Frederica

by Georgette Heyer

  ‘Yes, and these men had better come in too,’ said Frederica.

  ‘Certainly, ma’am – if you wish them to do so,’ responded Wicken. ‘But I venture to think that they will be quite comfortable in the hall.’

  With this opinion even the cowman was in the fullest agreement, but Frederica would have none of it. ‘No, for they too wish to speak to his lordship,’ she said. She then invited the hatchet-faced lady to sit down; and Wicken, not by so much as the flicker of an eyelid betraying his emotions, held the door for the rest of the party to enter the room.

  James, meanwhile, had gone up the stairs to the Marquis’s dressing-room, and had tapped on the door. It was a very soft, deprecating tap, the Marquis being notoriously ill-disposed towards persons seeking admittance to his room before noon; and he was obliged to tap again, a little more loudly. He was not invited to enter, but the door was opened to him by his lordship’s very superior valet, who appeared to regard his intrusion as a form of sacrilege, demanding to know, in an outraged undervoice, what he wanted.

  ‘It’s urgent, Mr Knapp!’ whispered James. ‘Mr Wicken said I was to tell his lordship!’

  These words acted, as he had felt sure they must, as a passport. Knapp allowed him to step into the room, but adjured him, still in an undervoice, not to stir from the door, or to make the least sound, until he was bid. He then trod silently back to the dressing-table, at which my lord was seated, engaged in the important task of arranging his neckcloth.

  Only his sisters had ever stigmatised Alverstoke as a dandy. He adopted none of the extremes of fashion which made the younger members of this set ridiculous, and which would certainly have disgusted Mr Brummell, had that remarkable man still been the arbiter of taste in London. Mr Brummell, obliged by sordid circumstances to retire to the Continent, was living in obscurity, but the smarts of his generation had not swerved from the tenets he had laid down. Alverstoke, three years his junior, had encountered him in his flamboyant salad days, and had been swift to discard every one of his colourful waistcoats, his flashing tie-pins, and his multitude of fobs and seals. A man whose raiment attracted attention, had said Mr Brummell, was not a well-dressed man. Clean linen, perfectly cut coats, and the nice arrangement of his neckcloths were the hall-marks of the man of ton, and to these simple rules Alverstoke had thenceforward adhered, achieving, by patience and practice, the reputation of being one of the most elegant men on the town. Disdaining to adopt the absurdities of starched shirt-points so high that they obscured his vision and made it impossible for him to turn his head, and such intricacies as the Mathematical or the Oriental ties, he evolved his own style of neckwear: discreet, yet so exquisite as to arouse envy in the breasts of the younger generation.

  James was well aware of this; and, since his secret ambition was to rise to the position of a gentleman’s gentleman, Knapp’s admonition was unnecessary. For no consideration would he have disturbed the Marquis at such a moment; and he saw nothing at all to provoke laughter in the Marquis’s attitude: he was only sorry that he had not arrived in time to see the dexterous turn his lordship gave the foot-wide muslin cloth before it was placed round his collar. This had obviously been successful, for Knapp had laid aside the six or seven neckcloths he had been holding in readiness to hand the Marquis if his first attempts should be failures; and that gentleman was now gazing at the ceiling. Fascinated, James watched the gradual lowering of his chin, and the deft pressing into permanent shape of the creases thus created in the snowy muslin. In an expansive moment, Knapp had once told him that all his lordship did, to achieve those beautiful folds, was to drop his jaw some four or five times. It had sounded easy, and it looked easy; but his budding sartorial instinct told James that it was not easy at all. He held his breath while the operation was in progress, only letting it go when the Marquis, having critically inspected the result of his skill, laid down his hand-mirror, and said: ‘Yes, that will do.’

  He rose, as he spoke, and, as he slid his arms into the waistcoat Knapp was holding, looked across the room at James. ‘Well?’ he asked.

  ‘Begging your lordship’s pardon, it’s Miss Merriville – wishful to see your lordship, immediate!’ disclosed James. ‘On a matter of urgency!’ he added.

  The Marquis looked faintly surprised, but all he said was: ‘Indeed? Inform Miss Merriville that I will be with her directly. My coat, Knapp!’

  ‘Yes, my lord. In the book-room, my lord, I believe.’

