The Grand Sophy (45 page)

His shoulders shook. “Oh, Sophy, Sophy!”

“No, do not laugh! I do feel that I ought to make some provision for her, poor girl! I cannot permit her to marry Charles, and make them all unhappy at Ombersley house, but I am persuaded she and Bromford would deal extremely. Do not make me any more pretty speeches, but go down to the stables at once! I’ll tell Cecy!”

She then thrust him back into the hall, and, while he let himself out of the house, went back to the group about the fire, and said, “It is tolerably cozy in the parlor, and if you choose to sit there for a little while, Lord Bromford, one of the bedchambers shall be prepared for you, and I will send Clavering to pull off your boots. Do you take him in, Miss Wraxton, and see him comfortably bestowed!”

“I trust the chimney may not smoke as badly as this one!” said Miss Wraxton acidly. “Nothing could be worse! Lord Bromford has coughed twice already!”

“How shocking! You should take him away at once.”

His lordship, who was sitting in a miserable huddle, shivering and sneezing, thanked her in a feeble voice and rose from his chair with Miss Wraxton’s kindly help. Hardly had they gone into the parlor, than Mr. Fawnhope came into the hall, saying severely, “The drawing of hens is revolting! No one should be called upon to witness such an operation! The Marquesa must have eggs.”

Cecilia, who had given a violent start, and perceptibly changed color, exclaimed, “Augustus!”

“Cecilia!” said Mr. Fawnhope, staring at her in astonishment. “You were not here before, were you?”

“No,” she said, blushing furiously. “Oh, no! I—I came with Miss Wraxton!”

“Oh, was that how it was?” he said, rather relieved. “I did not think I had seen you.”

She said resolutely, but in some little agitation, “Augustus, I will not trifle with you! I must tell you that I find I have made a great mistake. I cannot marry you!”

“Noble, noble girl!” Mr. Fawnhope said, much moved. “I honor you for this frankness and must ever deem myself fortunate to have been permitted to adore you. The experience has purified and strengthened me. You have inspired me with a poetic fervor for which the world may yet thank you, , as I do! But marriage is not for such as I am. I must put aside the thought. I do put it aside! You should marry Charlbury, but my play you must allow me to dedicate to. you!”

“Th-thank you!” faltered Cecilia, a good deal taken aback.

“Well, she is going to marry Charlbury,” said Sophy bracingly. “And now that that is settled, Augustus, pray will you go and find the eggs for Sancia?”

“I know nothing of eggs,” he said. “I fetched Talgarth l from the cellar, and he has gone in search of them. I am going to write a poem that has been taking shape in my brain this past hour. Should you object to my entitling it ‘To Sophia, Holding a Lamp?’”

“Not in the least,” said Sophy affably. “Take this candle, and go into the library. Shall I tell Clavering to light a fire: there for you?”

“It is of no consequence, thank you,” he replied absently, receiving the candlestick from her and wandering off in the direction of the library.

No sooner had the door closed behind him than Cecilia: said, in some confusion, “Has he understood me? Why did you not tell me he was here, Sophy? I do not know how to look him in the face!”

“No, and you shall not be called upon to do so, dearest? Cecy! Charlbury has gone to order the chaise. You must back to Berkeley Square immediately! Only conceive of your aunt’s anxiety!”

Cecilia, who had been about to demur, wavered perceptibly at this. She was still wavering when Lord Charlbury can back to the house, cheerfully announcing that the cha would be at the door in five minutes’ time. Sophy at picked up her cousin’s hat and fitted it becomingly over sunny locks. Between her efforts and those of Lord Charlbury she was presently escorted, resistless, out of the house, handed up into the chaise. His lordship, pausing only bestow upon his benefactress a hearty embrace, jumped after her; the steps were let up, the door slammed upon the happy couple, and the equipage was driven away.

Sophy having waved a last farewell from the porch, turned back into the house, where she found Miss Wraxton awaiting her an alarming state of frigidity. Miss Wraxton, apprehending, she said, that no assistance from the Marquesa need be expected, desired to be conducted to the kitchen, where proposed to brew a posset, used in her family for generation as a cure for colds.

