4
“Earth Has Not Anything To Show More Fair”
On the morrow Peg was down betimes in spite of her late night, but there was no sign of Mr Beresford. Grimly she removed the morning paper which was waiting next the place set for him in the breakfast room, and took it into the morning room. She had forgotten all about Nancy Uckridge’s promise, or perhaps threat, to go walking, and was thus considerably startled to have the butler in person announce, in congratulatory tones: “Miss Nancy Uckridge, for you, Miss Buffitt.”
Miss Nancy Uckridge greeted Peg with: “Great Heavens, are you reading that dreadful dull thing?”
“Well, I am certainly not turning it into a cocked hat for my little brother. And as I am not an illiterate, the marks on the page do form meaningful shapes which my mind is enabled to interpret, so I suppose I may be said to be reading it, yes.”
“Not enjoying it?” she gasped, staggering back in horror, hands clasped to the bosom.
“Not in the way that one would enjoy a blancmanger, or even a delightful work of fiction, no. And it is certainly not entertaining. But it is interesting and informative: I am certainly enjoying garnering information from it.”
“Alack the day!” cried Miss Nancy, bending right over and peering at Peg’s ankles. “Bright azure! I shall have to shun your company!”
“I can quite see that a real lady who is in London for the purpose of contracting an eligible connexion would have to shun the company of anything approaching a bluestocking, so I shall not reproach you for it.”
Miss Nancy rolled her large brown eyes soulfully. “Not even the teeniest, tiniest little reflection in that direction?”
“No. I promise I shall not, in fact, give it a thought.”
At this Miss Nancy Uckridge collapsed in gales of giggles, uttering: “I knew I should love you!”
Peg eyed her dubiously.
“Now,” she said, wiping her eyes, “we shall head for the Park!”
“I didn’t think you really meant it.”
“The alternative was walking with my sister and the Highetts.”
“In that case,” said Peg with a laugh, “you must allow me to say how delighted I am to accompany you! I shall just get my bonnet.” With that she whirled out of the room.
Miss Nancy Uckridge grinned, but then shook her head at the discarded morning paper, telling it: “You will never do; she must be persuaded to give you up.” And adding as an afterthought: “No eligible toffee-nosed cousins in sight, of course, but then, that is just my luck.”
… “Um, is that a curricle?” ventured Peg. Nancy seemed to know everyone and everything in London. Well, nothing of what was between the pages of the Morning Post—no. But that could not signify, in the face of two gentlemen in what were instantly identified as hussars’ uniforms, two more gentlemen who were dragoons, not hussars, was Peg blind?, one stout gentleman identified (even minus a uniform) as Admiral So-and-So, one red-coated, grim-visaged elderly gentleman identified as “darling old General Sir Arthur Murray, he would not hurt a fly!”, and two dashing young gentlemen riders whom Peg must be blind not to recognise from last night as “darling Jimmy” Sortelha from the Embassy and “Panardouche” Carvalho dos Santos, the Ambassador’s youngest son. At whom the Fürstin was reputed to be throwing that dim little daughter of hers—with a hard look at Peg’s innocent self.
Peg of course was blind, that was a phaeton! Not high-perch. Peg looked at it blankly.
Rapidly Nancy explained who the driver was. Peg looked at him blankly. Rapidly Nancy explained who his family—
“Oh! Sir Cedric Rowbotham’s brother! Sir Cedric made such a sensible speech in the House of Commons only last week; did you r— Um, no,” said Peg lamely.
Nancy looked at her ankles again, and shook her head sadly.
“Does the brother do anything?”
Nancy looked blank. “He drives that splendid phaeton with those perfectly matched bays, and though he is quite old, he is the most graceful dancer in London.”
“Huh!” Peg stumped on fiercely.
Nancy scurried after her. “Don’t be like that, Peg! And slow down: do try to achieve an elegant saunter, I beg.”
“I have not the figure for an elegant saunter, I fear,” said Peg, nonetheless slowing her pace.