  Having in this masterly manner disclaimed all responsibility for his superior’s deviation from the normal, James withdrew circumspectly. Knapp remarked, as he shook out a handkerchief, and presented it to Alverstoke, that he wondered why Wicken should not have shown Miss Merriville into the saloon; but Alverstoke, picking up his quizzing-glass, and passing its long ribbon over his head, merely said Wicken probably had his reasons.

  Several minutes later, looking precise to a pin in a dark blue coat which appeared to have been moulded to his form, very pale pantaloons, and very highly polished Hessian boots, he came down the stairs to find Wicken awaiting him. ‘Why my book-room, Wicken?’ he enquired. ‘Don’t you think my cousin worthy of being taken up to the saloon?’

  ‘Certainly, my lord,’ responded Wicken. ‘But Miss Merriville is not alone.’

  ‘So I should suppose.’

  ‘I was not referring to the female accompanying her, my lord. There are three other persons, whom I thought it more proper to usher into the book-room than the saloon.’

  Having been acquainted with his butler from his earliest youth, Alverstoke did not fall into the error of supposing that the unknown persons came of the professorial class. Others, less familiar with Wicken, might think his countenance sphinx-like, but it was plain to Alverstoke that he profoundly disapproved of Miss Merriville’s escort. ‘Well, who are they?’ Alverstoke asked.

  ‘As to that, my lord, I’m sure I shouldn’t care to say, though two of them appear, from their raiment, to be employed in some official, but menial, capacity.’

  ‘Dear me!’ said Alverstoke.

  ‘Yes, my lord. There is also a Dog – a very large dog. I was unable to recognise the breed.’

  ‘Is there, by God! I wonder what the deuce –’ he broke off. ‘Something tells me, Wicken, that danger awaits me in the book-room!’

  ‘Oh, no, my lord!’ said Wicken reassuringly. ‘It is not, I fancy, a fierce animal.’

  He opened the door into the book-room as he spoke, and held it for Alverstoke. He then suffered a slight shock, for, as Alverstoke paused on the threshold, surveying the assembled company, Lufra, who was lying at Frederica’s feet, recognised in him the agreeable visitor whose magical fingers had found the precise spot on his spine which he was unable to attend to himself, and scrambled up, uttering a high-pitched bark, and launched himself forward. It was only for a moment that Wicken thought he meant to attack the Marquis; but the hatchet-faced lady, blind to the flattened ears and furiously waving tail, screamed, and called on all to witness that she had said it from the start: the creature was savage, and ought to be shot.

  The Marquis, restraining Lufra’s ardour, said: ‘Thank you! I’m much obliged to you, but that’s enough! Down, Luff! Down!’

  The park-keepers exchanged significant glances: no doubt about it: the dog belonged to the Marquis right enough. Frederica, feeling that Lufra had done much to atone for his bad behaviour, rose, and went towards Alverstoke, saying: ‘Oh, cousin, you can’t think how glad I am to find you at home! This vexatious dog of yours has embroiled me in such a scrape! I declare, I’ll never offer to take him out for you again!’

  To her profound relief, he took this without a blink, merely saying, as he bent to pat Lufra: ‘You shock me, Frederica! What has he been doing?’

  Three persons told him, in chorus. He interrupted them, saying: ‘One at a time – if I am expected to understand the matter!’

  Frederica, and the cowman, were silenced; but the hatchet-faced lady was made of sterner stuff. She said that
people might talk about Barcelona collies if they chose, but that she for one didn’t believe a word of it, and that it was coming to something when one couldn’t go for an airing in the park without being attacked by savage dogs.

  The Marquis had recourse to his deadliest weapon: he raised his quizzing-glass to his eye. Strong men had been known to blench when that glass had been levelled at them. The hatchet-faced lady did not blench, but speech was withered on her tongue. The Marquis said: ‘You must forgive me, ma’am: I have a lamentably bad memory, but I believe I haven’t the pleasure of your acquaintance? Cousin, pray introduce me!’

  Frederica, who was rapidly revising her first, unfavourable opinion of him, replied promptly: ‘I can’t, because I haven’t the least notion who she may be, or why she would come here. Unless it was to assure herself that you are indeed my cousin, which she seemed to doubt!’

