The Grand Sophy (8 page)

The awful moment of disclosure had come, and, thanks (Lady Ombersley bitterly reflected) to Miss Adderbury’s lamentable lack of control over her young charges, at quite the wrong moment. Charles, at first inclined to be amused, was speedily brought to his senses by Miss Wraxton’s evident disapproval. He said that however desirable a denizen of a schoolroom a monkey might be, which was a question to be discussed later, it was not fit creature for his mother’s drawing room, and ordered Theodore, in a tone that invited no argument, to remove Jacko at once. A sullen scowl descended onto Theodore’s brow, and for a horrid instant his mother feared that she trembled on the brink of an ugly scene. But Sophy stepped quickly into the breach, saying, “Yes, take him upstairs, Theodore! I should have warned you that of all things he most dislikes being brought into company! And pray make haste, for I am going to show you a famous game of cards which I learned in Vienna!”

She thrust him out of the room as she spoke, and shut the door on him. Turning, she found Charles eyeing her frostily, and said, “Am I in disgrace with you for having brought the children a pet you don’t approve of? I assure you, he is perfectly gentle; you need not be afraid of him!”

“I am not in the least afraid of him!” snapped Charles. “Extremely obliging of you to have bestowed him upon the children!”

“Charles! Charles!” said Amabel, tugging at his sleeve. “She has brought us a parrot too, and it talks capitally! Only Addy would put her shawl over its cage, because she said horrid, rough sailors must have taught it to speak. Do tell her not to!”

“Oh, good God, I am quite undone!” Sophy exclaimed, in comical dismay. “And the man promised the wretched bird would say nothing to put anyone to the blush! Now, what is to be done?”

But Charles was laughing. He said, “You must say your Collect to it every day, Amabel, to put it in a better frame of mind. Cousin, my uncle Horace informed us that you were a good little thing, who would give us no trouble. You have been with us for rather less than half a day. I shudder to think what havoc you will have wrought by the end of a week!”

IV

IT COULD not have been said that Lady Ombersley’s family dinner party had been entirely successful, but it gave rise to a good deal of speculation in the minds of most of those who had been present at it. Miss Wraxton, who had seized the opportunity afforded by the rest of the company’s sitting down to a round game to draw near to her prospective mother-in-law and to engage her in low-voiced conversation, returned to her own home quite convinced that however little harm there might be in Sophy, she had been very badly brought up and stood in need of tactful guidance. She had told Lady Ombersley that she was sorry indeed that the bereavement in her family had postponed her wedding day, for she felt, in all sincerity, that she could have been both a support and a comfort to her mother-in-law under her present affliction. When Lady Ombersley said, rather defiantly, that she did not feel the visit of her niece to be an affliction, Miss Wraxton smiled at her in a way that showed how well she understood the brave front she was determined to present to the world, pressed her hand, and said that she looked forward to the time when she would be able to relieve dear Lady Ombersley of so many of the duties which now fell to her lot. Since this could only refer to the young couple’s scheme of occupying one floor of the family mansion, a profound depression descended upon Lady Ombersley. The arrangement would not be an unusual one, but Lady Ombersley was able to think of many examples where it had been proved a failure, notably in the Melbourne household. Miss Wraxton would certainly not render the Ombersley house hideous by hysterical spasms, or really dreadful scandals, but Lady Ombersley derived small comfort from this knowledge. Almost as insupportable as Lady Caroline Lamb’s frenzied behavior would be Miss Wraxton’s determination to exert a beneficent influence over her young brothers- and sisters-in-law and her conviction that it was her duty to take upon her own shoulders many of the burdens which Lady Ombersley was not at all anxious to relinquish.

Charles, who had enjoyed a few minutes’ grave talk with his betrothed before handing her into her carriage at the end of the evening, went to bed with mixed feelings. He could not but acknowledge the justice of his Eugenia’s criticisms, but since he was himself of a forthright disposition he was inclined to like Sophy’s frank, open manners, and obstinately refused to agree that she put herself forward unbecomingly. He did not think that she had put herself forward at all, which made it difficult to see just how it was that she contrived to introduce quite a new atmosphere into the house. She had certainly done this. He was not sure that he approved of it.