Nancy Uckridge was considerably plumper than Peg: she rolled her eyes. “My dear, it may so easily be accomplished! Do but watch me! –It will be even better once I have persuaded Mamma to buy me a very frilled parasol,” she assured her. Languidly she swayed down the walk with a horribly exaggerated motion. Peg collapsed in giggles, the more so as at that very instant two elegant ladies, complete with frilled parasols, though the day was not warm, were observed to sway languidly out of a side path and head in their direction.
“Ooh, help!” gasped Nancy, stopping abruptly and coming to grasp Peg’s elbow fiercely.
“Do you need something with which to mop that spoiled copybook?” asked Peg dulcetly.
“Ssh! What in God’s name are they doing here at this hour?” she hissed in agony.
Peg had no notion who the two elegant ladies were. She merely waited.
As they drew nearer she perceived with astonishment that in spite of the excessively youthful outfits: frilled muslins, elaborately bedecked bonnets, the most elegant of shawls and of course the unnecessary parasols, the ladies were not young. In fact the taller, darker one must be considerably older than Peg’s own Ma. Her thin face was a dead white with little snapping dark eyes. The tiny tight ringlets peeping from under the bonnet were so black as to be entirely suspect. The other lady was observedly younger, very pink-cheeked, with a mass of red-gold ringlets under her equally elaborate bonnet. “Bonjour, ma petite,” said the latter as they approached the two girls.
Nancy made a low—nay, grovelling curtsey. “Bonjour, Madame de Montmorency.”
The lady smiled and nodded. Her companion said something to her in a low voice. The red-headed lady murmured something in reply. The taller, dark-haired figure then awarded Nancy a very, very slight nod.
“Curtsey!” hissed Nancy, sinking into an even deeper one.
With a mental shrug Peg made a wobbly curtsey, and the ladies passed on.
“Who on earth were they?”
“Ssh!” Nancy dragged her further down the walk. “The Princesse P. and her dame de compagnie!”
“Which was which?”
“You imbecile! The Princesse P. would not speak to me!”
Peg shrugged. “Oh. What does the P. stand for?”
“Paola; don’t you know anything?” she hissed.
Peg shrugged. “Evidently not. Why does she wear all that paint? Is she pock-marked, poor thing?”
“No, no, it is her thing! –She is known for it,” she elaborated as Peg looked blank. “All of the great ladies have their little eccentricities, you see. In fact anyone who wishes to cut a dash in Society must have some distinguishing— Ah! Now! See?”
Peg looked. A pretty lady in smart walking dress, complete with a delightful bonnet, was walking a pair of little foxy dogs. “What dear little dogs.”
“Imbecile! That is Mrs Weaver-Grange, and the dogs are her thing! Now do you see?”
“No, I fear I am blind,” she sighed.
Giggling, Nancy possessed herself of her arm. “You will soon learn. But what do you think? What should I adopt as my thing?”
“Would your Mamma even allow you to have a dog?”
“It does not have to be a dog, and in fact one would not wish to be thought to be aping Mrs W.-G.”
“I do grasp that. But I don’t know what would be an appropriate thing for a lady, Nancy.”
“I know one lady who takes snuff—with a great air: you know?”
Peg looked dubious: Sir Horace Monday sometimes took snuff.
“Think! One very dashing lady drives a phaeton with a splendid pair of bays.”
“Like Mr Rowbotham’s,” noted Peg drily.
“No, no, much finer! But that will have to wait until I have snared a husband who will let me throw away his money as I list. Um, don’t suggest a monkey: Mamma would never hear of it, and then, for many years the late Lady Georgina Claveringham had a monkey. Or so they say; I never met her.”
“Incredible,” murmured Peg.
“Only because she died while I was still in the schoolroom,” she assured her.
“One wonders she dared. Well, if a dog is out and a monkey is out, might you ride a very dashing steed?”
“I do not ride very well at all,” admitted Nancy sadly.
“That’s a pity. Wear a certain colour?”
“I thought of that, too. But Mamma would never permit it. It would be making myself undesirably particular. –I know that is the desired effect, but she would not see it!”
“Incredible,” murmured Peg.
