Friday's Child (30 page)

The coachman acknowledged this command with great stateliness; the door was shut on the two women; the footman jumped up behind; and the barouche moved forward, just as a party of ladies, with their attendant squires, began to descend the steps of Almack’s.

Ferdy was still staring at the spot where he had last seen Revesby. Mr Ringwood thrust a hand in his arm and drew him to walk with himself and the Viscount towards Half Moon Street.

“Never seen anything to beat it!” Ferdy said. “Fellow just walked off! Not a word to anyone! Ratted, by God! Bad, very bad!”

“You wanted to rat yourself,” Mr Ringwood reminded him.

“Devilish awkward start! Don’t know that I blame him.”

“No right to leave Sherry with the baby,” said Ferdy severely. “Not Sherry’s baby, dash it!”

“The girl’s mad!” Sherry said.

“No, she ain’t,” contradicted Mr Ringwood. “Dare say it is Revesby’s baby: wouldn’t be the first.”

“Well, damn it, man, what of it? Deuced unfortunate she should have run Monty to earth outside Almack’s, but no one ever supposed he was a saint!”

“Ferdy’s right,” said Mr Ringwood. “Fellow
is
a commoner! No business to leave the baby to starve. Easy enough to provide for it if it is his baby.”

“Girl seemed very certain of it,” offered Ferdy. “Said it was like him. Tell you what, Gil: take another look at the baby!”

“No use doing that. Fellow disowned it. Can’t force him to provide for it.”

“Dash it!” Sherry exclaimed. “If every bit of mus—”

“Didn’t look to me like a bit of muslin, Sherry.”

“I don’t believe Monty—”

“No, very likely you don’t,” said Mr Ringwood ruthlessly. “Fellow’s a damned rake, if you ask me.”

“Lord, who cares for that? Anyone would think—”

“No one cares. Point is—”

“Fellow has a perfect right to be a rake,” agreed Ferdy. “No harm in that. No right to leave the baby in the gutter. Bad
ton
.”

“That’s what I was going to say,” nodded Mr Ringwood. “Devilish bad
ton
!”

“It’s a damned coil!” Sherry said, frowning. “I wouldn’t have thought it of Monty! Dash it, there must be a mistake! Monty wouldn’t walk off like that if the wench had been one of his fancy pieces!”

“Looked devilish sick,” said Mr Ringwood dispassionately.

“Sick as a horse,” corroborated Ferdy. He added, after a moment’s reflection: “Would have myself. Dash it, middle of King Street! Everyone coming away from Almack’s! But I’ll tell you what, Gil: I wouldn’t have left Sherry with the baby. Not Sherry!” Struck by a sudden thought, he looked at his cousin. “What are you going to do with the baby, Sherry?”

“Damme, I’m not going to do anything with the baby!” replied Sherry indignantly. “It ain’t my affair!”

Mr Ringwood coughed discreetly. “Dear old fellow—Lady Sherry! What does
she
mean to do with it?”

“That’s it,” nodded Ferdy. “Seemed very taken with it.”

“She’ll do what I tell her,” answered Sherry shortly.

“Well, what are you going to tell her?” asked Mr Ringwood.

“I shall think of something,” said Sherry, with cold dignity.

Mr Ringwood began to think that there was more in Mr Fakenham’s desire to disassociate himself from these proceedings than he had at first perceived. He said tentatively: “Dare say you’d like us to leave you, dear boy. Delicate situation: won’t want guests!”

“Oh no, you don’t!” retorted his lordship.

“Just as you please, Sherry!” said Mr Ringwood. “Only thought you might prefer to be alone with Lady Sherry!”

“Well, I wouldn’t!” said his lordship bluntly.

They had arrived by this time at his house. They were admitted by Bradgate, who informed them that my lady had taken the young person upstairs to her bedchamber. His manner indicated that he accepted no responsibility for this, and washed his hands of whatever consequences might ensue. The Viscount told him to fetch the brandy to the drawing-room, and escorted his two friends up the one pair of stairs which led to his apartment. A fire burned in the grate, but the candles had not been lit. The Viscount thrust a taper into the fire and went round the room kindling the wicks, a heavy scowl marring his countenance. The canary hanging on the window embrasure awoke, apparently in some confusion of mind, and began to sing its morning hymn. The Viscount, with a few bitter animadversions on birds in general, and misguided friends in particular, cast a cloth over the cage and the song ceased abruptly. The butler shortly appeared with a tray, and said in accents of extreme repulsion that he understood that the young person would be spending the night in the spare bedroom. He then withdrew, and the Viscount exclaimed: “Well, that’s a nice thing! If it isn’t just like Kitten! Now what am I to do? I’m dashed if I’ll have Monty’s
chere-amie
in my spare bedroom!”

