Friday's Child (25 page)

Mr Fakenham was moved to seize his friend by the hand, and to shake it fervently. “Gil, dear old boy, you’re right!” he said. “Always knew you had a head on your shoulders! Not but what it’s dashed irregular, you know! Ought never to mention such things to females!”

“Never mind that!” said Mr Ringwood impatiently. “Go round to Half Moon Street now, while Sherry’s safely out of the way!”

The two gentlemen accordingly set forth together, and were fortunate enough to find Hero at home, and alone. They were ushered upstairs into the drawing-room, and here Mr Ringwood bluntly informed his hostess of the nature of his errand.

Having already a very fair idea of what was toward, Hero did not, as Mr Fakenham had a horrid fear she might, faint, or go into strong hysterics. Her husband’s strictures on her conduct, delivered on their way home on the previous evening, had been so forceful that she had quailed under them, and barely found enough voice to enable her to explain to him that she had been attempting merely to comfort poor George, who was in such despair over Isabella’s cruelty. His wrath had cooled by that time, and he had no difficulty in believing her account of the affair; but the stern lecture of which he delivered himself on the impropriety of offering that particular kind of comfort to young bachelors would have done credit to the strictest duenna, and made his wife weep with penitence. The Viscount then unbent, dried her tears, told her that it was not her fault—at least, not entirely her fault—and that he should have known better than to have introduced such a hardened reprobate as George Wrotham to her. This she could by no means allow, and she explained, sniffing dolefully between sentences, that it was indeed her fault, and that George had kissed her in the most brotherly fashion, and without really considering what he was doing. The Viscount replied with some asperity that since she had no brothers she knew nothing of the matter; but being a gentleman of varied experience he was perfectly well able to appreciate the situation, and even—though this he kept to himself—to wish that he had not allowed his temper to get the better of him. But when Hero timidly expressed the hope that he had not quarrelled with George, the only answer she could get from him was an unconvincing assurance that there was no need for her to worry her head over him.

She was therefore in no way surprised by Mr Ringwood’s disclosure. She nodded her head, turning a little pale; and, fixing anxious eyes on his face, said: “But George will not hurt Sherry! He could not!”

“Yes, he could,” said Ferdy. “Devil of a fellow with the pistols, George! Never misses!”

Her eyes widened. “He
would
not! Not Sherry!”

“Wouldn’t put it beyond him at all,” said Ferdy, shaking his head. “Tried to call him out a dozen times. Sherry always said he wasn’t fool enough to stand up for George to put a bullet through him. Pity he changed his mind.”

“But he must not!” Hero cried, starting up. “He
shall
not! Oh, but you are wronging him! I know he would not do so!”

“Queer fellow, George,” said Mr Ringwood heavily. “I don’t say he ain’t a right one: he is: as game a man as any I know! The thing is, he’s got the devil of a temper, and once he’s in one of his fits there’s no saying what he may do. Do you remember pulling him off that stupid fellow’s throat, Ferdy? Can’t recall his name, but you’ll know! The quiz that married his sister Emily. What I mean is, that shows you, Kitten! His own brother-in-law!”

“Mind you, I never blamed him for that!” Ferdy said. “Didn’t like the fellow myself. What the deuce
was
his name?”

“Oh, never mind!” Hero exclaimed. “What can it signify? How are we to prevent Sherry’s meeting George?”

“That’s just it: you can’t,” said Mr Ringwood. “Couldn’t expect Sherry to hedge off. Why, if I were ever fool enough to call George out,
I
wouldn’t hedge off!”

“George ought to beg Sherry’s pardon. Trouble is, he won’t,” said Ferdy. “Come to think of it, he’s been spoiling for a fight for a long time. Never can find anyone to go out with him in the general way. If it weren’t Sherry, I’d say it was a shame to ruin the only bit of pleasure the poor fellow has had in months.”

“But it is Sherry!” Hero cried.

“Yes,” agreed Ferdy mournfully. “Pity!”

“Never mind that!” interposed Mr Ringwood. "It’s got to be stopped. Don’t pay any heed to Ferdy, Kitten! You listen to me! And, mind! not a word of this to Sherry, for he’d be as mad as Bedlam if he knew I’d breathed a syllable to you, and very likely call me out, and Ferdy too!”