Not only did Sophy lead her to the kitchen, but she also quelled the Marquesa’s protests and commanded the Claverings to set water on to boil for a mustard foot bath. The unfortunate Claverings, laboring up the back stairs with coals, blankets, and cans of hot water, were kept fully occupied for nearly half an hour, at the end of which time, Lord Bromford was tenderly escorted upstairs a to the best spare bedroom, divested of his boots, and his coat, coaxed into the dressing gown Sir Vincent had had the forethought to pack into his valise, and installed in a winged chair by the fire. Sir Vincent’s protests at having not only; his dressing gown but also his nightshirt and cap wrested from him were silenced by Sophy’s representations that she herself was relinquishing to Miss Wraxton her portmanteau, with all the night gear which it contained. “And considering how unhandsome your behavior has been, Sir Vincent, I must say that I shall think it excessively shabby of you if you demur at rendering me this small service!” she declared roundly.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “And you, Sophy? Will you not be remaining here for the night?” He laughed, seeing her at a loss for an answer, and said, “In a previous age you would have been burnt at the stake, and rightly so, Juno! Very well. I will play your game!”

Within half an hour of this passage, Sophy, seated at the able in the hall, which she had drawn into the inglenook by he fire, heard the sound for which she had been waiting. She vas engaged in building card houses, having found an aged and grimy pack in the breakfast parlor, and she made no attempt to answer the imperative summons of the bell. Clavering came into the hall from the back premises, looking harassed, and opened the door. Mr. Rivenhall’s decisive accents pleasurably assailed Sophy’s ears. “Lacy Manor? Very well! Be good enough to direct my groom to the stables! I’ll announce myself!”

Mr. Rivenhall then shut the aged servitor out of the house and stepped into the hall, shaking the raindrops from his curly-brimmed beaver. His eye alighted on Sophy, absorbed in architecture, and he said with the greatest amiability imaginable, “Good evening, Sophy! I am afraid you must have quite given me up, but it has been raining, you know, the moonlight quite obscured by clouds!”

At this point, Tina, who had been leaping up at him in an ecstasy of delight, began to bark, so he was obliged to acknowledge her welcome before he could again make himself heard, Sophy, laying a card delicately upon her structure, said, “Charles, this is too kind in you! Have you come to rescue me from the consequences of my indiscretion?”

“No, to wring your neck!”

She opened her eyes at him. “Charles! Don’t you know that I have ruined my reputation?”

He took off his driving coat, shook it, and cast it over a chair back. “Indeed? In that event, I am quite out. I was ready to swear I should find the Marquesa with you!”

The ready laughter sprang to her eyes. “How odious you are! How came you to guess that?”

“I know you too well. Where’s my sister?” Sophy resumed her house building. “Oh, she has driven back to London with Charlbury! I daresay their chaise may have met you on your way.”

“Very likely. I was in no case to be studying the panels of chance vehicles. Did Miss Wraxton accompany them?”

She looked up. “No, how do you know that Miss Wraxton came with Cecilia?” she asked.

“She was so obliging as to send a note round to White’s informing me of her intention,” he replied grimly. “Is she here still?”

“Well, she is, but I fancy she is very much occupied,” said Sophy. She bent to pick up one of the ducklings, which, awakening from a refreshing slumber under Cecilia’s muff, had climbed out of the box again, and was trying to establish itself in the flounces of her gown. “Take this, dear Charles, while I pour you out a glass of sherry!”

Mr. Rivenhall, automatically extending his hand, found himself in possession of a ball of yellow down. It did not seem to be worth while to inquire why he was given a duckling to hold, so he sat down on the table’s edge, stroking the creature with one finger and watching his cousin.

“That, of course,” said Sophy serenely, “explains why you have come.”

“It explains nothing of the sort, and well you know it!” said Mr. Rivenhall.

“How wet your coat is!” remarked Sophy, spreading it out before the fire, “I do trust you may not have caught a chill!”

“Of course I have not caught a chill!” he said impatiently. “Besides, it has not been raining this last half hour!”

She handed him a glass of sherry. “I am so much relieved! Poor Lord Bromford contracted the most shocking cold! He had meant to have called Charlbury out, you know, but when he reached us he could only sneeze.”

