False Colours (16 page)

‘To be sure I have!’ she replied, with a brilliant smile. ‘And it was exactly what he hoped I should do! At least, I fancy he meant to wheedle me into inviting him to visit us in Brighton, but you know what a nip-cheese he is, Kit! if he can but contrive to live at rack and manger
somewhere
he is content! In general, he goes to Baverstock in the summer, but it seems that he cannot do so this year, because your Aunt Baverstock won’t have him. I must say, one can’t blame her for not wanting him and poor Emma to be running tame about the house for weeks on end, however detestable one may think her. I have always avoided inviting them myself, though
not
as rudely as Amelia. But in this instance they are the very persons we need! Only consider, dearest! We scarcely ever see them, so they won’t know you from Evelyn; and they play whist! For chicken-stakes, too, which will exactly suit Lady Stavely. So I told Cosmo he might come—I mean, I
invited
him and Emma to come, and I said that we should be delighted to welcome Ambrose as well. He may serve to entertain Cressy, perhaps.’

‘I’ve nothing to say against having my uncle and aunt to stay: in fact, it’s a good notion, love; but the last time I saw my cousin Ambrose he was the most odious little bounce I ever met in my life!’ said Kit, entering a most ungrateful caveat.

‘Yes, wasn’t he?’ agreed her ladyship, quite unruffled. ‘But he was only a schoolboy then, after all! I dare say he may have improved. In any event, we are obliged to have him as well, because Cosmo says he means to keep him under his eye during the whole of the Long Vacation, poor boy, and not give him another groat to spend until he goes up to Oxford again in October, on account of his having run monstrously into debt. Or so Cosmo says, but I dare say it is no such thing, and he owes no more than a few hundreds. But what with that, and his having been rusticated last term, it does sound as if he must have improved, doesn’t it? I don’t know why he was rusticated—Cosmo primmed up his mouth when I asked him, so I collect there had been petticoat dealings—but I do know that you and Evelyn were, at the end of one Hilary term, and even your papa only thought it a very good joke!’

Mr Fancot, regarding her with a fascinated eye, drew an audible breath. ‘No, Mama, I do
not
think it sounds as if he must have improved! On the contrary, it sounds as if he were growing to be a pretty loose fish! And let me inform you, love, that when Evelyn and I were sent down for the rest of the term, it was
not
because of petticoat dealings! Merely one of our hoaxes—as a matter of fact, the best rig we ever ran!’

‘Well, never mind, dear one!’ she said placably. ‘No doubt it is just as you say! I merely thought that if he is got into debt he does at least sound as if he were more of a Cliffe than Cosmo, who is such a scratch that one can’t help but wonder whether he is not a changeling! It doesn’t signify: indeed, we must hope that Ambrose hasn’t improved too much, because it would never do if Cressy were to develop a
tendre
for him. You do perceive that things won’t be so
very
bad, don’t you?’

‘To be sure!’ he responded, with suspicious alacrity. ‘You have behaved in the
nackiest
way, Mama, so that all we have to do now is to hope that Lady Stavely will find my uncle and aunt so intolerably boring that she will rapidly bring her visit to a close.’

She rose, and picked up her hat from the table. Brushing Kit’s chin with its plumes, she retorted: ‘On the contrary, there is a great deal more to be done—though I know very well
you
won’t concern yourself with the preparations that must be made, horrid creature that you are! And though I dare say Lady Stavely
will
think Cosmo and Emma dead bores, she will be pleased to see Bonamy, don’t you agree? She has been acquainted with him for ever, and he is a
very
fine whist-player!’

Kit gasped. ‘Good God, I thought that was nothing but a bubble! You don’t mean to tell me you’ve really persuaded Ripple to leave Brighton to come into the country, which he dislikes quite as much as you do, and play chicken-whist with a griffin like Lady Stavely?’

She lifted a saucy eyebrow at him. ‘What makes you suppose there was any need of
persuasion
,
Master Rudesby?’

‘I
beg
your pardon, Mama! But this is devotion indeed!’

