Friday's Child

by Georgette Heyer

  It was no wonder, Hero thought, that George should look worn and stormy by the end of the expedition. She was impelled to clasp his hand between both of hers when he left her at her door, and to say shyly:‘Don’t mind her, dear George! I dare she may have had the headache.’

  He flushed, muttered something inarticulate, and strode off down the street. Hero was left to reflect that perhaps her adored Sherry was not so much to be pitied as she had supposed.

  Nine

  DURING THE COURSE OF THE NEXT FEW WEEKS, A NUMBER of persons left cards in Half Moon Street, the ubiquitous Mr Stoke having obtained the Viscount’s leave to insert into the society column of the Morning Post a notice informing the Polite World that Lord and Lady Sheringham were residing at this address. The more elderly of the callers came because they felt it to be their duty to pay their respects to Sherry’s wife. It was hardly to be expected that matrons with hopeful young families ranging from University to nursery ages would concern themselves much over a bride of seventeen; and as there was no matron of consequence whose business it was to launch Hero into the most correct society, it was natural that such friendships as she made were with ladies of a younger and, for the most part, more dashing set.

  One of her earliest visitors was Mrs Hoby, a smart, lively young woman who announced herself to be a distant cousin of Hero’s, and almost overwhelmed her with protestations and attentions. She was the wife of an Irishman who, being heir to a respectable property, was at present living precariously on eight hundred a year and the expectancy. She confessed that she had not known of Hero’s existence until the announcement of her marriage had appeared in the press, but upon discovering that she had a cousin who was actually the daughter of dear Cousin Geoffrey she had lost no time in coming to visit her. One swift glance having informed her that her new-found relative was extremely young and inexperienced, she engaged herself to take her under her wing. That the protection of a flighty young woman, living upon the fringes of society, could not add to her consequence Hero was not in a position to know, and she had no hesitation in accepting an invitation to make one of an evening party at the Pantheon, once Mrs Hoby had laughed indulgently at the notion that she could not go without Sherry to escort her.

  ‘Oh, my dear Lady Sheringham, I assure you it is quite the established mode! I do not scruple to tell you – for I perceive how strange you are to this frippery life we all lead in London! – that to be seen for ever with one’s husband in one’s train will not do at all! No, positively, it would be to conduct yourself like a dowd, and that I can see at a glance you are far from being!’

  Since Sherry had told her very much the same thing, Hero was perfectly ready to accept this dictum, and to consider herself uncommonly fortunate when she learned that Sherry was willing to go with her to Almack’s Assembly Rooms.

  ‘I fancy I had best take you there myself,’ Sherry said, with the air of one having a nice regard to his obligations.‘Mind you, it ain’t in my line, but the patronesses are so deuced starchy I dare say it will be more comfortable for you if I go with you, at any rate the first time. Ten to one you won’t care for it: devilish slow, I warn you!’

  He raised no objection to her new friendship; he had not heard of Mrs Hoby before, but if she was one of Hero’s cousins he had no doubt of her being an acceptable acquaintance; in fact, he was glad to find that she was beginning to make friends of her own, since his own engagements prevented him from being with her as much as he had feared she might expect. These engagements seemed to take his lordship rather frequently to certain discreet establishments in Pall Mall and Pickering Place, generally in the company of Sir Montagu Revesby, whose chosen mission in life appeared to some older heads to be to introduce young men of fortune to such gaming-houses as could be expected to relieve them of their wealth in the least possible space of time. His address, his decided air of fashion, had gained him the entrée into all but the most exclusive circles; and there was little doubt that he exercised a considerable degree of charm over his young friends. Monty, with his worldly wisdom, his caressing manner towards his favourites, was, they said, a regular top-sawyer, a nonpareil, a knowing ’un. The older generation of dandies who sat in Olympian aloofness in the Bow window at White’s, refusing to acknowledge salutations from the street, might lift supercilious eyebrows at Sir Montagu, but their indolent disapproval was not likely to weigh with youthful bloods bent on kicking up what larks they could, and already beginning to think men like Worcester, and Alvanley, and ‘King’ Allen old stagers. The ladies, too,were not impervious to Sir Montagu’s charm, and there were few who were not secretly a little flattered if he appeared to pay them distinguishing attentions. For he was by no means one of those who dangled at the ladies’ apron-strings. Always civil, there was a light, faintly amused note in his soft voice, even when he was paying a handsome compliment, and this could not but be provocative to the fair sex, not one of whom could as yet plume herself on having added him to her list of conquests. He had certainly shown himself to be an admirer of the famous Miss Milborne’s beauty, but Miss Milborne was not quite sure that his manner towards her was entirely free from mockery. This circumstance naturally aroused the interest of one who was accustomed to receive whole-hearted homage, and whenever he presented himself before her, or appeared in a house where she was a fellow-guest, she found herself to be a great deal more conscious of his presence than she liked.

