Friday's Child (12 page)

“Worrying you excessively!” ejaculated Sherry. “Well, if that don’t beat all! Much you’ve done to take care of ’em! You’ve left it all to that platter-faced sharp, my uncle Horace, and if he hasn’t feathered his nest I know nothing of the matter!”

Prosper added a lavish amount of cream to his coffee. “Yes, I should think you’re right, Sherry,” he said. “I always did think so, and very worrying it was, I can tell you.”

“Well, why the devil didn’t you do something to stop it?” demanded Sherry, pardonably irritated.

“Because I’m too lazy,” replied his uncle, with the utmost frankness. “If you were my size, you’d know better than to ask me a damned stupid question like that. What’s more, I never could abide that fellow Paulett, and if I’m not to go off in an apoplexy there’s only one thing for it, and that’s to keep away from him. Saving your presence, nevvy, I don’t like any of your mother’s relatives, while as for Valeria herself—well, that’s neither here nor there! Why do you have to come pestering me at this hour just because you’ve got yourself tied-up, boy?”

“Because you’ve got to wind up the Trust,” replied Sherry. He produced a document from his pocket and laid it on the table. “There’s my marriage lines, or whatever you call ’em. I’ll write to my mother myself, but it’s you who must deal with the lawyers.”

Prosper sighed, but attempted no remonstrance. “Well, I don’t mind seeing old Ditchling,” he said. “What are you going to do, Sherry? Do you want your mother to retire to the Dower House? She won’t like that.”

“No,” said Sherry, who had already given this matter a little thought. “Country life don’t suit me, and I’d as soon she stayed at Sheringham Place to keep her eye on things as not. Mind you, I’d give something to kick Uncle Horace out, but I suppose it can’t be done. Not without my mother having the vapours, and I don’t want that. But I’m going to hold the purse strings, and although I don’t mind feeding him and housing him, I’m damned if I’ll pay for his little pleasures any longer!”

“Well, it’s not my affair,” said Prosper, “but if I were in your shoes I’d be rid of him.”

“You wouldn’t. You’re too lazy. Besides, I don’t want to put my mother into one of her takings, and that’s what would happen, if I kicked Uncle Horace out, as sure as check! Ten to one she’d come up to town to live, and that wouldn’t suit me at all.”

“No, my God!” agreed Prosper, impressed by this common sense point of view.

“As for the town house, I haven’t made up my mind about that,” continued Sherry. “I’m bound to say it ain’t much in my line, but I’m taking Hero to have a look at it today, and if she wants to live there she shall.”

“She will,” said Prosper cynically. “Trust any woman to jump at the chance of living in a draughty great mansion in the best part of town!”

He was wrong. When the Viscount took his bride to the shrouded house in Grosvenor Square, some of her vivacity left her. Whether it was the astonished disapproval of the retainer who led them from room to room, or whether it was the depressing effect of the Holland covers which draped most of the chairs and sofas, not even she knew; but a damper was certainly cast over her spirits. She clung tightly to Sherry’s arm, and stole wide, scared glances about her at all the sombre oil paintings in heavily gilded frames, at the huge mirrors, massive chandeliers, draped curtains, and formal furniture. She was conscious of feeling small and defenceless, and she was quite unable to picture herself as mistress of all this outmoded grandeur.

Sherry, naturally, was in no way oppressed by the house, but he knew from experience that an army of servants was needed to keep it up, and he had all a young man’s horror of finding himself saddled with so much responsibility. Moreover, he thought the furniture outrageously dowdy, and he had a vague premonition that if he obeyed his instinct, and made a clean sweep of everything in the house, he would raise a storm of protest that would be very unpleasant, however unavailing. By the time he and Hero had inspected the saloons, the bed-chambers, and were being inexorably led in the direction of the servants’ quarters, he had made up his mind. “You know, Kitten,” he said, “I don’t think you’ll like to live here.”

“No,” Hero replied thankfully. “But—but I will live here if you wish me to, Sherry.”

“Well, I don’t,” he said. “Never could stand the place myself, and Ferdy’s quite right about the furniture. What we need is a much smaller house, if you ask me. Later on, when you’re older—more up to snuff, you know—I dare say we may decide to live here, but we needn’t worry about that now. Damme, the place feels like a tomb! Come, let’s go!”

Hero accompanied him readily out into the square again, but asked, as he handed her up into the phaeton, whether they were to continue living at Fenton’s Hotel. Sherry, on whom the sobriety of this hostelry was already beginning to tell, said that not only would nothing prevail upon him to take up a permanent abode there, but that if he did not contrive to get clear soon he would not answer for the consequences.

