Читать книгу Kate Coventry - An Autobiography - George J. Whyte-Melville - Страница 9

Table of Contents

I really had not courage to take my usual canter the morning after Hampton Races. I did not feel as if I could face the umbrella and the cigar at the rails in "the Ride," and yet I rang the bell once for my maid to help me on with my habit, and had my hand on it more than once to order my horse; but I thought better of it. Poor Aunt Deborah's cold was still bad, though she was downstairs; so I determined to take care of her, in common gratitude, and give her the advantage of my agreeable society. I am very fond of Aunt Deborah in my own way, and I know there is nothing she likes so much as a "quiet morning with Kate."

The hours passed off rather slowly till luncheon-time. I did forty-two stitches of worsted-work—I never do more than fifty at a time, unless it's "grounding"—and I got off Hannah More because Aunt Deborah was too hoarse to read to me, and I really cannot read that excellent work to her without laughing; but I thought luncheon never would be ready, and when it did come I couldn't eat any. However, I went upstairs afterwards, and smoothed my hair and set my collar straight, and was glad to hear Aunt Deborah give her usual order that she was "at home" with her usual solemnity. I had not been ten minutes in the drawing-room before a knock at the door brought my heart into my mouth, and our tragic footman announced "Captain Lovell" in his most tragic voice. In marched Frank, who had never set eyes on my aunt in his life, and shook hands with me, and made her a very low bow, with a degree of effrontery that nothing but a man could ever have been capable of assuming. Aunt Deborah drew herself up—and she really is very formidable when she gets on her high horse—and looked first at me, and then at Frank, and then at me again; and I blushed like a fool, and hesitated, and introduced "Captain Lovell" to "My aunt, Miss Horsingham!" and I didn't the least know what to do next, and had a great mind to make a bolt for it and run upstairs. But our visitor seemed to have no misgivings whatever, and smoothed his hat and talked about the weather as if he had known us all from childhood. I have often remarked that if you only deprive a man of the free use of his hands there is no difficulty which he is unable to face. Give him something to handle and keep fidgeting at, and he seems immediately to be in his element, never mind what it is—a paper-knife and a book to open, or a flower to pull in pieces, or a pair of scissors and a bit of thread to snip, or even the end of a stick to suck—and he draws inspiration, and what is more to the purpose, conversation, from any and all of these sources.

Our visitor smoothed his hat and talked about the weather.

But let him have his hands entirely to himself, give him nothing to "lay hold of," and he is completely dumbfoundered on the spot. Here was Frank brushing and smoothing away at his hat till it shone like black satin, and facing my aunt with a gallantry and steadiness beyond all praise; but I believe if I could have snatched it away from him and hid it under the sofa, he would have been routed at once, and must have fled in utter bewilderment and dismay. After my aunt had replied courteously enough to a few commonplace observations, she gave one of her ominous coughs, and I trembled for the result.

"Captain Beville," said my aunt. "I think I once knew a family of your name in Hampshire—the New Forest, if I remember rightly."

"Excuse me," said Frank, nowise disconcerted, and with a sly glance at me, "my name is Lovell."

"Oh," replied my aunt, with a considerable assumption of stateliness, "then—ahem!—Captain Greville, I don't think I have ever had the pleasure of meeting you before."

And my aunt looked as if she didn't care whether she ever met him again. This would have been a "poser" to most people; but Frank applied himself diligently to his hat, and opened the trenches in his own way.

"The fact is, Miss Horsingham," said he, "that I have taken advantage of my intimacy with your nephew to call upon you without a previous introduction, in hopes of ascertaining what has become of an old brother officer of mine, a namesake of yours, and consequently, I should conclude, a relative. There is, I believe, only one family in England of your name. Excuse me, Miss Horsingham, for so personal a remark, but I am convinced he must have been a near connection from a peculiarity which every one who knows anything about our old English families is aware belongs to yours: my poor friend Charlie had a beautiful 'hand.' You, madame, I perceive, own the same advantage; therefore I am convinced you must be a near connection of my old comrade. You may think me impertinent, but there is no mistaking 'the Horsingham hand.'"

Aunt Deborah gave in at once.

"I cannot call to mind at this moment any relative of mine who is likely to have served with you" (nor was this to be wondered at, the warrior aux blanches mains being a fabulous creation of wicked Frank); "but I have no doubt, Captain Lovell, that you are correct. I have great pleasure in making your acquaintance, particularly as you seem well acquainted with our belongings. Do you stay any length of time in town?"