Nancy smiled, and they strolled on, arm-in-arm. Various further gentlemen were sighted; some recognised Nancy and were duly introduced. None of the ones whom she admitted she had not met, but of course knew by sight, attempted to force themselves upon the two girls, and after a while Peg realised that the presence of Mr Beresford’s sturdy footman two paces to their rear, as much as any good manners that the gentlemen might be supposed to have, was undoubtedly the inhibiting factor. Because she did not think they were both antidotes. In fact, to judge by the reactions of those young gentlemen who were introduced, namely, a Mr Calhoun, a Mr “Rollo” Valentine, a Captain Sir Teddy Peacock, a Lieutenant (possibly Sub-Lieutenant) Marshall (hussars), a Lieutenant (again possibly Sub-) Vander Velden (naval), a Mr Donald McLeod, a Mr Bobby Hallam, a Mr Dicky Bon-Dutton, and the Messrs William and Anthony Gratton-Gordon, who fascinatingly enough were twins, they were very desirable acquaintances indeed.
Several of these gentlemen were on horseback, but Mr Dicky Bon-Dutton and the Gratton-Gordon twins were on foot, and gallantly escorted the two ladies back as far as Mr Beresford’s house. Where Miss Nancy’s mamma’s barouche was waiting for her. So that was that. Peg smiled and waved, and saw her off without much regret.
“So?” said Horrible as she came into the salon.
“I am trying to define it,” said Peg, screwing up her eyes. “She is jolly, and certainly not stupid, and enjoyable enough company… But although she knows a lot, it is all about appearances. I mean, the surface of things. There is no grasp of the abstract there, at all.”
“I do not expect she had much of an education,” said Miss Sissy calmly, taking this without a blink. “The Uckridge girls were not sent to school.”
“I see. But in any case, I do not think she has the sort of mind which is capable of grasping abstractions—and certainly not of relating them in a meaningful way to what it knows of the particular,” said Peg with a sigh.
“Who does?” said Horrible with feeling.
Peg laughed suddenly. “Well, you, I think!” She hesitated. “Is Mr Beresford at home, Aunt Sissy?”
Miss Sissy did not look up from her tatting. “In his study, I think, dear.”
Peg hesitated, and then went out.
“Help,” muttered Horrible. “Should we stand by with bowls, bandages and towels?”
“Very concrete, dear,” said Miss Sissy primly.
For a moment Horrible was blank. Then she collapsed in dreadful splutters.
Miss Sissy’s little brown eyes twinkled, but she continued to tat placidly.
Peg would have tapped at the study door but the footman, Henry, who had poured her coffee on her first morning in the house and seemed to have appointed himself to look out for her—for he certainly seemed to pop up whenever she ventured into the hall—happily pre-empted her, and showed her in.
Mr Beresford was writing at his desk.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” said Peg glumly.
“Not at all, Miss Buffitt. How may I help you?”
Peg stuck her chin out. “I need to ask you something. But first I wish to speak to you about Lance.”
Mr Beresford laid his pen down. “Yes?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know!” cried Peg, going very red.
“I have not the slightest idea what your subject may be,” he drawled.
“Pooh! After taking him to haunts of vice and letting him drink horrid brandy and stuff!”
“Eh? Oh; the Daffy Club. He did not come to any harm,” he drawled.
“No, I dare say he did not, with you right there, but what if he goes back by himself?”
“Don’t think they’d let him in, Miss Buffitt.”
“That is not funny!” cried Peg. “You are encouraging him to develop tastes which he cannot afford and—and drink expensive drinks!”
“I can hardly refuse to pass him the port at my own table, Miss Buffitt.”
“Brandy!” said Peg crossly.
“Er—or the brandy. I do not think you have seen him drunk in this house?” he murmured.
“That is not the point. He has no money at all, I suppose you realise?” said Peg angrily. “And he is beginning to believe that your stupid values are the true ones!”
He raised his eyebrows. “What stupid values, pray?”
“Thinking that foolish things like clothes and horses matter, and judging people by their outward appearance rather than by their true worth! And—and admiring things because they are valuable!”
“If this be a reference to my Aunt Fanny’s having given you a box of expensive trifles—”
“The point is, to people who have nothing they are not trifles! If you had your way Lance would grow into the sort of stupid man-about-town who cares so little for other persons that he truly believes they are trifles!” she cried.