  ‘It doesn’t appear to be an entirely adequate reason,’ he said. ‘However, if, for some reason hidden from me, ma’am, you wish for reassurance on this point, you have it! Miss Merriville and I are cousins.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s of no interest to me, my lord!’ she returned, reddening. ‘What’s more, if I hadn’t thought it my duty to do so, I shouldn’t have come! Or if I hadn’t seen as plain as plain that the moment Miss Merriville talked about her cousin the Marquis those – those two toadeaters were ready to let that vicious animal attack everyone in the park!’

  Faint, protesting sounds came from the park-keepers, but the Marquis ignored them. ‘I had no idea he was so dangerous,’ he remarked. ‘I trust you sustained no injury, ma’am?’

  ‘I didn’t say he attacked me! But –’

  ‘He didn’t attack anyone!’ struck in Frederica.

  ‘Oh, indeed? And I daresay he didn’t knock down a poor little boy, and frighten all those sweet innocents out of their wits? Oh, no!’

  Frederica laughed. ‘No, he didn’t knock the little boy down. To be sure, the children were scared of him at first, but as soon as they understood that he only wanted to play with them they very soon recovered their wits. In fact, they begged me to bring him to the park again tomorrow!’

  ‘It was my cows he attacked!’ interposed the cowman. ‘And you saying as how he was herding them, miss, being as he was bred to do so, in Spain! Which he never was! I never been to Spain meself, nor I ain’t wishful to do so, me not holding with furriners, but what I say, and stand to, is that cows is cows, all the world over, and not even a benighted heathen wouldn’t train a dog to scatter a herd like that nasty brute done! Mr Munslow there, begging your lordship’s pardon, ups and says he was a mongrel; but all I says is that he ain’t no collie, Barcelona nor otherwise!’

  The younger park-keeper was understood to say, twisting his hat between his hands and casting an imploring look at the Marquis, that no offence had been meant, but that Miss had said that the dog was a Barcelona collie, which he couldn’t believe, not if he lived to be a hundred, no matter (drawing a resolute breath) who told him different.

  ‘So I should hope,’ said the Marquis. ‘He is nothing of the sort, of course.’ He turned his head towards Frederica, and said in a voice of weary boredom: ‘Really, cousin, you are too shatterbrained! He is a hound, not a collie; and what I told you was not Barcelona, but Baluchistan! Baluchistan, Frederica!’

  ‘Oh, dear! So you did! How – how stupid of me!’ she replied unsteadily.

  Neither of the park-keepers seemed to find his lordship’s explanation unacceptable. The elder said wisely that that would account for it; and the younger reminded the company that he had known all along that the dog wasn’t Spanish. But the cowman was plainly dissatisfied; and the hatchet-faced lady said sharply: ‘I don’t believe there is such a place!’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ replied his lordship, walking towards the window, and giving one of the two globes which stood there a twist. ‘Come and see for yourself!’

  Everyone obeyed this invitation; and Frederica said reproachfully: ‘If you had only told me it was in Asia, cousin!’

  ‘Oh, Asia!’ said the elder park-keeper, glad to be enlightened. ‘A kind of Indian dog, I daresay.’

  ‘Well, not precisely,’ said Frederica. ‘At least, I don’t think so. It’s this bit, you see. It’s a very wild place, and the dog had to be smuggled out, because the natives are hostile. And that’s why I said he was very rare. Indeed, he is the only Baluchistan dog in this country, isn’t he, cousin?’

  ‘I devoutly hope he may be,’ returned his lordship dryly.

  ‘Well, all I have to say is that it makes it so much the worse!’ declared the hatchet-faced lady. ‘The idea of bringing wild foreign animals into the park! Smuggled, too! I don’t scruple to tell you, my lord, that I very much disapprove of such practices, and I have a very good mind to report it to the Customs!’

  ‘I’m afraid there are none,’ he said apologetically, coming back in his leisurely way to the fireplace, and stretching out his hand to the bell-pull. ‘No postal service, either. You could send a messenger, I suppose, but it would be excessively costly, and the chances are that he would be murdered out of hand. It is really very difficult to know what to advise in such a case.’

  ‘I am speaking of the English Customs, my lord!’ she said, glaring at him.

  ‘Oh, that wouldn’t be of the least use! I didn’t smuggle the dog into the country; I merely caused him to be smuggled out of Baluchistan.’