She chuckled. ‘Yes, but the truth is that he is excessively good-natured, besides having been in the habit for years and years of thinking he loves me better even than his dinner. He doesn’t, of course, but I
never
let him suspect that I know it. Which reminds me that I must take care to see that his favourite dishes are set before him. Yes, and to speak to the cook about sending to Brighton
every
day to procure fresh fish. Then, since we
are
at Ravenhurst, I think we must hold a Public Day, which we didn’t last year, because of being in mourning for Papa. Oh, dear, what a vast quantity of things ‘must be attended to! I shouldn’t wonder at it if I were prostrate by the time our guests arrive!’

For the following few days the household was certainly plunged into a vortex of activity, but my lady’s part in all the preparations was confined to issuing a great many contradictory orders, forming and abandoning several ineligible plans for the entertainment of her guests, and sending the under-servants on errands which were afterwards discovered to have been unnecessary. Tempers became frayed, but no one bore my lady the least ill-will, so charmingly did she give her orders, and so prettily did she thank anyone who performed a service for her. Instead,—and until Kit put his foot down, sternly informing the senior members of the staff that he wished to hear no more complaints from any of them—the London servants and the resident-servants blamed each other for every mistake or hitch that occurred; and a state of guerrilla warfare raged in the Room and in the Hall. The only two people to remain unaffected were Miss Rimpton, who held herself loftily aloof from any matter which did not immediately concern the care of my lady’s wardrobe and her exquisite person; and the cook, who listened with the greatest civility to his mistress’s orders and reminders, and continued to rule his kingdom exactly as he thought fit.

During this mercifully brief period of stress Kit was afforded a closer view of his parent’s extravagance than had ever before been granted him. Before her arrival he had been surprised to discover that the smart new barouche which he encountered in the avenue was one of her latest acquisitions. It was drawn by a pair of good-looking bays; and the coachman, drawing up, and touching his hat, told him that he was just bringing them in after their daily exercise. Kit, mentally assessing the turn-out at £300, or more, was startled, for not only did he know that Lady Denville owned another, and even smarter, barouche, in which she was driven about London, but also that there were several carriages in the coach-house at Ravenhurst, one of which was a comfortable landaulet. It was later explained to him, by Challow, that since landaulets were now considered to be dowdy it was not to be expected that my lady would ride in one, even when staying in the country. Upon Kit’s venturing to suggest to his mama that it was really a trifle wasteful to have purchased a second expensive carriage and pair merely for her use during her short and infrequent visits to Ravenhurst, she assured him that he was quite mistaken; and proved, to her own satisfaction, if not to his, that it was by far more economical to keep a second barouche and pair (with her own second coachman) at Ravenhurst, than to go to the trouble and expense of bringing her town equipage down to Sussex.

Since she had been assailed before leaving Hill Street by one of her fortunately rare fits of housewifely fervour, Mrs Norton, and Mr Dawlish, my lady’s extremely competent cook, were astonished, and considerably affronted, by the arrival of the carrier, who disgorged from his ponderous wagon a staggering number of cases, which were found to contain, amongst other household necessities, forty-eight pounds of wax lights, and two casks of Genuine Spermaceti Oil, from the firm of Barret, of St James’s, Hay-market; two Westphalian hams; several pounds of Hyson tea, Superfine Vanilla, and Treble-refined Sugar, from Peter Le Moine, at the sign of the Green Canister, in King Street; a large quantity of wafers, from Gunter’s; and half-a-dozen strange but obviously costly pieces of furniture, presently identified by her ladyship as flower-stands, which she had happened to catch sight of on one of her shopping expeditions, and had instantly recognized as being Just the Thing for Ravenhurst. She explained the purchase of the candles and the groceries to Kit on very reasonable grounds: how could she have been sure that Mrs Norton, who had been for so short a period housekeeper at Ravenhurst, had laid in a sufficient store of these commodities? Furthermore, she had been reared in the belief that true economy lay in buying the
best
,
and as it was her ineradicable conviction that the best could only be obtained in London, or in Paris, the merest common sense had prompted her to make good possible deficiencies in Mrs Norton’s cupboards and stillroom. But since Mrs Norton prided herself on her competence and foresight her sensibilities were seriously ruffled, until Lady Denville explained, with her most engaging smile, that she had ordered all these groceries only because she knew how vexatious it was to be obliged to provide for guests at a moment’s notice, and had been determined to spare her housekeeper as much trouble as she could. Mr Dawlish, far better acquainted with his mistress, received her excuses with a polite bow, but said that he preferred to make his own wafers—though the ones sent by Gunter would serve very well for the Public Day—and that if her ladyship would be so obliging as to furnish him with the name and direction of the firm from which she had ordered a turtle he would write immediately to cancel the order, having already made his own arrangements for the delivery of a fine turtle at Ravenhurst. Further, that he had personally selected, and brought from London with him, one York and one Westphalian ham, which he ventured to think would meet all requirements.