Mr Beresford was rather white. “I see. I had the impression that Lance admired the little trinkets because they are pretty. But I cannot see there is any point in discussing the matter further.”
“I must and will be heard!” shouted Peg.
He sighed. “Miss Buffitt, I am very sure you may be heard all over the house. I am not refusing to hear you, merely pointing out that it is fruitless to discuss Lance’s attitude to l’Amiral du Fresne’s addled notion of a courting gift to my aunt.”
“What?” said Peg, staring.
“Er—oh. Never mind. What do you wish me to do about Lance?”
Peg gulped. “Um, not lead him into bad habits and take him to the horrid clubs and things.”
He sighed. “Miss Buffitt, you will not believe this, but any lad of Lance’s age would be only too eager—”
“I know that; do you think I am a noddy?” said Peg furiously. “You are teaching him to covet the sort of life which he can never afford to lead!”
“I see,” he said stiffly. “Very well. You wish me to send him home, is that it?”
Peg’s lips trembled: of course she did not wish him to be sent home, she wished Mr Beresford to find him a useful occupation; but if he was not going to offer, she was not going to beg. She stuck her chin out and said: “That would certainly be preferable to the course on which you have presently set his feet.”
“The whole thing has been harmless, but I shall not argue the point with you,” he said tiredly. “Very well, he can get off home. Was there something else?”
There was: Peg had determined to ask him who was paying for her gowns and so forth, for she had now realised that some of the garments that had been produced were not May Beresford’s old things made over. “Nothing,” she said in a choked voice. “It doesn’t matter!” With that she ran out of the room.
Mr Beresford passed his hand through his curls in exasperation. “What the Devil did she expect me to say? Not that I’d sponsor him for the Season, obviously, if she believes me to be leading him into haunts of vice, God help us. That I’d dispatch him to a monastery? God—women!”
“What it is,” said Lance in the privacy of his sister’s room, very white, “you are jealous, because he don’t look twice at you.”
“Rubbish,” replied Peg grimly.
“Why else did you tell him to send me packing?”
“He said that, did he?” she retorted fiercely.
“No, he didn’t, you horrid little thing, because he ain’t a spiteful little cat of a girl! Said Pa and Ma must be missing me and would probably be grateful for first-hand news of you. But I got the lot out of Henry, see?” he said, glaring.
Peg snorted. “He would have heard it all, of course, with one ear pressed to the door and the other cocked in case the butler came by!”
“He heard enough to be very sure it was all your idea to get rid of me!” shouted Lance, going from very pale to bright red.
“I only asked him not to set your feet on a path in life which you can never hope to AFFORD, Lance Buffitt!” shouted Peg.
“That ain’t what Henry said!”
“Then he misheard! He suggested sending you home, and he is a heartless, selfish town beau, and you are an idiot to think he ever cared the snap of his fingers for you!” cried Peg, bursting into loud sobs and throwing herself face down on her bed.
Lance looked at her uncertainly. “Been dashed decent to me.”
Peg just sobbed.
“Um—why should he suddenly up and send me packing?” he said uneasily. “Never showed no signs of wanting to get rid of me before you spoke to him.”
Peg continued to sob.
“You are jealous, that’s what,” said Lance without conviction.
Peg continued to sob.
Looking baffled, Lance beat a retreat.
“Perhaps you would be so good as to request her,” said Mr Beresford to his aunt, icily cold, “not to steal my morning paper before I have glanced at it?”
“Was it little Peg?” replied Miss Sissy, undisturbed.
Mr Beresford reddened. “Yes! I know it wasn’t Horrible, because she had the manners to come and ask me if she might read it after me!”
“Not Lance?”
“The boy don’t read the morning paper, Aunt Sissy!” he said irritably. “He wouldn’t know a Whig from a Tory.”
“That is a great pity.”
Mr Beresford waited, but she did not say it was all his fault that Miss Buffitt and her brother were at loggerheads, or ask why he had decided to send the boy packing, or say he should not have agreed to send the boy packing, or— “I shall be at White’s, in the unlikely event that my presence might be required in my own house,” he said coldly.
