some three hundred pounds a year, in addition to which the present incumbent was possessed of a small independence; but the claims of a numerous family made the recarpeting of passages more a thing to be dreamed of than an allowable expense. The Vicar, himself the son of a landed gentleman, had married the beautiful Miss Theale, who might have been expected to have done better for herself than to have thrown her cap over the windmill for a mere younger son, however handsome he might be. Indeed, it had been commonly said at the time that she had married to disoblige her family, and might, if she had chosen, have caught a baronet on her hook. Instead she had fallen in love with Henry Tallant at first sight. Since his birth was genteel, and her parents had other daughters to dispose of, she had been permitted to have her way; and apart from wishing sometimes that the living were worth more, or that Henry would not put his hand in his pocket for every beggar who crossed his path, she had never given anyone reason to suppose that she regretted her choice. To be sure, she would have liked to have installed into the Parsonage one of the new water-closets, and a Patent Kitchen Range; or, like her brother-in-law up at the Hall, have been able, without feeling the pinch, to have burnt wax candles in all the rooms; but she was a sensible woman, and even when the open fire in the kitchen smoked, and the weather made a visit to the existing water-closet particularly disagreeable, she realized that she was a great deal happier with her Henry than ever she could have been with that almost forgotten baronet. She naturally concurred in his decision that whatever became of their daughters their sons at least must receive every advantage of education; but even while employing every shift of economy to ensure the respectable maintenance of James and Bertram at Harrow she was gradually building her ambitions more and more on the future of her eldest and most beautiful daughter. Without precisely regretting the circumstances which had made it impossible for herself to shine farther afield than York and Scarborough, she was determined that Arabella should not be similarly circumscribed. Perhaps it had been with this hope already at the back of her mind that she had invited her school-friend, Arabella Haverhill, who had contracted such a brilliant match, to stand as godmother to her infant daughter. Certainly her resolve to send the younger Arabella to make her debut into society under the aegis of Lady Bridlington was of no very recent date. She had maintained throughout the years an infrequent but regular correspondence with her old friend, and was tolerably certain that fashionable life had in no way impaired the easy good-nature which had characterized the plump and cheerful Miss Haverhill. Lady Bridlington was not herself blessed with daughters—she was, in fact, the mother of only one child, a son, some seven or eight years older than Mrs. Tallant’s daughter—but from her friend’s point of view this was a decided advantage. The mother of a family of hopeful girls, however goodnatured, would not be in the least likely to take under her wing yet another young female in search of an eligible husband. But a widow in comfortable circumstances, with a strong inclination for all the amusements of fashion, and no daughters to launch upon the world, might reasonably be supposed to welcome the opportunity of chaperoning a young protégée to the balls, routs, and Assemblies she herself delighted in. Mrs. Tallant could not conceive it to be otherwise. Nor was she disappointed. Lady Bridlington, crossing several sheets of gilt-edged notepaper with her sprawling pen, could not imagine why she should not have hit upon the notion herself. She was excessively dull, and liked nothing in the world so much as having young persons about her. It had long been a grief to her, she wrote, that she had no daughter of her own; and as she had no doubt that she would love her dearest Sophia’s girl on sight she should await her arrival in the greatest impatience. Mrs. Tallant had had no need to mention her object in sending Arabella to town: Henry Tallant might consider that Lady Bridlington’s letters betrayed little but folly and frivolity, but her ladyship, however lacking in mental profundity, had plenty of worldly sense. Sophia might rest assured, she wrote, that she would leave no stone unturned to provide Arabella with a suitable husband. Already, she hinted, she had several eligible bachelors in her eye.

  It was small wonder, then, that Arabella, peeping into her mother’s dressing-room, should have found that admirable lady lost in a pleasant daydream.

  “Mama?”

  “Arabella! Come in, my love, and close the door! Your godmother has written, and in the kindest way! Dear, dear creature, I knew I might depend upon her!”

  “It’s true then? I am to go?” Arabella breathed.

  “Yes, and she begs I will send you to her as soon as may be contrived, for it seems that Bridlington is travelling on the Continent, and she is quite moped to death, living in that great house all alone. I knew how it must be! She will treat you as her own daughter. And, oh, my dearest child, I never asked it of her, but she has offered to present you at one of the Drawing-rooms!”

  This dizzy prospect took from Arabella all power of speech. She could only gaze at her mother, while that lady poured out a list of the delights in store for her.

  “Everything I could wish for you! Almack’s—I am sure she will be able to procure you a voucher, for she knows all the patronesses! Concerts! The theatre! All the ton parties—break
fasts, Assemblies, balls—my love, you will have such opportunities! you can have no notion! Why, she writes that—but never mind that!”

