Althea (2 page)

Maria puzzled. “But that does not explain how you came to
look as though you had been savaged by highwaymen, Althea.”

“I was as respectable as you please not three hours ago. But
half an hour out of London, my coach was thrown off the road by a curricle and
pair driving furiously in the other direction. It neatly hedged us into a ditch
and then vanished into the distance. I was most distressed, and as for the post
boy — I could only be silent and hope that he would not recollect that I, too,
am a member of the same gentry he was vilifying. It was all of half an hour
before a dear,
kind
farmer and his three dear, kind sons came by and
pushed us out of the ditch and we could be on our way. We had to stop at the
first posting house and have some trifling thing fixed, but I simply hid away,
buried in the coach, for fear that the boy would think better of it and set me
down there. As it happens, dear, I paid him off, and the farmer too, and thus I
arrived here without a farthing to my name and wearing the rags you see. How is
that for a famous adventure?”

“Althea, you spent all that time with an irate post boy and
no maid!”

“Well, you must see that a maid would have been a dreadful
encumbrance on this sort of journey, Sister. I could not invite Banders along,
certainly, for, even discarding the possibility that she would be able to climb
down a ladder in the dark and take a midnight stroll of four miles, I think
that her first act upon invitation to such an outing would be to dutifully
inform Papa. I did leave Papa a note, thanking him kindly for his care and
support through the years — and suggesting that he might forward any
communications to me through you. Do you mind?”

“Althea, it is beyond me that you could leave Papa such a
note, which is not to say that he didn’t deserve it, for anyone can see that
you had to break loose from your confinement at Hook Well after all this time.
But to accomplish the whole thing by yourself in such a businesslike fashion!
There is something quite unladylike about it. Did you really pawn Aunt
Amarantha’s studs?”

“Yes. Mr. Preake told me that he was not giving me a
fraction of their real worth, for that would be pawning them rather than ‘using
them as security,’ which is so very much more genteel. But I think, all the
same, that I pawned them. I suppose that I must pay back the loan and get the
studs back. But it is a shame, for they are in the worst of bad taste. In any
case, I must wait until I have next quarter’s allowance.”

“Ally, Papa could not stop your allowance, could he?”

“I asked Mr. Preake just that question, but he says that it
is impossible, for the money was Mama’s fortune and is tied up so that Papa has
no say in the matter at all. Else I daresay he would have put it in Merrit’s
hands by now.”

“That is unjust!” cried Lady Bevan in tones of shock.

“No such thing. I don’t say Papa is dishonest, just
overzealous. You know that if Papa heard there was a chance of acquiring the
English Channel for Merrit, he would do so. Therefore, Mary, here am I,
disowned and quite willing to remain for the time being, at least. Will you
have me?”

“Of course. And I suppose Francis will be delighted — not
that I see him enough to know what
is
his delight these days. I think he
will be glad to have someone who will amuse me,” Maria said plaintively.

Althea did not reply to this speech but noted it carefully.
She thought to herself: Plenty of time to smooth things out here. It is good I
have come. Then she yawned. Maria, seeing that yawn, was instantly repentant.
“You look fagged to death, and I keep you here talking.”

“I admit that if I do not find a place to rest very quickly,
I am like to fall into strong hysterics, or the vapors. I think the vapors, for
they require far less exertion. And if I swoon away, perhaps you will be so
good as to have me placed on a bed.” Althea rose stiffly from the sofa and took
a turn around the room, inspecting the portrait of their father that hung in an
alcove: his wedding gift to his daughter. Lady Bevan lost herself for a moment
in studying her sister — the tall elegant figure in that ill-fitting gown; the
strong, handsome face; the dark, thick hair coiled heavily atop her head; the
graceful movements of her hands against the dark alpaca.

Her ladyship made plans.

“You shall rest immediately, but tomorrow we begin to make a
woman of fashion of you, and I plan to enjoy myself very much!” She rang for
Bailey. “Please take Miss Ervine to her room and see that one of the maids is
sent to do for her until her own arrives — do you believe that Banders will
come to London in the light of day, if she has no ladders to climb? Else we
must engage you a new maid. I shall take you to my dressmaker and have Monsieur
Philippe do your hair. Which is exceedingly kind of me, you know, for everyone
knows that he is an absolute genius. No, go away and let me plan. This becomes
so exciting!”

