‘I’m enchanted to greet your ladyship. We all are.’ His smile was as charming as ever as he bowed. ‘My lord, your servant always. Sir, I am sure we have met?’
‘At Bath, in the winter.’
‘Of course it was. Captain Grant, I think?’
He was quite sure of it by now. He was far too good a Master of Ceremonies not to remember a face, and he was telling himself that he must make a reappraisal. Perhaps he should have done it yesterday, after his talk with Barford. At Bath this Captain Grant had been an obscure sea officer whom nobody would have heard of if he had not pushed himself into the gossip columns by fighting that duel with--and again the thought swept through him of Luttrell swaggering into the ballroom. Anything could happen now, and . . .
Mr. King forced it from his mind, knowing that he could not think of it now. He must think of Captain Grant, who was in front of him. He was with Lord Barford, and Lady St. Hollith. There was a tale that he knew Hildersham. So he could
not
be an obscure sea officer. He must be well connected--his mother, perhaps, from a noble family--linked perhaps with the Barfords--something like that, and he must be treated accordingly. Mr. King drew the inferences quickly, and did not let them impede his flow of talk.
‘I hope, sir, you’ll like our ballroom here? Not quite as spacious as Bath, but our new one, next month, will be second, I hope, to none. But you did not, I think, dance very much at Bath?’
‘I didn’t know these shore dances. But never fear, sir. I’ve been taking lessons.’
‘A worthy spirit, if I may say so. And your lordship?’
‘At my age,’ said Barford cheerfully, ‘I must be represented by my niece.’
‘And who could do it more charmingly?’
‘You’ll make me vain,’ said Mary.
She was laughing happily, in spite of that, as he stood aside to bow them to the door. Then he turned yet again, bowing with a proper deference as the Marquis of Malloch came in with his wife and two of his daughters. They were escorted across the anteroom, and as they passed through the inner doors Mr. King had a glimpse of Captain Curry in talk with the noted Mrs. Masters. Mr. King stood frowning thoughtfully. He was not quite sure of Mrs. Masters. She had Hildersham’s protection, of course, which might offset some other facts about her; or it might not. It was hard to foretell; and between that and Sir Thomas Luttrell there were some chances that Mr. King did not like. It was high time, he thought, to be in the ballroom himself, and after another glance round he slipped unobtrusively through the doors.
The gleaming floor was filled with dancers, doing an old-fashioned gavotte, and he sauntered round with no appearance of care or hurry. Captain Grant, he noted, was on the floor with Lady St. Hollith. Luttrell was by the wall, in talk with Sir Michael Murphy. Captain Curry had taken the floor with Mrs. Masters, so for the moment all was well. Mr. King breathed more easily, and looked for the others. Lord Barford was sitting with the Mallochs, and Hildersham was standing by himself, a little apart and aloof. Mr. King’s professional manner returned at once.
‘Alone, my lord? The hearts that are grieving!’
‘For me? And this?’ Hildersham was laughing as he indicated the gavotte. ‘My grandfather used to do it, and I expect
his
grandfather did. But don’t ask me to. How about that waltz.’
‘It’s ready, my lord, if--er . . .’ Mr. King stopped, perhaps to gather courage, and then he plunged at it as the gavotte came to its dignified end. ‘It--er--
is
a dance in which a gentleman must place himself exceedingly close to a lady.’
‘That’s why I like it. But what were you saying?’
‘I was--er--hoping, my lord, that you would yourself lead this dance--perhaps with some other gentlemen. My lord, it would go far to win the company’s approval.’
‘Would it?’ The chuckle sounded deeper than ever.
‘Then I must see what I can do. Who else is there? Grant, can you waltz?’
‘Can I what?’ He had just joined them, Mary at his side, and he found himself smiling at Hildersham. ‘I can attempt it. But are you thinking of it here?’
‘Yes, and we’re being asked to lead it. So you’re a pressed man. Murphy’s another. But how of the ladies? Mary?’
‘I haven’t even seen it.’
‘Take lessons, please--tomorrow. Now who else? There’s old Malloch yonder, and his two girls have been learning it. They’ll have to do it. So we need another lady. Ha!’
He sounded as if he had solved the problem as he turned to where Curry was still in talk with Marion across the room. He waved to them to come, and Curry would have done it nonchalantly. But Marion knew better. His gesture had attracted attention and she stood still and erect, poised to be seen, while she smiled at him. Then she sank into a curtsey, slow and confident, and a little gasp ran round the room as they saw her diminutive elegance so perfectly displayed. Then she gave Curry her arm.