  Arabella found her voice. “But Mama, how shall we contrive? The expense! I cannot—I cannot to go London without any clothes to wear!”

  “No, indeed!” said Mrs. Tallant laughing. “That would present a very odd appearance, my love!”

  “Yes, Mama, but you know what I mean! I have only two ball dresses, and though they do very well for the Assemblies in Harrowgate, and country parties, I know they are not modish enough for Almack’s! And Sophy has borrowed all Mrs. Caterham’s Monthly Museums, and I have been looking at the fashions in them, and it is too lowering, ma’am! Everything must be trimmed with diamonds, or ermine, or point-lace!”

  “My dear Arabella, don’t put yourself in a taking! That has all been thought of, I assure you. You must know that have had this scheme in my mind for many a long day.” She saw her daughter’s face of mystification, and laughed again. “Why, did you think I would send you into society looking like a rustic? I am not quite such a zany, I hope! I have been putting by for this very occasion since I don’t know when.”

  “Mama!”

  “I have a little money of my own, you know,” explained Mrs. Tallant. “Your dear Papa would never use it, but desired me to spend it only as I liked, because I used to be very fond of pretty things, and he never could bear to think I might not have them when I married him. That was all nonsense, of course, and I’m sure I very soon gave up thinking of such fripperies. But I was very glad to have it to spend on my children. And in spite of Margaret’s drawing-lessons, and Sophy’s music-master, and dearest Bertram’s new coat, and those yellow pantaloons which he dare not let Papa see—my love, was there ever such a foolish boy? As though Papa did not know all along!—and having to take poor Betsy to the doctor three times this year, I have quite a little nest-egg saved for you!”

  “Oh, mama, no, no!” cried Arabella, distressed. “I would rather not go to London at all than that you should be put to such dreadful expense!”

  That is because you are sadly shatterbrained, my dear,” replied her mother calmly. “I regard it as an investment, and I shall own myself extremely astonished if a great deal of good does not come of it.” She hesitated, looked a little conscious, and said, picking her words: “I am sure I do not have to tell you that Papa is a Saint. Indeed, I don’t suppose there is a better husband or father alive! But he is not at all practical, and when one has eight children to provide for, one must have a little worldly sense, or I don’t know how one is to go on. One need have no anxiety about dear James, to be sure; and since Harry is set on going to sea, and his uncle is so obliging as to use his influence in his behalf, his future is settled. But I own I cannot be happy about poor Bertram; and where I am to find suitable husbands for all you girls in this restricted neighbourhood, I have not the least notion! Now, that is speaking more plainly than perhaps Papa would like, but you are a sensible puss, Arabella, and I have no scruple in being open with you. If I can but contrive to establish you respectably, you may bring out your sisters, and perhaps, even, if you should be so fortunate as to marry a gentleman of position, you might be able to help Bertram to buy his commission. I do not mean, of course, that your husband should purchase it precisely, but he might very likely have an interest at the Horse Guards, or—or something of the sort!”

  Arabella nodded, for it was no news to her that she, as the eldest of four sisters, was expected to marry advantageously. She knew it to be her duty to do so. “Mama, I will try not to disappoint you!” she said earnestly.

  II

  It was the candidly expressed opinion of the Vicar’s children that Mama must have had a great work to prevail upon Papa to consent to Arabella’s going to London. Few things were more reprehensible in his eyes than vanity and pleasure-seeking; and although he never raised any objection to Mama’s chaperoning Arabella and Sophia to the Assemblies at Harrowgate, and had even been known to comment favourably upon their gowns, he always impressed upon them that such diversions, innocent in themselves, would, if indulged in to excess, inevitably ruin the character of the most virtuous female. He had himself no taste for society, and had frequently been heard to animadvert severely on the useless and frivolous lives led by ladies of fashion. Moreover, although he was not in the least above enjoying a good joke, he had the greatest dislike of levity, could never be brought to tolerate idle chatter, and if the conversation turned upon worldly trifles would never fail to give it a more proper direction.

  But Lady Bridlington’s invitation to Arabella did not take the Vicar by surprise. He knew that Mrs. Tallant had written to her old friend, and however little he approved of the chief motive behind her resolve to launch her daughter into society, certain of the arguments she employed to persuade him could not but carry weight.

  “My dear Mr. Tallant,” said his lady, “do not let us dispute about the merits of an advantageous match! But even you will allow that Arabella is an uncommonly handsome girl!”

  Mr. Tallant allowed it, adding reflectively that Arabella put him forcibly in mind of what her Mama was at the same age. Mrs. Tallant was not impervious to this flattery: she blushed, and looked a little roguishly, but said that he need not try to bamboozle her (an expression she had picked up from her sons).