In the midst of visions of muslins, crepes, and lace, Maria
patted her sister’s shoulder absentmindedly. Bailey stopped at the doorway
behind the departing Althea.

“If you please, m’lady, Mr. John Wallingham left his card
and said that he would be back at two.” Bailey hovered expectantly for the
inevitable flurry of orders.

“At two! Lord, girl, settle my sister as quick as ever you
can and come back direct. I’ve barely an hour to dress. At two!” As Althea left
the room, it echoed with these sounds of dismay. Bailey followed after, and
Lady Bevan rose to begin her daily activities.

A perch phaeton came to an abrupt halt before the door of a
large brick residence in Cavendish Street. A gentleman, swathed in a greatcoat
with innumerable capes, fumbled briefly for his hat and alit from the phaeton,
giving the reins to his tiger. The gentleman smoothed out the suggestion of a
wrinkle at his shoulder, tucked his hat under his arm, and turned, before
dismissing the phaeton, to address a question to the tiger.

“What was our exact time, Eustace — that is, what time did I
tell Lord Quinlan?”

“I make it six hours and thirty-two minutes is what you told
’is lordship; but I still think as how it was six and seven and twenty.”

“I admire your tenaciousness, Eustace, but I shall continue
to believe my own watch in preference to yours, and in any case it is of no
issue. I won our wager by a very safe margin. Thank you.” The gentleman smiled
and waved a casual hand in dismissal; the phaeton started off at a sedate pace
toward the stables. The gentleman then proceeded to enter his house, where he
was greeted by a solicitous butler.

“Good evening, sir,” the man said respectfully. “May I
inquire on behalf of the servants’ hall, sir, how your wager was concluded?
There has been some consternation, I believe.”

“The servants’ hall can be at rest, Gergeley. I won the
wager within very good bounds “ He handed Gergeley his hat and coat and moved
toward the stairs, but the
humpf
and stirring motion made by the butler
stopped him, and he turned again with raised eyebrows.

“Excuse me, sir, but Lady Boskingram is here and is, I
collect, awaiting you in the Green Saloon.” The gentleman frowned briefly, then,
as he continued toward the stairs, spoke over his shoulder. “Make my apologies
to my lady and tell her that I shall join her when I have had the chance to rid
myself of some portion of my dirt. Ask her if she will bear me company through
dinner.”

“I believe, sir, that she has formed the intention of
staying for longer than dinner, sir. Her boxes have been removed to the yellow
bedroom.” A look of intense irritation crossed the gentleman’s face, and then
another thought seemed to strike him, for he raised one eyebrow in an
exceedingly satirical manner, murmuring, “Indeed, Gergeley? How very
unconventional of the lady. Be sure to tell her that I shall give myself the
honor
of joining her
very
shortly.”

From the tone and the irritation in his master’s eye, Gergeley
judged that it was time to remove himself; he bowed and left the hall. His
master, after a tentative start in the direction of the Green Saloon, decided
that his first impulse had been better and that it would improve his temper to
face Lady Boskingram after changing from riding clothes.

Some fifteen minutes later, the gentleman descended into the
hallway again. The driving coat and top boots were gone, and in their place was a
coat of blue superfine, beautifully fitted to his form, faultless ivory pantaloons,
a waistcoat of a very delicate shade of yellow, and a cravat tied in the
intricate fashion of the Orientale. Although extremely tall, the gentleman was
blessed by nature with a figure and a leg to compliment even the trying current
fashion; and although his hair was, undoubtedly, a violent shade of red, it was
cut and brushed stylishly
au coup de vent
.

Altogether the gentleman presented a fashionable figure, but
one dressed with such exquisite propriety as to refresh the eyes of any who
might scorn the affections of the dandy set. He paused before the door of the
saloon with a gesture suggestive of one facing an inquisition, and then
proceeded inward. On the sofa was a very small, brightly dressed lady of some
five and sixty years. She turned and smiled at the gentleman who, from the look
on his face, made it clear that he had not expected
this
Lady Boskingram
to be the occupant of the room.

“Aunt Peg!” He advanced toward her with both hands
outstretched. “That wretch Gergeley gave me to understand that it was Amalia
who was here.”