“Very well, dear,” said his aunt, tatting placidly.
Gritting his teeth, Mr Beresford went out.
Miss Sissy’s little brown eyes twinkled. “Morning paper!” she said with a laugh.
The Beresfords’ footman looked astonished to see Nancy and showed her immediately into the—gulp—breakfast room—where—gulp—Mr Beresford was having his breakfast in solitary splendour. And explained to his master that Miss Nancy was here for Miss Peg, but Miss Peg had gone out earlier saying she was off to Miss Nancy’s house.
“And you LET her?” shouted Mr Beresford, leaping to his feet. “Get OUT!” he shouted as the footman began to explain that it was only a step, sir—
“Um, but we had no arrangement to meet at my house,” bleated the sophisticated Miss Nancy Uckridge lamely, standing on one leg and hooking one ankle round its fellow.
“Then where the Devil is she?” he shouted.
“I duh-don’t know,” stuttered Nancy.
Mr Beresford rang the bell furiously. “Send Miss Hortensia and Mr Buffitt down immediate!” he said very loudly to the impressively stately butler who appeared. “And tell them to bring the curricle round on the instant.”
“Certainly, Mr Beresford. Would the young lady care for some refreshment, perhaps?”
“No,” said Mr Beresford before Nancy could bleat that at this juncture she would care for a bracing glass of brandy, thank you. “Immediately, Crocker,” he said dangerously.
Unmoved, the butler returned: “Of course, sir,” and exited, stately as ever.
“Now,” said Mr Beresford in an extremely unpleasant tone to the caller, not inviting her to sit let alone offering anything in the way of a bracer: “I dare say the pair of you are in cahoots.”
“We are not!” wailed Nancy, forgetting several previous vows to be terrifically sophisticated and ladylike, in the unlikely event she should ever be in His presence.
“What are her favourite haunts?”
“I duh-don’t— Um, she doesn’t truly cuh-care for the Park, I think,” she bleated.
“And?”
“I don’t know. Um, she said she wished someone would take her to see St. Paul’s.”
He stared.
“Um, she said it was a great work of architecture and—um—something about the dome,” muttered Nancy in self-exculpatory tones, giving the other ankle its turn.
“You’re an imbecile, girl! Stop blathering about domes, and think!” he shouted. “Where else did she express a desire to go?”
“Um—I duh-don’t— Um, Westminster Abbey,” she said miserably.
“Lady Stamforth is to take her to divine service at the Abbey this coming Sunday,” he said coldly. “I doubt she would have headed there on a preliminary scouting expedition.”
“N— Um, she might. Um, I don’t know, because it was all poetry!” wailed Nancy, a tear slipping down her cheek.
“Poetry?” said Mr Beresford, with an arrested look.
Nancy sniffed, and wiped the tear away with the back of her hand. “Yes. She said the Park was dull, not nigh so pretty as the countryside, and the sights in it were just sights. Um, that was a joke,” she explained miserably. “And then she said that if one got up early enough it might be pretty before the dew had had time to dry, but she was not permitted; um—and something about breakfast rooms,” she ended uncertainly.
Mr Beresford inexplicably went very red. “Oh. What was the poetry stuff, then?”
“I don’t know. Something about the beautiful morning,” said Nancy dolefully.
“Wordsworth,” said a third voice, from the doorway.
“Very like. Get in here,” said Mr Buffitt’s host grimly.
Lance came in, huddled in a glowing silk dressing-gown. “Um, morning, Miss Nancy. Um, sorry, sir, but Moffat said you was going to throw this dressing-gown—”
“For God’s sake! Stop blathering about dressing-gowns!” shouted Mr Beresford. “Your damned sister has disappeared into the maw of London! Have you any idea where she’s gone?”
“No. Dare say she only went for a walk. Well—accustomed to do so at home, sir. She’ll be all right: got plenty of… ” Lance’s voice trailed off as he met his host’s eye. “Common sense,” he muttered.
“Has she or has she not expressed a desire to view London from damned Westminster Bridge at damned DAWN?” he shouted.
“Nuh— Uh, not lately, at least, not to me. Uh—weren’t dawn, precisely, were it, sir? ‘Beauty of the morning’, all that?”