“Well, I must say I am glad you don’t wish to stay,” said Hero, disposing her skirts elegantly, and unfurling her sunshade. “They stare at one so! It puts me quite out of countenance. How shall we set about finding an eligible house?”

“Lord, I don’t know!” replied Sherry. “We’ll tell Stoke to manage the whole for us. He’s the family’s man of business, you know. Come to think of it, I ought to inform him that he has me to deal with now, and not my uncles. Should you care to drive with me into the City? May as well be off to see the old fellow at once, and get the business settled.”

As Hero was perfectly ready to drive with him to the City, or, in fact, to any other locality he might take a fancy to visit, it was not long before Mr Philip Stoke was startled by the announcement, made to him by his clerk, that Lord and Lady Sheringham were in the outer office, and desired speech with him. Mr Stoke was quite taken aback, for although he was aware that the Viscount was a harum-scarum young man who would be more than likely to come impetuously in search of him, instead of summoning him to his lodging, he could not conceive of any circumstance unusual enough to have induced his lordship’s Mama to have accompanied him on his quest. He hurried out at once to beg his lordship to come into the private office, and was still more startled to find himself confronting a very youthful lady, whom his noble client carelessly announced to be his wife. Suppressing an involuntary gasp, he bowed deeply, and begged his lordship to come into the private office. Here he set a chair for Hero, at the same time assuring the Viscount that he would have been happy to have waited on him at his lodging had he but known that his services were required.

“No, there’s no time to be wasted,” replied Sherry. “Besides,” added Hero, “I have never been into the City before, and only fancy! I have now seen St Paul’s!”

Before the bewildered Mr Stoke could think of a reply to this artless confidence, the Viscount had divulged the object of his visit. “The thing is, I want you to procure a house for us to live in,” he said. “We’re putting up at Fenton’s, and I don’t like it above half.” Mr Stoke glanced from him to Hero. He was well accustomed to his lordship’s starts, but this one seemed uncommonly odd. He could not recall having seen any announcement of the Viscount’s nuptials in the
Gazette,
and he was perfectly sure that when he had had occasion to wait on the Honourable Prosper Verelst, not ten days previously, nothing whatever had been said of a wedding.

Sherry, reading the puzzlement in his face, said: “We were married yesterday. Matter of fact, we made a runaway match of it, but all quite above board, you know. And that means that that damned Trust comes to an end. You won’t have to deal with my uncles any longer.”

Mr Stoke met his eye. “May I say, my lord, that I shall be glad?”

“Mighty pretty of you,” grinned Sherry.

Mr Stoke regarded the tips of his fingers. “I believe I have repeatedly informed Mr Verelst that the sums of money drawn by Mr Paulett for the maintenance of Sheringham Place and Sheringham House have appeared to me to be in excess of what could be considered necessary. I fancy your lordship is aware of this.”

“Lord, yes, you told me of it an age since! I shall leave all that business—the estate, you know—in your hands, Stoke,” he promised.

Mr Stoke permitted himself to smile primly. “I fancy I may assure your lordship that Mr Paulett will not out-jockey me,” he said.

“No, I’ll wager he won’t! But never mind that now! The first thing is to find a house.”

“But has your lordship forgotten that there is already a house belonging to you in Grosvenor Square?”

“No, that’s just it: we don’t like it. Just been to take a look at the place, and of all the curst gloomy holes I ever was in—why, it’s worse than Brooks’s! What we want is a snug little house where we can be comfortable.”

“Do I understand your lordship to be desirous of disposing of Sheringham House?” asked Mr Stoke, very much shocked.

“No need to do that,” replied Sherry, in a large-minded way. “Dare say we may take it into our heads to remove there one day, and in the meantime there’s my mother to be thought of. Got to have somewhere to stay when she comes to town, after all.”

Mr Stoke, who was of the opinion that the dowager’s handsome jointure was more than sufficient to enable her to buy a house of her own, looked as disapproving as he dared, and said: “Your lordship can scarcely have considered the expense of maintaining a fourth establishment.”

“Dash it, I’ve only got two places! Oh, you’re thinking of that little hunting-box you procured for me in Leicestershire, are you? I don’t count that.”

“Oh!” said Mr Stoke rather faintly.

“I’m a rich man, aren’t I?” demanded Sherry, stretching his long legs out before him.

“Your lordship is a very rich man, but—”

“Of course I am! And that reminds me, we must settle a few of my debts. Stupid sort of a business, but I may as well be beforehand with the world, at any rate to start with.”

“That, my lord, was what I had in mind,” said Mr Stoke. “Your lordship was good enough to entrust me with the task of ascertaining the extent of your lordship’s obligations, and I fear that the sum—”

“Badly dipped, am I? Oh, well, you’d best sell me out of the Funds, and be done with it! No need to pull a long face: it’s my money, damn it all! But first I must have a house I can live in.”