As for Sophy herself, she retired to her bedchamber with even more to think about than her hosts. It seemed to her that she had taken up her residence in an unhappy household. Cecilia held Charles accountable for this, which no doubt he was. But Sophy was no schoolroom miss, and it had not taken her more than ten minutes to get Lord Ombersley’s measure. Unquestionably Charles had had much to bear from that quarter; and since the rest of his family plainly held him in awe, it was not marvelous that a naturally stern and autocratic temper, thus unchecked, should have turned him into a domestic tyrant. Sophy could not believe that he was past reclaim, for not only had Tina made friends with him, but when he laughed his whole personality underwent a change. The worst she yet knew of him was that he had selected for his bride a very tiresome girl. She felt it a pity that so promising a young man should be cast away on one who would make it her business to encourage all the more disagreeable features of his character.

There was no need to worry about the children, she decided, but her quick intelligence had informed her, during the course of the evening, that all was not well with Mr. Hubert Rivenhall. She had a strong suspicion that some undisclosed trouble nagged at him. He might forget this in admiration of Salamanca or in playing an absurd game with his juniors, but when nothing else occupied his mind the trouble crept back into it, and he grew silent until somebody looked at him, when he instantly began to talk again, in a rattling, overcheerful style which seemed to satisfy his relations. Sophy, guided by her experience of young officers, thought that he was probably in some foolish scrape which would turn out to be far less serious than he imagined. He ought, of course, to tell his elder brother about it, for no one could doubt, looking at Mr. Rivenhall’s countenance, that he was competent to deal with any scrape; but since Hubert was obviously afraid to do so, it might be a good thing to persuade him to confide in his cousin.

Then there was Cecilia, so lovely, and so helpless! Her affairs might be much more difficult to arrange satisfactorily, for although Sophy, reared in quite a different school, thought it iniquitous to force any girl into a distasteful marriage, she was by no means determined to further the pretensions of Augustus Fawnhope. Sophy, strongly practical, could not feel that Mr. Fawnhope would make a satisfactory husband, for he lacked visible means of support, and was apt, when under the influence of his Muse, to forget such mundane considerations as dinner engagements, or the delivery of important messages. However, he would certainly be preferable to a middle-aged man with mumps, and if Cecilia’s passion for him proved to be more than a mere infatuation, her friends must busy themselves in finding for him some well-paid and genteel post in which his handsome person and charm of manner would outweigh his erratic habits. Sophy was still trying to think of such a post when she fell asleep.

Breakfast was served, at Ombersley House, in a parlor at the back of the house. Only the three ladies sat down to the table at nine o’clock; for Lord Ombersley, a man of nocturnal habits, never left his room until noon, and his two elder sons had breakfasted an hour earlier and gone off to ride in the Park.

Lady Ombersley, whose indifferent health made restful nights rarities in her life, had employed some part of her wakeful hours in planning entertainments for her niece, and as she dipped fingers of dry toast into her tea she propounded a scheme for an evening party, with dancing. Cecilia’s eyes brightened, but she said rather skeptically, “If Charles will permit it.”

“My dear, you know your brother has no objection to any rational enjoyment. I do not mean that we should give a really large ball, of course.”

Sophy, who had been watching in some awe her aunt’s languid consumption of tea and toast, said, “Dear ma’am, I would infinitely prefer that you should not put yourself out for me.”

“I am quite determined to give a party for you,” replied Lady Ombersley firmly. “I promised your father that I would do so. Besides, I am very fond of entertaining. I assure you, we are not in general so quiet as you find us at present. When I brought dear Maria out, we gave a ball, two rout-parties, a Venetian breakfast, and a masquerade! But then,” she added, with a sigh, “poor Cousin Mathilda was still alive, and she sent out all the invitation cards, and arranged everything with Gunter’s. I miss her sadly. She was carried off by an inflammation of the lung, you know.”

“No, but if that is all that troubles you, ma’am, pray do not give it another thought!” said Sophy. “Cecy and I will arrange everything, and you shall have nothing to do but choose what dress you will wear, and receive your guests.”