“That was it!” recognised Nancy pleasedly.
“Be silent,” said Mr Beresford blightingly. “Was that all? Damned Wordsworth on damned Westminster Bridge?”
“She was jealous that we went to Astley’s, but she wouldn't have gone there at this hour.” Lance rubbed his nose. “Um… St. Paul’s.”
“What’s the matter?” said Horrible's voice from the doorway, on a yawn.
“You tell us, Horrible,” said Mr Beresford unpleasantly.
Horrible looked blank.
“Peg’s gone off by herself,” quavered Nancy.
“Help,” she muttered. “Don’t start in on me,” she said grimly as Mr Beresford opened his mouth. “I haven't a notion where she’s gone. In fact I thought she was still asleep.”
“She always gets up at crack of— Never mind that. Has she expressed a desire to see any particular part of London in your hearing?”
Horrible thought about it and produced only Westminster Abbey and St Paul’s. Oh, and the Royal Academy.
“The Royal— At this hour?” he shouted.
Lance coughed. “Covent Garden market.”
“WHAT?” he shouted terribly.
“Damned old Briggs took her in to the big market at Lincoln once; had to travel most of the night, out of course— Um, sorry, Cousin Jack. She don’t know what sort of place Covent Garden is, y’see. Just expressed a wish to see the biggest vegetable market in the country. Um—sorry.”
“My GOD!” he shouted.
The butler reappeared, his face expressionless. “The curricle is ready, Mr Beresford. And I shall speak to Henry.”
“Do that,” said Mr Beresford tightly. “I shall start with Westminster Bridge, since that is nearest. After that, God knows.”
“Um, she do have some nous. Don’t think she’d have gone to a great market like Covent Garden all by herself,” ventured Lance.
Ignoring him, Mr Beresford hurried out.
The three young people looked at one another other lamely. Eventually Nancy squeaked: “Um, do you truly not know where she may have gone, Mr Buffitt?”
He looked at her with disfavour. “Think I’d lie to him, do you? Well, let me tell you, in the first place it’d take a better man than me to look Cousin Jack in the eye and tell a bare-faced lie, and in the second place, she is my sister, I don’t care for the idea of her wandering round the town. Come to that,” he said with a suspicious glare, “do you truly have no idea?”
“No! Why would I have called to collect her, if I knew she was not here?”
“That’s logical,” agreed Horrible.
Lance shrugged. “True.”
“Where can she be?” said Nancy in a wavering voice.
Lance shrugged again. “No idea. Dare say Cousin Jack will find her. Mind you, she’ll be mad as fire to be dragged home by him.”
Nancy gulped. “Um—yes.”
Silence fell.
A small figure in a dreadful old brown cloak, her bonnet dangling down her back by its strings, her curls bright gold in the mild morning air, was discovered leaning on Westminster Bridge. Mr Beresford experienced a very odd sensation indeed: a relief so deep it felt as if he had fallen down a well, while a hard hand seemed to be reaching into his chest and squeezing his very heart. Then he was swamped by an overpowering anger. He pulled the team up savagely.
“Hullo,” said Peg in a small voice.
“What in God’s NAME do you imagine you're doing?” he shouted.
“Seeing if Mr Wordsworth had it right. –He is a poet,” explained Peg.
“I know who he—” Mr Beresford took a deep breath.
“I came out early to escape all the fashionables,” said Peg hurriedly.
“And to put yourself at the risk of being accosted by all the undesirables!” he shouted.
“No-one accosted me. A very pleasant knife-grinder asked me if I was lost.”
“Get up!” he shouted.
“What?” said Peg, staring.
“Get UP!”
“But I don't want to go home, yet. And I don’t wish to interrupt your drive.”
“Interrupt my— I came here to find you, you dimwit!” he shouted.
“Glory,” muttered Peg.
“Why in God’s name did you come out by yourself?”
“I didn’t want any idiots spoiling it for me,” owned Peg with a scowl.
“That's comprehensive enough. Thank you on behalf of my entire household,” said Mr Beresford through his teeth. “Oh, and I presume Miss Nancy Whatserface can add her thanks to ours. Will—you—get—up?”