Mr Stoke knew his lordship too well to argue with him when it was plain, from the obstinate look round his mouth, that he had made up his mind. The best he could hope for was to be able to persuade Sherry into hiring instead of buying a house, and with this end in view he began to discuss the size of the proposed establishment, its locality, and the most expeditious way of acquiring it. Hero soon lost interest in the conversation, and left her chair to go and look out of the window into the busy street. When the Viscount at last rose to go she was employed in drawing faces on the dusty window-panes.

“If ever I saw such a troublesome chit!” exclaimed Sherry. “Now look at your glove! What’s more, I dare say Stoke don’t like to have his windows looking like that.”

Mr Stoke, watching in some amusement her ladyship’s conscience-stricken scrutiny of one dirty fingertip, said that he thought her window sketches brightened the room, and earned a grateful smile. The Viscount then swept his bride off to make a preliminary tour of the best furniture warehouses, and his man of business, having escorted them to their phaeton, returned to his office and sat for quite some time gazing at the faces on his window, and pondering what would be the end of his client’s most extraordinary marriage.

The bridal couple spent the rest of the day in the delightful occupation of choosing furniture. They wandered about several warehouses, attended by solicitous salesmen; and after squabbling lightheartedly over the rival merits of Hepplewhite and Sheraton, and loudly condemning each other’s taste in hangings, they laid the foundations of their future home by purchasing a set of gilded chairs covered with straw-coloured satin, a wine-cooler, a tambour top writing table, a crystal lustre, and a shaving stand, which happened to be just what Sherry had been wanting for months past.

Such an exhausting day naturally put the writing of a letter to the Dowager Lady Sheringham out of count, and by way of whiling away the evening Sherry escorted his bride to Vauxhall Gardens. Here they danced, supped in one of the booths on wafer-thin slices of ham, and rack-punch, and watched a display of fireworks. Hero enjoyed every moment of it, and since she made no objection to Sherry’s quizzing the prettiest women present, and was happy to dance or to stroll about with him, whichever he preferred, he was able to gratify her by declaring that he had always known they should deal famously together.

On the following day Mr Stoke waited on them with a list of the houses at present available in the fashionable part of town. He had also drawn up an advertisement of the marriage for insertion in the
Morning Post
. The Viscount gave his gracious permission to have it forwarded immediately; and the entire party then set forth in a hackney to visit the first of the houses on Mr Stoke’s list. This was condemned at once on the score of being too large; a second, in Curzon Street, had a very ugly fireplace in the drawing-room, which gave Hero an ineradicable distaste for it; a third was discovered to be situated only two doors from the residence of a family of whom the Viscount spoke with concentrated loathing; and a fourth had such a mean staircase that it would have been superfluous to have penetrated farther than the narrow hall. By this time, the Viscount was becoming bored with such domestic matters, and he began to talk of leaving Hero and Mr Stoke to finish the business between them. However, he consented to accompany them to one more house, which was situated in Half Moon Street; and by the greatest good fortune this proved to be exactly what he had had in mind all along. Hero was equally enthusiastic over it, and although Mr Stoke, with his patron’s dignity to consider, pointed out that the drawing-room was not handsome, and the bedchambers inadequate, his objections were overruled. Hero was already planning the decoration of the drawing-room; settling with Sherry that he should have the back dining-room for his library and the front room on the second floor for his bedchamber; and allotting to herself the room behind the drawing-room for her own bedchamber. To Mr Stoke’s reminder that she would require a dressing-room, she replied innocently that she had never had one, and could not conceive what she should do with one. Naturally, neither she nor Sherry saw the smallest necessity for penetrating either to the attics or to the kitchen premises in the basement: they supposed them to be like any other attics or kitchens, and in any event they could all be safely left to Bootle to arrange. Of far more importance was the redecoration of the reception-rooms and the hall. Sherry did indeed bethink himself of the staff that would be necessary for the comfortable maintenance of the house, but beyond saying that he didn’t want a butler like old Romsey, who would water the wine, and had no notion how many abigails were usually employed in an establishment of this size, he had no views to advance. He said that they would leave it to Stoke. Mr Stoke, who had foreseen that this would be the end of it, then inaugurated a discussion of the matter, during the course of which, Sherry, who had not attended to a word, wandered off to take another look at the dining-room, for the helpful purpose of deciding where his wine-cooler should stand. Hero was left with Mr Stoke, and at once shocked and enchanted him by confiding that she had no notion how many servants she ought to employ, but hoped he would not think it necessary for her to have too many. “For I dare say I shan’t know how to go on at all. At least, just at first I shall not, though I expect I shall soon get into the way of it.”