‘Only, what does her ladyship wish me to do with all that Spermaceti Oil, my lord?’ asked the harassed Mrs Norton. ‘There’s not an oil-lamp in the house, barring the one that hangs in the kitchen, and Common Oil is what we burn in that, not Spermaceti, at seven shillings and sixpence the gallon!’

Having dealt as well as he could with this and other vexed questions, Mr Fancot was faced with the task of convincing his parent that to send one of the grooms to Hill
Street for the purpose of obtaining from Mrs Dinting, or from Brigg, the hundreds of invitation cards she had forgotten to bring with her to Ravenhurst, and which would be discovered in the second drawer of her desk—or, failing that
cache
,
in one of five other hiding-places—would be very much more costly than to order new ones from a Brighton stationer. He succeeded, but not without difficulty, Lady Denville being a little hurt by his failure to recognize her effort towards economy. It remained only for him to drop a tactful hint in the ear of the steward, to the effect that the scrawled directions received from my lady’s bedchamber, while, banked up by lace-edged pillows, she consumed a light breakfast, should be brought to him before being carried out; and to approve the various bills of fare laid before him by Mr Dawlish. That artist, quick to perceive that my lord—doubtless because he contemplated marriage—had reformed his careless habits, lost no time in turning this improvement to good account. No one was more devoted to her ladyship; no one knew better what dishes to set before her to tempt her capricious appetite; no one was more willing to work himself to death in her interests; but (as he informed Mrs Norton, in a moment of condescension) when it came to planning a series of handsome dinners he preferred to lay his proposals before my lord, who, far from turning them topsy-turvy, and demanding game birds that were not in season in place of as tender a pair of turkey poults as anyone could wish for, could be trusted to cast no more than a cursory glance over the bills of fare before signifying his approval of them. However, said Mr Dawlish indulgently, there was no call for Mrs Norton to get into the fidgets: when she had been acquainted with my lady for as long as he had she would know that her starts never lasted above a day or two.

So, indeed, it proved. By the time the first guests arrived on Tuesday my lady was herself again, her final activity having been to drift through the flower-gardens, holding up a parasol to protect her complexion from the sun, and pointing out to the head gardener the blooms she wished to see in her six new containers. The effect was all that she had been sure it would be, for the gardener was expert in flower-arrangement; and since she watched him at work, several times choosing, and handing to him, a spray from the basket held by one of his satellites, and proffering a number of suggestions, she was convinced, by the end of the morning, that she had filled all the containers herself, with only a little assistance from him.

The first arrivals were the Hon. Cosmo and Mrs Cliffe, and Mr Ambrose Cliffe, their sole surviving offspring. They came in a somewhat antiquated travelling chariot, drawn by one pair of horses: a circumstance which caused my lady to exclaim: ‘Good
God
,
Cosmo, did you hire that shocking coach, or is it your own? I wonder you will be seen in such a Gothic affair!’

Mr Cliffe, who was a tall, spare man, some few years older than his sister, replied, as he dutifully kissed her cheek, that post-charges were too heavy for his modest purse. ‘We are not all of us as fortunately circumstanced as you, my dear Amabel,’ he said.

‘Nonsense!’ responded her ladyship. ‘I dare say your purse is fatter than mine, for you never spend a groat out of the way. It is quite abominable of you to have brought poor Emma here, jumbling and jolting in a horrid old coach which
strongly
reminds me of the one Grandpapa had, and which always made Grandmama sea-sick! Dear Emma, how much I pity you, and how glad I am to see you—though not looking as stout as one would wish! I shall take you up to your bedchamber immediately, and see you laid down to rest before dinner.’