‘Doing her tricks,’ said Mary in a whisper. ‘She learned that one at Barford’s. Did it when we left the dining-room.’
‘I expect she did, but don’t say it now,’ said Hildersham in a fiercer whisper. ‘This is a spa, and you can find anybody here.’
‘We seem to have done.’
‘Silly!’ He was half laughing now at her. ‘We don’t ask questions here, and the point is, she can waltz. Now then--Curry, can you waltz?’
‘Can I
what?’
Curry shook with horror and made a twirling movement of his fingers. ‘That thing? Dear fellow--after dinner! Giddy now.’
‘All right. But Marion can, so you’ll have to lend her. Grant can have her. Where’s Murphy?’ He waved imperiously across the room again. ‘Good. Now I’ll just warn the Malloch brood, and then we’re ready.’
He went striding away to where the Marquis of Malloch still had his daughters sitting with him, and the others looked at each other in something near stupefaction.
‘Jack’s getting out of hand,’ said Mary calmly. ‘He’s going to his own house tomorrow, thank God! Oh, good evening--er--Marion.’
‘Good evening--milady.’ She was decidedly more diffident now. ‘I don’t quite understand.’
‘There’s a lot that
I
don’t understand, but it looks at the moment as if we’re all doing as we’re told--by his lordship.’
‘Yes, milady.’
There was an awkward silence, and at once Mr. King drew from his small talk to fill it. He addressed himself to Richard.
‘Very wise of you, sir, to have learned this dance. Move with the times, as they say. You’ll have seen it in London, no doubt. At the Argyle Rooms, perhaps?’
‘It was at Almack’s.’
‘Oh!’
Mr. King’s eyes widened. Entry at Almack’s! It would be family connections, of course. Almost certainly a link with the nobility. It was all coming clear to Mr. King, and . . .
‘Here we are!’ said Hildersham jovially. ‘And I think we’re ready. Malloch girls in a twitter, Murphy in another. How about this band of yours, Mr. King? Are they ready?’
‘Oh yes, yes. If I--er--might say a word to the company--by way of explanation?’
‘Say it sweetly, and let’s be at it.’
The leader of the orchestra tapped with his bow. The drum banged noisily, and then the opening chord of the quadrilles went echoing round the room. Mr. King hopped with fury, and gestured wildly at them. The oboe whispered frantically, and suddenly they faded into silence as he walked alone to the centre of the floor.
‘My lords, my ladies . . .’ He knew just how to do it, and at once he was bowing to the corners of the room, a flourish that gave everyone time to turn and attend. ‘I am happy to bring before you now the dance from Bohemia that in London is received in the most elegant and fashionable circles. It is danced at Almack’s, and in the houses of the nobility. Ladies and gentlemen, the waltz!’
There were gasps in the room, and a stir of surprise, faces that looked excited, and older ones that looked forbidding. A hum of whispered talk broke out, quenched as Mr. King held up his hand for silence.
‘Damned hayfield romp.’
The voice came clearly across the room, deep and contemptuous. Mr. King ignored it, Hildersham stared angrily, and Marion jerked round as if she had been stung. Mary, too, had turned quickly, as if she remembered that voice. But Mr. King was speaking again.
‘I am happy to announce that we shall be led into the waltz by three gentlemen well acquainted with its performance. The Earl of Hildersham, whose presence is an honour to us all. Sir Michael Murphy, known for his wit and geniality, and for the distinction of his services in the late war. He is as skilled in the pursuit of Terpsichore as of Mars. Lastly, Captain Richard Grant, an officer of the most polished accomplishments and distinguished connections--the fine fruit, if I may say it, of that fine old family. So the orchestra waits, the gentlemen are ready. The distinguished ladies who will join with them are ready. Ladies and gentlemen--your partners, please, for the waltz!’
There was no rush. Here and there, among the younger or more daring, a man came to his feet, but most of them had no choice but to sit. They did not know the waltz, though they had heard much talk of it and were now very willing to see it. So they sat watchful and attentive while Hildersham and Murphy presented themselves before the Malloch daughters and Richard looked doubtfully at Marion. Inwardly he was damning Hildersham for pushing him into this. He had no wish to attempt it before these people, and no wish to attempt anything at all with Marion, but there seemed no help for it.