“No, no, I promise I will not say a word to Sherry!”

“I can’t move George; Ferdy can’t move George. Tried our best already. Only one person he’ll listen to.”

“Isabella!” exclaimed Hero.

“That’s it. The thing is for you to see her. Friend of yours. Won’t refuse to help you. Persuade her to send for George. Tell her not to spread it about the town, though! Get her to coax George out of the sullens, and send him along to see Sherry. I know Sherry: let George but hold out his hand, and the whole thing will blow over in a trice!”

“I will go to Isabella at once!” Hero said, the peril in which Sherry stood ousting every other consideration from her mind.

She set forth immediately, arriving at the Milborne residence just as Isabella mounted the steps, with her abigail. Isabella greeted her affectionately, and would have shown her some interesting purchases she had been making, had it not been plain to a much meaner intelligence than hers that Hero had come to visit her on more urgent affairs than frills and furbelows. She at once took her friend up to her dressing-room, and begged to be allowed to know in what way she could serve her.

Until that moment it had not occurred to Hero that there could be the least difficulty in disclosing the whole of her story to Miss Milborne, but under the steady gaze of those lovely eyes she found herself faltering in her recital, blushing a little, stumbling over what before had seemed so simple and so natural.

Miss Milborne heard her out, in slowly gathering wrath. It was just as she had suspected: Hero had indeed stolen another of her suitors, and Wrotham was as volatile as her Mama had so often assured her he was! If she needed any confirmation of the gravity of the episode, she had it in Sherry’s challenge to George. Miss Milborne was well aware that no sane man would call George out, except under the most extreme provocation, and since Sherry had shown no signs of inebriety at the ball she failed to allow for the exhilarating properties of champagne punch as mixed by the Honourable Ferdy Fakenham. Her bosom swelled, and she was conscious of a humiliating desire to burst into tears. As for Hero’s explanation that George had kissed her because
she
had rejected his violets, she had never heard anything so lame in her life.

She said in a trembling voice: “I am sure I do not wonder that Sherry should have called him out! But you, Hero!—how could you do so? I had not thought you so fast, so lacking in principle!”

“I am not fast or lacking in principle!” said Hero indignantly. “I was so sorry for poor George that if he wanted to kiss me—just for comfort, you know!—it would have been quite horrid of me to have repulsed him!”

“My dear Lady Sheringham, I wish you will not put yourself to the trouble of telling me nonsensical stories!” said Miss Milborne, in what she meant to be a stately manner but which, even to her own ears, sounded merely pettish.

“Isabella Milborne, I think you are the cruellest creature alive!” said Hero, her eyes flashing. “I would not credit it when George said you had no heart, but I think you have none indeed! How can you have looked at poor George last night and not pitied him?”

Miss Milborne averted her face, replying stiffly: “What pity I may have felt for Lord Wrotham—and you are not to be a judge of that, if you please!—was plainly thrown away, since he contrived very speedily to console himself.”

“Fudge!” retorted Hero. “He wanted to kiss you, but since he could not, and I was there, he kissed me instead; but as for consoling himself—why, how can you be so stupid? Do you not know how it is with gentlemen? They kiss so easily, and it does not mean anything at all!”

“No, I am happy to say I do not,” replied Miss Milborne.

“Good gracious! I quite thought you knew much more than I did, for you have been out for so much longer!” exclaimed Hero ingenuously.

Miss Milborne flushed, and answered in a voice with an edge to it: “Do you mean to suggest, ma’am, that you consider me to be in danger of becoming an old maid?”

“No, I do not—though perhaps you will be one, if you do not learn to be a little kinder, Isabella!”

“Indeed! Perhaps you would advocate my bestowing my kisses with that generosity you yourself show?” said Miss Milborne, her colour now much heightened.

Perceiving that she had thoroughly enraged the Beauty, Hero made haste to say contritely: “No, indeed! I beg your pardon: I had no business to say that. It is only that I have a particular kindness for George, and I cannot bear to see him made unhappy.”

“I do not presume to advise you, ma’am, but I must hope that your
particular kindness
for Lord Wrotham may not lead you into a worse scrape than this unsavoury affair. Forgive me if I speak too boldly! You have done me the signal honour of confiding in me—with what object I am at a loss to understand—”

“Oh, Isabella, pray do not talk in that missish way!” Hero besought her. “Can you not guess why I have come to beg you to help me?”