“Brom
f
ord?” he exclaimed. “You do not mean to tell me he is here?”

“Yes, indeed. Miss Wraxton brought him. I
think
she hoped he might have offered for me and so saved my reputation, but the poor man was quite prostrated by this horrid chill, which he fears may descend upon his lungs. It put all else out of his mind, and one cannot be surprised at it.”

“Sophy, are you trying to humbug me?” demanded Mr.

Rivenhall suspiciously. “Even Eugenia would not bring that blockhead down upon you!”

“Miss Wraxton does not consider him a blockhead. She says he is a man of sense, and one who—”

“Thank you! I have heard enough!” he interrupted. “Here, take this creature! Where is Eugenia?”

She received the duckling from him and restored it to its brethren in the box. “Well, if she is not still brewing possets in the kitchen, I expect you may find her with Bromford in the best spare bedroom,” she replied.

“What?”

“Persuading him to swallow a little thin gruel,” explained Sophy, looking the picture of innocence. “The second door at the top of the stairs, dear Charles!”

Mr. Rivenhall tossed off the glass of sherry, set it down, informed his cousin ominously that he would deal with her presently, and strode toward the stairs, accompanied by Tina, who frisked gaily at his heels, apparently convinced that he was about to provide sport for her of no common order. Sophy went down the passage to inform the harassed Marquesa that although two of the dinner guests had departed, another had appeared in their stead.

Mr. Rivenhall, meanwhile, had mounted the stairs, and had, without ceremony, flung open the door of the best spare bedroom. A domestic scene met his affronted gaze. In a chair drawn up beside a clear fire sat Lord Bromford, a screen drawn to protect his person from the draught from the window, both his feet in a steaming bath of mustard and water, a blanket reinforcing Sir Vincent’s dressing gown over his shoulders, and in his hands a bowl of gruel and a spoon. Hovering solicitously about him was Miss Wraxton, ready either to add more hot water to the bath from the kettle on the hob or to replace the bowl of gruel with the posset of her making.

“Upon my word!” said Mr. Rivenhall explosively.

“The draught!” protested his lordship. “Miss Wraxton! I can feel the air blowing about my head!”

“Pray close the door, Charles!” said Miss Wraxton sharply. “Have you no consideration? Lord Bromford is extremely unwell!”

“So I perceive!” he retorted, advancing into the room. “Perhaps, my dear Eugenia, you would like to explain to me what the devil you mean by this?”

She replied instantly, her color heightened, “Thanks to your sister’s inhumanity—I can call it nothing else—in refusing to permit me to offer a seat to Lord Bromford in the chaise, he has taken a shocking chill, which I only pray may not have a lasting effect upon his constitution!”

“I never credited Cecilia with so much good sense! If she had had enough to prevent her, and you, from setting forth upon an expedition which was as needless as it was meddlesome, I should be even more grateful! You have for once in your life been thoroughly at fault, Eugenia! Let it be a lesson to you to be a little less busy in future!”

Those best acquainted with Mr. Rivenhall’s powers of self-expression would have considered this speech a very mild reproof. Miss Wraxton, in whose presence he had hitherto most meticulously guarded his tongue, could scarcely believe her ears.

“Charles!” she uttered, outraged.

“Did you imagine that you would make me believe ill of Sophy with your foolish and spiteful letter?” he demanded. “You have tried to set me against her from the outset, but you overreached yourself today, my girl! How dared you write in such terms to me? How could you have been so crassly stupid as to suppose that Sophy could ever need
your
countenance to set her right in the eyes of the world, or that I would believe one word of slander against her?”

“Sir!” said Lord Bromford, with as much dignity as could be expected of a man with both feet in a mustard bath. “You shall answer to me for those words!”

“Certainly! When and where you please!” replied Mr. Rivenhall, with alarming promptitude.

“I beg you will not heed him, Lord Bromford!” cried Miss Wraxton, much agitated. “He is beside himself! If a meeting were to take place between you on
my
account I could never hold up my head again! Pray be calm! I am sure your pulse is tumultuous, and how shall I ever face dear Lady Bromford?”