He glanced quickly at Mary, and had an amused smile in return.
‘You’ll have to,’ she whispered. ‘Blame Jack. Good luck!’
He had another smile from Marion as he led her out, even though it was a little rueful.
‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered. ‘They won’t know when we’re wrong.’
‘I only half know it myself.’
‘But they don’t know it at all. We’ll be all right if we don’t fall down.’
‘Yes--if.’
But all was well. He had a sailor’s sense of balance, and Marion was as sharp and nimble in her feet as in the rest of her. Confidence began to grow, and soon he even felt able to speak as they swayed and turned.
‘It’s Hildersham’s doing,’ he grumbled
‘He loves it. He made Anice learn it.’
‘Oh--did he?’
‘Yes. And then---‘
She cut off short. They were turning a corner of the room and she had just caught sight of Luttrell, leaning negligently against the dado, hands in pockets. For an instant he stared coldly at her, and then his head went back against the wall as if she did not exist. She seemed to flutter in her movement.
‘Oh!’ she said. ‘It’s Tommy Luttrell.’
‘I know it is. What’s the trouble?’
‘He knows me. I mean, he knows who I am. He went to Brighton.’
‘Driving you? But does it matter?’
‘If he doesn’t tell anybody.’
‘He doesn’t look interested enough.’
‘He always looks like that.’
‘Then forget him.’ He looked down at her with sudden sympathy. ‘Marion, all these people are watching you, and in these days you mustn’t be seen looking worried and troubled--which is what you
are
doing. Didn’t Anice tell you?’
‘Oh, of course. I. . .’ She squared her shoulders, and then there was a little quiver of her lip before her smile broke out. ‘Is that better?’
‘Much.’
‘And they say it’s easy. I’d like some of them to try it.’
‘So would I. So now we’ll talk of something else. Where did you learn this dance?’
‘Anice made me learn--when I was with her. She said I’d need it. I can’t do it as she can, though. I can’t do anything as she can.’
‘She’s all by herself. Nobody can be like her. Does she know you’re here?’
‘Oh yes. She sent me, really. I mean, it was her idea. And I’ve written to her, telling her all about. . .’
She stopped as the orchestra slowed for the closing chords and Sir Michael, much the best dancer of the three, went into a reckless spin with his unfortunate partner. Then it had ended, and Mr. King was watching keenly as he wondered what the response had been. Three ladies had walked out. Nobody else had taken the floor. Waverers might soon be swayed by the thought of Hildersham--and Almack’s; or they might not. Or had they stayed out only because they did not know the steps? He would learn from the talk tomorrow; and in the meantime he was far too professional to show any lack of confidence.
‘Ladies and gentlemen . . .’ He lifted his hand for silence. ‘We are most grateful. A strange dance and new, but accepted in the highest circles. If--er--any lady or gentleman should wish to be instructed in this dance, may I say that at the Academy of Dance, in Cambray Street, it is taught by the most skilled instructors, in private rooms, and at the most moderate charges? It is--er--now the interval.’
He bowed himself from the floor. Captain Curry appeared from nowhere in search of Marion. Hildersham announced that he needed a drink, and he was inviting them all to join him when Luttrell came striding across the floor. He nodded curtly.
‘ ‘Evening, Grant. Hope you’re enjoying it?’
‘Modestly.’
‘What a word! Must say you’ve a queer taste in women.’
‘What do you mean?’ He felt Marion quiver as she clung to his arm. ‘Are you trying to be offensive?’
‘Not in the least. Don’t want you to be made a fool of--that’s all. D’ye know what she is?’ His arrogant stare swept coldly over her as he looked her up and down. ‘She was Anice’s maid. Did you know Anice was at Brighton with me?’
‘I did.’
‘Quite a good time we had. And
this
was her maid. Run after her--fetch her shoes, wash her neck, tip the slops---that sort of thing. Wasn’t Mrs. Anybody.’
‘I find you insufferable.’
‘I’m only warning you. ‘Evening, Curry.’ He turned his head for an instant as Curry pushed forward, looking unwontedly taut and angry. ‘She’s all right to sleep with, of course. They’ll most of ‘em do for that. But to dance with in public!’
It was Hildersham who saved it. He had slipped forward with surprising speed, a little before either of the others, and now he was close against Luttrell, looking him straight in the eye. He seemed quite at ease, and he spoke in his usual lazy tone.