  His charm failed to captivate one lady at least. Hero could not like him. She knew it to be her duty to find Sherry’s friends all that was amiable, and she made every effort to overcome her repugnance. But it was too often Revesby, as on that first evening in Half Moon Street, who took Sherry from her side. Ferdy’s strictures, too, lingered in her memory, and were reinforced by a tactful hint from her kind patroness, Lady Sefton, that it would be well to wean Sherry from the company of his âme damnée. She did not think that she could bring herself to explain to Lady Sefton that she and Sherry had agreed not to interfere in each other’s lives, for some instinct warned her that her ladyship would not approve of this tolerance. Sir Montagu came once or twice to dine in Half Moon Street, and she was a kind and considerate hostess, concealing the scarcely recognised jealousy that rose in her heart when she saw the influence this assured, smiling man exercised over the volatile Viscount. But if Sir Montagu made one of the convivial little card-parties held in Sherry’s library, Hero withdrew after dinner, in a very correct way, and did not reappear. It was only when the guests were Mr Ringwood, Ferdy, and his brother Marmaduke, and Lord Wrotham, that conventionality went by the board and the hostess, as at Melton, curled herself up in a large chair and interestedly watched the play.

  She herself was beginning to go to quite a number of card-parties. From a sedate pool of quadrille or one of commerce, it was no great step to the headier excitements of loo, faro, and whist. Mrs Hoby was very fond of gaming, and Hero was perfectly ready to spend an evening in her smart little house off Park Lane, putting into rather inexpert practice all she had learned from Sherry. She lost more than she won, but the allowance which Sherry, under Mr Stoke’s advice, made her seemed so handsome that could be little point in considering a few losses at cards.

  Mr Ringwood had been as good as his word in teaching her how to drive her phaeton, and as she discovered an aptitude in herself for handling the ribbons it was not long before she was to be seen driving in dashing style through Hyde Park at the fashionable hour of the promenade. This was quite unexceptionable, and was applauded by the Viscount, since it brought his Hero to the notice of the Polite World, and made her appear to advantage. She sometimes took Isabella up with her, but the Beauty was a trifle nervous of being perched up behind a very high-stepping horse, and had no great confidence in her friend’s mastery over this animal. She perceived that the new Viscountess was bent on making a stir in the world, and could not help envying her her position, and her freedom from the shackles that hampered a single lady. Sometimes she felt a little jealous of Hero’s
undoubted popularity with Sherry’s friends, but she was generally able to comfort herself with the reflection that they treated her with a camaraderie which seemed to preclude the sort of devotion she herself inspired in male breasts. His Grace of Severn, who was slightly pompous, gave it as his opinion that Hero was inclined to be fast, and never accorded her more than a common bow in passing, a circumstance which Miss Milborne tried hard not to be glad of.

  The visit to Almack’s was, as far as Hero was concerned, one of unmixed contentment. She thought that everyone was very kind, scarcely noticed the cold propriety of Mrs Drummond Burrell’s manners, or the critical stare of Princess Esterhazy. She could not but be happy with her hand in Sherry’s arm, and if he found an evening spent where dancing and not cards was the order of the day somewhat flat, he was so well pleased with the reception accorded his bride that he even forbore to comment unfavourably to her on the nature of the refreshments. He magnanimously stayed throughout the proceedings, bore his part in several of the dances, presented Hero to all the most influential persons present, and generally behaved in an exemplary fashion. On their way home, however, he said that he would take her to something a little more amusing than one of these assemblies, and see how she liked it. She did not think that she could like anything as well, but she was ready to go anywhere with him, and set forth three or four days later to a masquerade at Covent Garden with every expectation of enjoyment.