“Baby, too,” said Ferdy, shaking his head. “Bound to squall. They do. Very awkward, Sherry. Don’t know what you can do.”

“Well, for God’s sake let us have a little brandy!” said his lordship, striding over to the table and seizing the decanter.

It was some time before Hero came downstairs, but after about half an hour she put in an appearance, still wearing her silk and gauze ball dress, but with her jewels discarded and her curls a little ruffled. She came quickly into the room, a look of great distress in her face, and went towards Sherry with her hands held out, and saying impetuously: “Oh, Sherry, it is so shocking! She has told me the whole, and I never thought anyone could be so wicked! It is all too true! That dear little baby is indeed Sir Montagu’s own child, but he will not give poor Ruth a penny for its maintenance, no, nor even see Ruth! Oh, Sherry, how can such things be?”

“Yes, I know, Kitten. It’s devilish bad, but—but you have only the girl’s word for it, and I dare say, if we only knew—”

“Might be a mistake,” explained Ferdy, anxious to be helpful.

She turned her large eyes towards him. “Oh no, Ferdy, there can be none indeed! You see, she told me everything! She is not a wicked girl—I am sure she is not! She is quite simple, and she did not know what she was doing!”

“They all say that,” said Mr Ringwood gloomily.

“How can you, Gil? I had not thought
you
would be so unjust!” Hero cried. “She is nothing but a country maid, and I can tell that her father is a very good sort of man—respectable, I mean, for no sooner did he discover the dreadful truth than he cast her out of his home, and will not have anything to say to her, which always seems to me shockingly cruel, though Cousin Jane says it is to be expected, because of the wages of sin, which comes in the Bible! Indeed, she is quite an innocent girl, for how could it be otherwise when she believed in Sir Montagu’s promise to marry her? Why, even I know better than that!”

Ferdy, who had been listening intently, said at this point: “Now, that’s a thing I wouldn’t do, Gil! One thing to seduce a girl—though, mind you, I think it’s a mistake, myself! Only leads to trouble, and the lord knows there are plenty of ladybirds on the town!—quite another to tell her you mean to marry her. Dash it, too smoky by half!”

Disregarding this interruption, Hero hurried on: “Sherry, she is in such distress! I do not know how she has survived, and if it had not been for a good natured woman who took pity on her, she must have died of starvation! But it seems that this woman is one of the fruit women at the Opera House, and perhaps Ruth ought not to stay with her, for I recall that you told me, Sherry, that those women—”

“Yes, well, never mind that!” said Sherry hastily.

“Oh no! I remember you said I must not mention it! But the thing is that she took Ruth in, for Ruth came to London to find Sir Montagu, never dreaming that he would refuse even to see her! But he is the most heartless—Sherry, indeed I am sorry to speak so of a friend of yours, but it is beyond anything! To seduce this poor, ignorant girl—for that is what he did—!”

“Yes, but wait a moment, Kitten!” protested Sherry. “Where? I mean, if she is a simple country maid, as you say she is, I don’t see—”

“It was when he was staying in Hertfordshire last winter. I did not know of it, but I dare say you will, Sherry: Ruth says he has an uncle who lives near Hitchin. And it seems he had gone down to stay with him for Christmas, and that is how he met Ruth.”

Mr Ringwood nodded. “That’s true enough, Sherry. Old Fortescue Revesby. Expectations,” he added darkly.

“I know all that!” Sherry said impatiently. “But what on earth should take him to seduce this wretched girl—”

“Oh, I don’t know, Sherry!” interposed Ferdy fair-mindedly. “Pass the time away—devilish dull, I dare say!”

“Yes, that is what I think,” Hero agreed. “But how wicked, Ferdy! How heartless! How
could
he do so? He has ruined her for mere sport, for I don’t believe he ever cared for her in the least degree!”

“You know what?” suddenly said Ferdy, addressing himself to Mr Ringwood. “Couldn’t make out why it all sounds so dashed familiar! Got it now! Saw a piece at the Lyceum Theatre just like it. Father threw the girl out into the snow. Ruth’s father throw her into the snow, Kitten?”

“No, no—at least, I don’t know! But this is true, Ferdy!”