At this the small elderly groom who had gone to the horses’ heads said: “I’ll ’elp yer, Missy. ’T’ain’t as ’igh as what it looks.”
“Thank you. But I do not in the least wish to go home, yet. And I remember the way perfectly well: one heads straight back up that road. And in any case,” said Miss Buffitt with a defiant lift of her chin, “I have a map.” Forthwith she produced it from her battered reticule. Bent and crushed though it was, Jack Beresford immediately recognised it. He choked.
“That is my father’s map of London!”
“It is probably out of date, then,” said his infuriating cousin calmly, “but it showed me the way to Westminster Bridge perfectly well.”
“Miss Buffitt,” he said through his teeth, “get into this curricle immediately, if you please. Alternatively, I shall get down and beat some sense into you.”
Pouting horribly, and refusing the tiger’s offer of help, she clambered up beside him.
Jack Beresford found he was once again overwhelmed by anger. He was unable to move, even to speak. His hand shook on the reins. From the horses’ heads his little old tiger looked up at him in astonishment. “You all right, gov’nor? Shall I let ’em go?”
“In a moment. –Do not dare to speak,” he ordered her through his teeth.
Shrugging, Peg hunched into herself.
Eventually the elderly tiger ventured: “I could take the ribbons, sir.”
“I—” Mr Beresford got down shakily. “Thanks, Jenks,” he said, turning his back on the equipage and staring blindly at the river. “Take her home. Don't for God’s sake let her get down again.”
“Right you are, gov’nor!” chirped Mr Jenks, scrambling quickly up beside Peg. “I got ’em, don’t you fret!” He eyed his master’s back speculatively, but Mr Beresford did not turn his head or give any orders about returning to pick him up. “Come on then, Missy: ’ave you ’ome h’in a trice!” he said brightly, turning the team expertly. “Acos they ain’t fresh, yer see, but they’re fast! Mr Jack ain’t ’alf shook the fidgets aht of ’em: we come ’ere like the wind.”
“I see,” said Peg lamely. “Um, you are Mr Jenks, I think? I am Peg Buffitt, Mr Beresford’s cousin.”
“Pleased to meet yer, Miss!” he chirped. “Only it’s Jenks, to you, acos I’m nuffink but a groom, yer see. An’ groom to ’is pa afore ’im!”
“Yes, well, I have probably just ruled myself out of contention for the post of lady, but I will call you Jenks if you wish,” said Peg drily. The little wizened fellow gave a cackle, though not taking his eyes from his team, and Peg was emboldened to continue: “Goodwin has mentioned you; I think you must be Mr Beresford’s tiger, is that right?”
“That’s it, Miss Buffitt! Been wonderink when we’d ’ave the privilege!” he beamed.
“I think Mr Beresford is reputed not to drive young ladies behind his teams,” ventured Peg.
Mr Jenks sniffed. “Not now, maybe. Don’t fink ’e’s ’ad a young lady up since the little Congtessa was in town. Wot weren’t yesterday, neither!”
“Er—no.” The man’s London accent was so broad that Peg had some trouble in understanding him. “Contessa?” she ventured.
“Pretty as a picture,” said Mr Jenks with a sigh. “Fort she were the one. That Goodwin, ’e reckoned I was talking froo me ’at. Only when she took the fat old Portygee general and Master Jack flung orf ’ome to Beresford ’All, ’e sees I was right all along, see?”
“Er—yes,” said Peg dazedly. Horrible Laidlaw and the knowledgeable Nancy Uckridge combined had not been able to impart this much about her second cousin’s past life. “A gazetted flirt, with all the débutantes chasing him hopelessly” was more or less it.
“Dark young lady, she were. Widder,” said the wizened little old Mr Jenks on a longing note. “Wasted on that fat old Portygee. We did ’ear as she married anuvver feller, aht in them forring parts, after ’e went.”
“Yes. I see. So she—she was very pretty?”
“Pretty as a picture,” repeated Mr Jenks sadly. “Only they did say as it was ’er ma what was the stumbling block. Dunno what, exact. ’Ad lovers or some such, Missy: made the little widder not respeckable enough, yer geddit?”