  And indeed it was, as he had promised, a most entertaining evening, though of a very different character from the sedate assembly at Almack’s. They went masked, and found a vast rout of people of all sorts and conditions in the Opera House, making a good deal of noise, and apparently enjoying themselves hugely. Sherry had taken one of the lower boxes for the evening, and after he had danced once or twice with his wife, he led her to the box to partake of a varied supper there,washed down with iced champagne punch. While they sat over this, the Viscount, rather forgetful of his company, quizzed any woman who took his wandering fancy, levelled his eyeglass at any well-turned ankle, and laughed with his wife over several of the couples within their range of vision. Hero had no objection to any of this, even pointing out good ankles or particularly neat figures to Sherry, speculating on the identity of various persons, and interestedly learning from her incorrigible husband the signs by which she would in future be able to recognise what he gracefully termed ‘a bit of muslin’.

  One of these bits of muslin, who had been watching their box for some time, presently took occasion to stroll past it with such a provocative glance over her shoulder, such an alluring swing of her hips that no gentleman of the Viscount’s mettle could withstand the challenge. ‘I fancy I know that little lovebird!’ he exclaimed.‘I must discover if she is not Flyaway Nancy, for I’ll lay you a monkey she is, the saucy little piece!’

  With this, he abruptly left Hero’s side to pursue the alluring siren through the press of persons on the floor of the vast house. Hero thought this a very good joke, and sat watching his audacious advances to the suddenly coy damsel, her eyes dancing through the slits of her mask.

  All at once she found that she was no longer alone in the box, a masked stranger having entered by the simple expedient of climbing over the low partition that railed it off from the floor. She turned in surprise as an arch male voice said in her ear: ‘All by yourself, my dear?’

  ‘Yes. Who are you?’ asked Hero innocently.

  ‘Another lonely soul!’ responded the visitor, seating himself unasked in Sherry’s vacant chair and laying an arm along the back of hers.‘Take pity on me, pretty stranger!’

  Hero had at first imagined that the intruder must be someone with whom she was acquainted, but his voice was quite unknown to her, and she did not at all relish the familiarity of his manners. She said reasonably: ‘You cannot know whether I am pretty or not, sir, and I am perfectly certain that you have not been introduced to me. Please go away!’

  He laughed at this. ‘Why, what a prudish little puss! Shall I make myself known to you in form? And if I do, will you tell me what name I may call you by?’

  ‘No, I won’t,’ said Hero bluntly.‘And I don’t in the least desire to know yours! Go away!’

  ‘Naughty puss to show her claws!’ chided her tormentor. ‘Now, why can’t I please you, I wonder? I am sure I shall be pleased with you – when I see you!’

  ‘You will not see me, and if you don’t immediately leave my box I shall!’ said Hero, sitting very straight in her chair and flushing under her mask.

  He slid an arm round her shoulders.‘No, no, I am persuaded you won’t deny me a sight of your charms!’ he said, fumbling with his free hand at the strings of her mask.

  Hero gave an outraged little cry, and struggled to thrust him off. The Viscount, who was attempting much the same thing as the intrusive stranger, chanced at that moment to glance in the direction of his box. An oath escaped him; the astonished lady who had been trying very half-heartedly to repulse him found herself suddenly free, and watched in some dudgeon his hasty and impetuous descent on his box. He vaulted lightly over the partition, plucked the enterprising city buck from his chair, and floored him with what he himself would have called a facer.

  ‘Oh, thank you, Sherry!’ gasped Hero. ‘I can’t think who he is, but he is a most odious person, and he seems to fancy that I am a bit of muslin! I am so glad you came back!’

  This slight fracas had naturally attracted a good deal of attention from the near-by loungers.‘Damn!’ said Sherry, perceiving this. ‘I’m sorry, Kitten: it was all my fault! Get out of my box, you, if you don’t wish to be thrown out on your – on your ear!’