  “All I wish to point out to you, Mr. Tallant, is that Arabella is fit to move in the first circles!” she announced.

  “My love,” responded the Vicar, with one of his humorous looks, “if I believed you, I should perhaps consider it my duty to show you that an ambition to move in the first circles, as you call them, could never be an ideal I could wish any of my daughters to aspire to. But as I am persuaded that you have a great many other arguments to advance, I will hold my peace, and merely beg you to continue!”

  “Well,” said Mrs. Tallant seriously, “I fancy—but you must tell me if I am mistaken—that you would not regard with any degree of complaisance an alliance with the Draytons of Knaresborough!”

  The Vicar was plainly startled, and directed an enquiring look at his spouse.

  “Young Joseph Drayton is growing extremely particular in his attentions,” pronounced Mrs. Tallant, in a voice of doom. She observed the effect of this, and continued in the blandest way: “Of course, I am aware that he is considered to be a great catch, for he will inherit all his father’s wealth.”

  The Vicar was betrayed into an unchristian utterance. “I could not consent to it! He smells of the shop!”

  “Exactly so!” agreed Mrs. Tallant, well-satisfied. “But he has been dangling after Arabella these past six months.”

  “Do you tell me,” demanded the Vicar, “that a daughter of mine encourages his attentions?”

  “By no means!” promptly responded the lady. “Any more than she encourages the attentions of the curate, young Dewsbury, Alfred Hitchin, Humphrey Finchley, or a dozen others! Arabella, my dear sir, is by far the most sought-after belle of these parts!”

  “Dear me!” said the Vicar, shaking his head in wonderment. “I must confess, my love, that none of these young gentlemen would be welcome to me as a son-in-law.”

  “Then, perhaps, Mr. Tallant, you cherish hopes of seeing Arabella married to her cousin Tom?”

  “Nothing,” said the Vicar forcibly, “could be farther from my wishes!” He recollected himself, and added in a more moderate tone: “My brother is a very worthy man, according to his lights, and I wish his children nothing but good; but on several counts, which I need not enumerate, I should not desire to see any of my daughters marry their cousins. And, what is more, I am very sure that he has quite other designs for Tom and Algernon!”

  “Indeed he has!” corroborated Mrs. Tallant cordially. “He means them to marry heiresses.”

  The Vicar bent an incredulous gaze upon her. “Does my daughter affect any of these young men?” he demanded.

  “I fancy not,” replied Mrs. Tallant. “That is to say, she does not s
how any marked preference for any one of them. But when a girl sees no other gentlemen than those who have been dangling after her ever since she left the schoolroom, what, my dear Mr. Tallant, must be the end of it? And young Drayton,” she added musingly, “is possessed of a considerable fortune. I do not mean that Arabella would consider that, but there is no denying that the man who drives a smart curricle, and can afford to be begging a female’s acceptance of all the most elegant trifles imaginable, has a decided advantage over his rivals.”

  There was a pregnant silence, while all the implications of this speech sank into the Vicar’s brain. He said at length, rather wistfully: “I had hoped that one day a suitable parti would present himself, to whom I might have given Arabella with a thankful heart.”

  Mrs. Tallant threw him an indulgent glance. “Very likely, my dear, but it would be a great piece of nonsense to pretend that such things happen when one has made not the least push to bring them about! Eligible partis do not commonly appear as by magic in country villages: one must go out into the world to find them!” She saw that the Vicar was looking a little pained, and laughed. “Now, do not tell me that it was otherwise with us, Mr. Tallant, for you know very well I met you first at a party in York! I own it was not in the expectation of my falling in love with you that my Mama took me there, but in your turn you will own that we should never have met if I had sat at home waiting for you!”

  He smiled. “Your arguments are always unanswerable, my love. Yet I cannot entirely like it. I believe Arabella to be a well-behaved girl enough, but she is very young, after all, and I have thought sometimes that her spirits might, lacking wiser guidance, betray her into unbecoming conduct. Under Lady Bridlington’s roof, she would, I fear, lead a life gay to dissipation, such as must make her unfit afterwards for rational society.”

  “Depend upon it,” said Mrs. Tallant soothingly, “she is by far too well-behaved a girl to occasion us a moment’s anxiety. I am sure, too, that her principles are too sound to allow her to lose her head. To be sure, she can be a sad romp, and that, my dear sir, is because she has not yet enjoyed the advantages of town polish. I am hopeful of seeing her much improved by a season spent with Bella Bridlington. And if—mind, I only say—if!—she were to contract a suitable alliance I am sure you would be as thankful as anyone could be!”