“Mm. Poor Mr Beresford,” said Peg in a tiny voice.
The little man shook his head. “’E were real cut up, and that’s the truth, Missy.”
“Was she— I mean, I think you said she was young?” ventured Peg after a while.
“Yus. Last young lady we ’ad in the curricle. No—I tell a lie. We took Miss Nobby, that’s ’is cousin from Bath, round the Park when she were in town couple o’ years back. Nuffink to it. Acos ’er Pa, it’s ’im what’s Mr Jack’s cousin, yer geddit?”
“Yes; Miss Nobby is Miss Hortensia’s sister, of course. She would stand in the position of a niece to— Yes. And she is the only young lady since the—the foreign Contessa? That is very sad.”
Mr Jenks sniffed. “Sad enough, Missy.”
Peg thought about it, frowning. “So it was the lady’s parentage which—which prevented Mr Beresford’s offering?”
“Dunno, Miss. Could be. Master Jack an’ the Mistress, they talked it over, you see, and after that he didn’t drive the little Congtessa aht no more.”
“I see,” said Peg in a low voice.
Mr Jenks shot her a shrewd sideways look, but said nothing.
They had passed fashionable Blefford Square, and the corner of their own salubrious street was in sight, when the tiger offered: “Never seen Mr Jack so overset since the night ’is pa died, Gawd bless ’im.”
“You mean about the Contessa? Yes. It is all very sad and—and unnecessary.”
“No, didn’t mean that, Miss Peg. This mornink.”
After a moment Peg went very red.
“’Course, he was ’oppink mad, at first.”
“What? Oh! Yes.”
“Fort ’e were going to pass aht. ’Is driving ’and was shaking so ’e couldn’t ’ardly ’old the ribbons. Never fort I’d live to see the day, an’ that’s a fack, Miss!” said Mr Jenks in a pleased voice.
Peg gnawed on her lip. “Oh, help.”
“Wot ’e fort, see,” said Mr Jenks helpfully, “was that anyfink could of ’appened to you, Missy. Well, it could of,” he owned fairly. “Not all that likely, mind you, if you only went dahn the bridge, acos it’s all salubraceous rahnd ’ere!” He drew up before the house.
“Um—oh. Salubrious, I think is the word. Yes, that’s what I thought,” said Peg numbly.
Mr Jenks eyed her shrewdly. “Yus. Maybe. Only, seeing as ’ow you don’t know London—unless I got that wrong,” he added with horrible irony, “there weren’t no way you could know that, was there? ’Is sainted pa’s map or not.”
Peg gulped.
“You better ’op dahn,” suggested the tiger. “I better not leggo the ribbons. –’Ere’s that useless ’Enery: ’e’ll ’elp yer.”
“Yes,” said Peg, gnawing on her lip. “Um, thank you very much, Jenks.” She let Henry help her down. “Shall you go and get him?” she said in a low voice, looking up at the tiger.
Mr Jenks cupped his whip hand behind his ear. “Whassat, Missy?”
“Shall you go and get him?” repeated Peg loudly, going very red.
“Dunno, Missy. Might ’ave me guts for garters, acos ’e didn’t give me no orders. Wotcher fink?” asked the cunning Mr Jenks.
“Um—I don’t know,” stuttered Peg. “I think you had best go and see if—if he is all right. Um, if you do not wish to take the responsibility,” she said, as the little man looked dubious, “perhaps you could tell him that I gave you the order to collect him?”
“The very fing!” he said, beaming. “Right you are, Missy! Get up, then!” And with a terrific clattering of hooves and jingling of harness, the which the inexperienced Peg did not realise was quite unnecessary with Mr Beresford’s well-trained team under the hands of an expert whip, they were off.
“Does my aunt know?” said Peg glumly to Henry as he showed her into the house.
“No, Miss. Mr Beresford never let on,” he said in congratulatory tones.
Peg winced. “I suppose,” she muttered under her breath, “that that makes us even.”
Next chapter:
https://pegbuffitt-aregencynovel.blogspot.com/2023/06/the-question-of-lancelot-buffitt.html
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