Lady Ombersley blinked at her. “But, my love, you could not!”

“Indeed I could!” asserted Sophy, smiling warmly at her. “Why, I have managed all Sir Horace’s parties since I was seventeen years old! And that puts me in mind of something I must do at once! Where shall I find Hoare’s Bank, Aunt Lizzie!”

“Find Hoare’s Bank?” echoed Lady Ombersley blankly.

“What in the world can you want to know that for?” asked Cecilia.

Sophy looked a little surprised. “Why, to present Sir Horace’s letter of authorization, to be sure!” she answered. “I must do so at once, or I may find myself quite at a loss.” She perceived that her aunt and cousin were looking, if anything, rather more bewildered than ever, and lifted her brows. “But what have I said?” she asked, between amusement and dismay. “Hoare’s, you know! Sir Horace banks with them!”

“Yes, my dear, I daresay he may, but you do not have an account with a bank!” expostulated Lady Ombersley.

“No, alas! It is such a bore! However, we settled it that I should draw upon Sir Horace’s funds for my needs. And for the expenses of the household, of course, but at this present we have no house,” said Sophy, lavishly spreading butter on her fourth slice of bread.

“My love! Young ladies never—why, I myself have never entered your uncle’s bank in my life!” said Lady Ombersley, deeply moved.

“No?” said Sophy. “Perhaps he prefers to settle all the bills himself? Nothing teases Sir Horace more than to be forever applied to for money! He taught me years ago to understand business, and so we go on very happily.” Her brow wrinkled. “I hope that Sancia will learn to manage for him. Poor angel! He will very much dislike it if he must study the bills, and pay all the wages.”

“I never heard of such a thing!” said Lady Ombersley. “Really, Horace—but never mind that! Dear child, you cannot possibly need to draw funds while you are with me!”

Sophy could not help laughing at her aunt’s evident conviction that Hoare’s Bank must be a haunt of vice, but she said, “Indeed I shall need funds! You have no notion how expensive I am, ma’am! And Sir Horace warned me most particularly not to allow myself to be a charge on you.”

Cecilia, her eyes round with wonder, asked, “Does your papa set no limit to what you spend?”

“No, how could he do so, when he has gone quite out of reach, and can have no notion what I might suddenly need? He knows I shall not outrun the carpenter. But I did not mean to tease you with my affairs! Only, in what part of the town is Hoare’s situated, if you please?”

Fortunately, since neither of the other ladies had the smallest idea of the locality of any bank, Mr. Rivenhall came into the room at this moment. He was dressed for riding and had merely looked in to ask his mother if she had any commissions she might desire him to execute in the City, whither he was bound. She had none, but did not hesitate (in spite of his probable disapproval) to divulge to him Sophy’s extraordinary wish to be directed to Hoare’s Bank. He took this with equanimity, and even bore up wonderfully under the disclosure that she was at liberty to draw on her father’s account. He said, “Unusual!” but he seemed to be more amused than disapproving. “Hoare’s Bank is at Temple Bar,” he added. “If your need is urgent, I am driving into the city myself this morning and shall be happy to escort you.”

“Thank you! If my aunt has no objection I shall be glad to go with you. When do you wish to start?”

“I shall await your convenience, Cousin,” he replied politely.

This civility augured well for the expedition and made Lady Ombersley, always inclined to be optimistic, nourish the hope that Charles had taken one of his rare likings to his cousin. He was certainly predisposed in her favor when he found that she did not keep him waiting; and she, for her part, could not think very badly of a man who drove such a splendid pair of horses in his curricle. She took her place beside him in this vehicle; the groom swung himself up behind, as the horses plunged past him; and Sophy, herself no mean whip, preserved a critical but not unappreciative silence while Charles controlled the first ardor of his pair. Reserving her ultimate judgment until she should have seen him with a tandem, or a four-in-hand, she yet felt that she could safely repose confidence in his ability to aid her in the purchase of carriage horses for her own use, and said presently, “I must buy a carriage, and don’t know whether to choose a curricle or a high-perch phaeton. Which do you recommend, Cousin?”