“Never heed Ferdy!” commanded the Viscount. “The thing is, Kitten, it ain’t our affair, and we can’t—”

Under the wide, shocked gaze from Hero’s eyes he faltered, and cast a wild look towards Mr Ringwood for support.

Mr Ringwood did his best. “Sherry don’t care to have Revesby’s baby in his spare bedroom, Kitten. Can’t blame him: might keep him awake.”

“Oh no, but just for tonight—! Sherry, you would not be so unkind as to turn the poor soul away at this hour of night! You could not!”

“No, I don’t say I’ll do that, but the thing is, Kitten—Dash it, what the devil does Monty mean by saddling me with his by-blow?” exclaimed Sherry, in accents of strong indignation.

“Now I come to think of it,” abruptly remarked Mr Fakenham, “it wasn’t the Lyceum. It was the Non-Pareil. I’ll think of the name of the piece in a minute.”

“I thought such things only happened in the theatre,” Hero said sorrowfully. “I did not know men could be so wicked!”

“Well, but Kitten, you don’t quite understand!” Sherry said desperately. “It sounds bad, but ten to one there’s another side to the story. These little affairs, you know—it don’t do to be talking of them, but—dash it, it’s the sort of thing that might happen to anyone!”

“Oh
no!"
Hero cried in a breaking voice, her eyes swimming in tears. “Not you, Sherry!
Not you
!”

“No, no—My God, I hope not!” said his lordship, with a sudden hair-raising vision of the scene which had taken place in King Street. He discovered that his cousin and Mr Ringwood, both much moved by Hero’s cry and look of anguish, were gazing at him reproachfully, and demanded in a voice of wrath: “What the devil are you looking like that for, the pair of you? I never seduced anyone in my life, I’ll have you know! What’s more, I’m not the sort of fellow to leave his bastards to starve in the gutter. I mean, I wouldn’t if I had any, but I haven’t—at least, if I have I never heard of them! Oh, the devil!”

His friends, greatly discomposed, at once begged pardon, Ferdy explaining that he had been momentarily carried away. The Viscount was seriously ruffled, but Mr Ringwood had the presence of mind to refill his glass, and Hero, holding one of his hands between both of hers, said: “Oh no, Sherry, I know you would not! And you will let me help this poor girl, will you not?”

“I suppose something will have to be done about her,” said his lordship. “Though I’m damned if I know what! I shall have to speak to Monty, but I can tell you I don’t like to do it, for it’s as plain as a pikestaff he don’t mean to own the child.”

“No, no, do not speak to him!” Hero said. “He has done harm enough, and he shall not come near poor Ruth again! I have thought of a scheme that will answer delightfully! She shall go to Melton, and you will let her live in the little empty cottage by the west gate, Sherry, won’t you? And she will help Mrs Goring at the hunting-box, because you know how Mrs Goring told me when we were there that she could not come by a respectable girl to assist her—oh no, perhaps you do not, but it was so indeed!”

“Hang it, Kitten, she isn’t a respectable girl!” expostulated Sherry. “And if I know Mrs Goring—”

“No, but only consider!” begged Hero. “You may buy her a wedding ring, and we will say that her husband is dead, and no one need know the truth, and she can be comfortable! He was killed at Waterloo! No one could wonder at that!”

“Killed at Waterloo?” interpolated Mr Ringwood.

“Very good notion,” approved Ferdy. A doubt shook him. “At least, I’m not very sure, now I come to think of it.”

It was apparent that both he and Mr Ringwood were bending their minds to mathematical calculation. Mr Ringwood was the first to reach a conclusion. “No,” he said. “June of last year, wasn’t it? That’s eighteen months ago.”

“I make it that, too,” said Ferdy, pleased to find himself in agreement with his friend. “Have to think of something else. Very happy to assist you. Dare say I shall hit upon a good notion.”

“Oh, we will say he died of some illness!” Hero decided. “There can be no difficulty! And Ruth was used to be a chambermaid in an inn, so she will know how to go on, Sherry. And if you should not object, I think we should give her what we give to Maria. I know it is a little expensive, but we must consider the baby, you know.”

Sherry was so much relieved to find that Hero had no wish to keep her unfortunate protégée permanently in the spare bedroom that he agreed to this plan, even going so far as to hand over, upon demand, a bill to defray the cost of suitable baby-clothes for the destitute infant. Hero thanked him warmly and went away to set Ruth’s mind at rest, leaving Sherry to congratulate himself on having brushed through the business better than had at one time seemed possible, Mr Ringwood to wrap himself in apparently profound thought, and Ferdy to devise an artistic death for the hypothetical husband.

Chapter 16