“I have not the remotest conjecture.”

“Oh, dear, and I was used to think you so clever! The thing is, you must know what George is, Bella! They say he never misses, and, oh, he must not kill Sherry, he
shall
not kill him! ”

Miss Milborne shrugged her shoulders. “I imagine there can be little fear of either killing the other.”

“So I thought, but Gil and Ferdy have been with George all the morning, and they say there is no moving him! He
likes
fighting duels—isn’t it odd? They say that when he is in one of these tiresome moods there is no doing anything with him! Isabella, I must stop this dreadful meeting!”

“I am sure I do not know how you will contrive to do so.”

“That is why I have come to you. Isabella, though he will not listen to Gil or Ferdy, George will listen to you! Oh, will you be so very obliging as to send for him, and make him promise he won’t fight Sherry?
Please,
Isabella, will you do that for me?”

Miss Milborne rose to her feet somewhat suddenly. “I send for George?” she repeated, in stupefied tones “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“No, of course I have not! You must know that there can be nothing he would not do for your sake! You have only to beg him—”

“I would sooner die an old maid!”

Startled by the suppressed passion in the Beauty’s voice, Hero could only blink at her in surprise. Miss Milborne pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. “Upon my word, I had not thought it possible! So I am to send for George, and to supplicate him not to engage in a duel! After he has been making shameless love to you! Nothing—
nothing
could prevail upon me to do it! I am astonished you should ask it of me! Pray tell me why you, who are on such intimate terms with him, do not supplicate George yourself! I am persuaded your words must carry quite as much weight with him as mine. More, I dare say!”

Hero sprang up, her hands tightly locked together within her ermine muff, quite as angry a flush as Isabella’s in her cheeks. “You are right! I
will
go to George! He does not make shameless love to me; no, for he has no love for me! but he is fond of me, a little, and he did say he would not wish to make me unhappy! I do not know how I can have been so foolish as to think that you would help me, for there is nothing behind your beauty but vanity and spite, Isabella!”

With these words she fairly ran from the room, and down the stairs, letting herself out of the front door, and shutting it behind her with a slam. She entered her barouche, and told the surprised footman to direct the coachman to drive to Lord Wrotham’s lodging.

His lordship was at home, and had barely time to straighten his neckcloth, and run a hand over his tumbled locks before his visitor came tempestuously into the room.

“George!” Hero said, casting her muff on to a chair, and advancing upon him with both hands stretched out.

“My dear Lady Sheringham!” George said, bowing formally, one eye on the wooden countenance of his servant.

This individual reluctantly withdrew from the room, just as Hero cried sharply: “Oh, don’t, George! I am in such distress!”

He caught her hands, and held them warmly. “No, no, but Kitten, you
must
think what my man would imagine! You should not have come here!”

“No, I know I should not, but what else could I do? for I know very well you would not come to Half Moon Street.”

“Hardly!”

“Then you see that I was obliged to come!”

He glanced quickly out of the window, perceived the crest on the panel of her barouche, and exclaimed: “In your own carriage! Kitten, you are incorrigible! Good God, if Sherry gets wind of this there’ll be the devil to pay, and no pitch hot!”

“How can it signify? Nothing could be worse than it is at this moment! George, you must not meet Sherry!”

“I shall certainly do so, however.”

She clasped the lapels of his coat, giving him a little shake. “No, I say you shall not! George, you know it was very wrong of us, although we meant no harm.
Please,
George, beg Sherry’s pardon, and let us all be comfortable again!”

He shook his head obstinately. “I have never drawn back yet from an engagement, and by God, I will not do so now!”

“Yes, but, George, this time—”

“Besides, I’m dashed if I’ll apologize for kissing you! I liked it excessively!” said George brazenly. “If Sherry had a grain of sense, he’d know it didn’t mean a thing, too!”

“George, you said you would not wish to make me unhappy!” Hero said desperately.

“No, by Jove, not for the world!”

“But don’t you see, you stupid creature, that if you kill Sherry I shall be so unhappy I shall die?” Hero cried.