  The city buck, having picked himself up, and had time to measure the size and style of his assailant, muttered something that might have been an apology, and slid out by way of the door, leaving a front tooth on the floor of the box. Sherry sat down in his chair again, rubbing his knuckles.‘Broken my hand on his bone-box,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Don’t pay any heed to those gaping gudgeons, Kitten! I oughtn’t to have left you. Keep on forgetting I’m a married man! He didn’t hurt you, did he?’

  ‘Oh no!’ responded Hero. ‘I think he was a trifle foxed. He only wanted to see my face, but I didn’t at all see why he should. Is that a trifle? Please, I would like some. And perhaps a little more of this nice cold drink. Was it Flyaway Nancy?’

  ‘Kitten,’ said the Viscount warmly,‘you’re the best wife I ever thought to have, ’pon my soul you are! Here’s to you, brat!’

  ‘Well, I am sure you are quite the best husband, Sherry,’ said Hero, turning pink with pleasure.

  ‘I’m not,’ said his lordship, with unwonted humility. ‘And nine women out of ten would be swooning all over the box after what happened, and reproaching me all the way home! I’ll tell you what: I’m glad I married you. It wasn’t what I set out to do, but it answers famously. I thought it would.’

  ‘Oh, Sherry!’ sighed Hero, deeply moved.

  He refilled her glass. ‘I couldn’t have brought the Incomparable to a Covent Garden Masquerade, that’s certain,’ he observed. ‘Come to think of it, I suppose I ought not to have brought you either.’

  ‘What, just because that stupid creature tried to take my mask off ? What stuff, Sherry! I am enjoying myself excessively!’

  ‘You’re a good girl,’ he informed her. ‘Dashed if I don’t rent a box at the opera for you after all!’

  This generous concession cast Hero into gratified transports, but, as ill-fortune would have it, was the cause of a speedy fall from favour in her husband’s eyes. The box acquired through the kind offices of Lady Sefton, Hero lost no time in putting in an appearance at the Italian Opera. She bought a new dress for the occasion, and, the dowager having reluctantly disgorged the family jewels, wore the pearl set, which included a very pretty tiara. Having persuaded Sherry to make one of the opera party, she invited Mr Ringwood and Mrs Hoby to join them.

  Nothing could have been more auspicious than the start of the evening.
The Viscount was pleased to see his bride in such looks; and Hero was always happy to have him at her side. In addition to this felicity, she had all the comfort of being able to bow and wave to acquaintances in other parts of the house, for thanks to several parties, assemblies, and morning calls, she was now a fair way towards knowing a great many of the people who made up the world of fashion. This was certainly an advantage, and she could not help contrasting her appearance to-night with the one she had made on the first night of her marriage, when she had not been able to recognise one face in the whole of the audience. She was pleased to have Mr Ringwood seated beside her, for she felt him to be quite one of her best friends; and judging from his frequent bursts of laughter, and a certain bright look in his angelic blue eyes, her cousin was contriving to keep Sherry well amused.

  It was during the ballet that the unfortunate incident occurred. Absorbed in the first display of dancing she had seen, Hero sat leaning a little forward in the box, her eyes taking in every detail of what was going on behind the footlights. They did not fail to mark the pronounced attention being paid to her box by a neat little dancer with a roguish twinkle in her eyes, and a dimple that peeped beside her inviting mouth. Forgetting her surroundings, and Sherry’s stern reminders to her to guard her unwary tongue, she turned impulsively towards him, and said in the most innocent way across Mr Ringwood: ‘Oh, Sherry, is that your opera-dancer?’

  The instant the words had left her lips she could have bitten her tongue out, for Sherry not only flushed scarlet, but shot her such a kindling look as made her quake in her little satin sandals. A stifled giggle from Mrs Hoby, who put up her fan to hide her face, made matters worse.

  It was left to Mr Ringwood to come to the rescue. He saw his friend’s discomfiture, the bride’s dismayed expression, and he rose nobly to the occasion. ‘No,’ he said, with beautiful simplicity.‘Sherry don’t admire her dancing as much as the dark one’s, on the right.’