  She said, in a voice that shook with passion: ‘However that may be, you have no right to let savage dogs loose in the park, and I shall report it to the proper authorities, and so I warn you, my lord!’

  ‘My dear ma’am, what possible concern is it of mine if you choose to make a pea-goose of yourself? I may add that I am at a loss to understand what concern this unfortunate affair is of yours. You have informed me that my dog did not attack you – which I believe; you have also informed me that you came to my house because it was plain to you that, upon learning my rank, these men – whom you stigmatised as toadeaters – were ready to permit the dog to attack everyone in the park – which I do not believe! It appears to me that you have been indulging in a high piece of meddling. If I should be asked to give an account of this interview, I should feel myself bound to state that these men came, very properly, to inform me of my dog’s misdemeanour, and to request that he should be kept under restraint; but as they were accompanied, for what reason I know not, by an officious person, wanting in both manner and sense, who took it upon herself to usurp their authority, it was all too long before they were able to lay their complaint before me.’ He glanced towards the open door, where Wicken stood, his countenance graven, and his brain seething with conjecture. ‘Be so good as to show this lady out!’ he said. ‘And desire Mr Trevor to come to me!’

  This masterly speech, listened to by Frederica with awe, and by the park-keepers with approval, cast the hatchet-faced lady into gobbling incoherence. Never, during the course of her overbearing career, had she been so much insulted, as she tried to inform his lordship. But his lordship, losing interest in her, merely helped himself to a pinch of snuff; and Wicken, interrupting her stammered utterance, said, in a voice devoid of all human passion: ‘If you please, madam!’

  The hatchet-faced lady swept out of the room, spots of scarlet burning on her cheek-bones. No one, least of all Wicken himself, was surprised at her capitulation, the younger park-keeper going so far as to confide, later, to his senior, that he reckoned anyone would need to have uncommon good bottom to square up to that old Puff-guts.

  The cowman, however, while approving in general of the expulsion, was by no means mollified. He began to explain to the Marquis the enormity of Lufra’s crime, the dire results that could ensue from stampeding cows in milk, and the fate that would befall him at their owner’s hands if they were found to have suffered the least injury.

  ‘Well, that isn’t likely!’ said Frederica. ‘Anyone might suppose from the way you talk that they were chased all over the town, which they were
not! Though, if you choose to keep cows in a public park, I must say –’

  ‘No, cousin, you must not!’ intervened the Marquis, taking his revenge. ‘My instructions to you were to take Lufra to Hyde Park, and I hold you entirely to blame for this lamentable affair.’

  Frederica, seeking refuge behind her handkerchief, said in trembling accents that she feared he was right.

  ‘Have no fear!’ said the Marquis, addressing himself to the cowman. ‘The matter shall be suitably adjusted! Ah, come in, Charles!’

  Mr Trevor, considerably astonished by the scene that met his eyes, said: ‘You sent for me, sir?’

  ‘I did, yes. This Baluchistan hound of mine, which my cousin offered to exercise for me, has been getting me into trouble. I regret to say that he – er – forgot himself amongst the cows in Green Park.’

  Mr Trevor might have been momentarily staggered, but he was by no means slow-witted, and it did not need the warning glance directed at him from under his employer’s lazy eyelids to put him on his guard. He said calmly that he was sorry to hear it; and when he looked at the Baluchistan hound, who was sniffing interestedly at his legs, only the faintest twitch at the corners of his mouth disturbed the gravity of his expression.

  ‘Just so!’ said his lordship. ‘I knew you would be shocked, and I’m persuaded I can leave the matter in your hands.’ He smiled, and added softly: ‘You are always to be depended on, Charles!’ He then turned to the complainants, and said: ‘Mr Trevor will settle everything to your satisfaction, I trust, so go with him to his office! Ah! – two of the Deputy Ranger’s people, Charles, and the herdsman!’

  He nodded dismissal to his visitors. They departed willingly, having correctly interpreted his words to mean that suitable largesse would presently be distributed amongst them, and feeling that Mr Trevor would be an easier man to deal with than the Marquis.

  Charles signed to them to precede him out of the room, and when they had filed past him, lingered for a moment, looking at Frederica. ‘How much damage did he do, Miss Merriville?’