“Well, Tracy, I am still
a
Countess of Boskingram, if
no longer the sole possessor of that title, and you cannot think that people
will always remember to qualify me with respect to dear Amalia,” she said with
some asperity. “Stand off, dear boy, and let me look at you. I am shocked to
behold a man who has just made an eight hour journey in less than seven hours.
And still you look like
the glass of fashion and the mold of form
! But
you must tell me all about it.”

“There is not much to tell, ma’am. Quinlan bet me that I
could not drive my phaeton to his seat and back in under seven hours. Said that
it took him at least that — and he was no mean whip at that. So I proved that I
could. Went to White’s on my return, collected my thousand from him, drank a
toast at his expense, and here I am none the worse for the day’s work.”

“None the worse? No mishaps, Tracy?”

“What, I, love? I confess that I did have a slight turnup
this morning on my way out of town, trying to pass an abominably slow chaise
coming into London on a very narrow piece of road. Other than that, I had a
most uneventful ride. After the first hour I became quite
ennuyé
.”

“No doubt,” the dowager agreed dryly. “I imagine that
driving for six hours at breakneck pace over uncertain roads must become
dreadfully commonplace. What was this slight turn-up? I collect we shall find
the victims outside your door in the morning, screaming for your blood — or at
least restitution. You dreadful scapegrace, I am appalled at you.”

She did not sound appalled, and Sir Tracy did not seem to
feel that she was, for he answered quite cheerfully, “I doubt it not, ma’am. I
finally passed the chaise, but I fear I may have forced it over to the side a
trifle farther than the driver found convenient.”

“I vow, Tracy, I daily expect to see a Runner appear
inquiring as to the whereabouts of one Sir Tracy Calendar, wanted for I know
not what. But certainly something odious. You obviously forced that poor coach
off the road.” Lady Boskingram leaned back and regarded her nephew with a look
that Sir Tracy returned quite shamelessly.

“Sorry for the chaise, ma’am?”

“Sorry for the occupants, you odious boy, and for the
driver. I cannot but imagine how unsettling it must be early in the day to have
a phaeton come charging up over the horizon and neatly nudge one into a ditch.
You really should strive to develop a sense of shame, my dear one.” Sir Tracy
seemed to consider this suggestion for a moment, but it was obvious to his aunt
that he was unable to summon up any truly repentant fervor. “You are
abominable, Tracy. But tell me, why did you enter the room looking so ferocious
just now?”

“Was I so, ma’am? I fancy it was merely exhaustion.” He
stifled an enormous mock yawn. “I thought I had myself well in hand, but I
collect it is not so. My apologies. Do you mean to stay long in town?” Sir
Tracy spoke lightly, rising from the sofa to take a turn about the room, thus
rendering his face unreadable for a minute or so.

“You shall not distract me, Tracy. Even had I been Amalia,
as you so obviously expected I must be, I see that as no reason for entering a
room looking as though you were bent upon murder. Come now, has Amalia been
quizzing you, or you her? Richard particularly asked me to question you while I
was in town, and while I put no great faith in my son’s judgments as a rule, I
felt it was only wise to see whether there was some bad feeling between you
two.”

“I hesitate to speak ill of anyone, ma’am, least of all my
cousin’s wife —”

“Fustian! I have heard you speak quite savagely of many
people, the least of whom was Amalia. What has she been bothering you with?”
Lady Boskingram rearranged her skirts, tucked a cushion more comfortably behind
her, and assumed such an expression of rapt and sympathetic interest that her
nephew could not refrain from smiling. He dropped into a chair on the other
side of the fireplace and nodded his head in surrender.

“All right, Aunt Peg. I should know by now that you uncover
all the family secrets sooner or later, and I’d as lief you know as anyone in
the family. Liefer, in fact. Amalia’s been matchmaking again. Every time I see
her she reads me some fine lecture on my duty to the family and the eminent
superiority and suitability of some chit she’s uncovered, God alone knows where,
and then, damme if she doesn’t sit back and wait for me to woo the chit in form
and fulfill all expectations. She has said to me, ma’am, in a manner I could
call bold-faced in anyone but Amalia, that since she and Boskingram have found
what she terms
the blessed estate of matrimony
to be so satisfactory,
she is determined to see me settled in the same condition of bliss. Good God,
if I ever allow myself to become leg-shackled, it will never be to one of those
mawkish females who prates of
the blessed estate of matrimony
as if it
were some decaying plot in the country!”