"I seldom remain till the end of the season; but this year I think I shall. By the way, Miss Horsingham, I saw a curious old picture the other day in the West of England, purporting to be a portrait of the celebrated 'Ysonde of Brittany, with the White Hand,' in which I traced a strong resemblance to some of the Horsinghams, with whom I am acquainted. Yours is, I believe, an old Norman family; and as I am a bit of an antiquary" (O Frank, Frank!), "I consulted my friend Sir J. Burke on the subject, who assures me that the 'Le Montants'—Godfrey le Montant, if you remember, distinguished himself highly in the second crusade—that the Le Montants claimed direct descent from the old Dukes of Brittany, and consequently from the very lady of whom we are speaking. Roger le Montant came over with the Conqueror, and although strangely omitted from the Roll of Battle Abbey, doubtless received large grants of land in Hampshire from William; and two generations later we can trace his descendant, Hugo, in the same locality, under the Anglicized name of Horsengem, now corrupted to Horsingham, of which illustrious family you are, of course, aware yours is a younger branch. It is curious that the distinguishing mark of the race should have been preserved in all its shapely beauty," added Frank, with the gravest face possible, and glancing at the lavender kids, "through so many changes and so many successive generations."

Aunt Deborah was delighted. "Such a clever young man, my dear!" she said to me afterwards. "Such manners! such a voice! quite one of the old school—evidently well-bred, and with that respect for good blood which in these days, I regret to say, is fast becoming obsolete. Kate, I like him vastly!"

In the meantime she entered freely into conversation with our visitor; and before he went away—by which time his hat looked as if it had been ironed—"she hoped he would call again; she was always at home till two o'clock, and trusted to have the pleasure of his company at dinner as soon as she was well enough to get anybody to meet him."

So Frank went off to ride in the Park on the neatest possible brown hack; for I saw him quite plainly trot round the corner as I went into the balcony to water my poor geraniums.

Well, I waited and waited, and John never came for me, as was his usual habit; and I began to think I must lose my ride, for I am not allowed to go by myself in the afternoons; and at last I was obliged to coax Aunt Deborah to take me out in the open carriage, for it was a beautiful day, and it would be just the thing for her cold. So we went dowagering about, and shopped in Bond Street, and looked at some lace in Regent Street, and left cards for Lady Horsingham, as in duty bound, after helping her to "make a good ball;" and then we went into the Ring, and I looked and looked everywhere, but I could not see anything like Frank or his brown hack. To be sure the Ride was as crowded as a fair. But I did see Cousin John, and I must say it was too bad of him to keep me waiting and watching all the afternoon, and then never to take the trouble of sending a note or a message, but to start off by himself and escort Miss Molasses, as if he was her brother at least, if not a nearer relation. Miss Molasses, forsooth, with her lackadaisical ways and her sentimental nonsense; and that goose John taking it all in open-mouthed, as if she was an angel upon earth. Well, at all events she don't ridelike me. Such a figure I never saw on a horse!—all on one side, like the handle of a teapot, bumping when she trots and wobbling when she canters, with braiding all over her habit, and a white feather in her hat, and gauntlet gloves (of course one may wear gauntlet gloves for hunting, but that's not London), and her sallow face. People call her interesting, but I call her bilious. And a wretched long-legged Rosinante, with round reins and tassels, and a netting over its ears, and a head like a fiddle-case, and no more action than a camp-stool. Such a couple I never beheld. I wonder John wasn't ashamed to be seen with her, instead of leaning his hand upon her horse's neck, and looking up in her face with his broad, honest smile, and taking no more notice of her sister Jane, who is a clever girl, with something in her, than if she had been the groom. I was provoked with him beyond all patience. Had it been Mrs. Lumley, for instance, I could have understood it; for she certainly is a chatty, amusing woman, though dreadfully bold, and it is a pleasure to see her canter up the Park in her close-fitting habit and her neat hat, with her beautiful round figure swaying gracefully to every motion of her horse, yet so imperceptibly that you could fancy she might balance a glassful of water on her head without spilling a drop. To say nothing of the brown mare, the only animal in London I covet, who is herself a picture. Such action! such a mouth! and such a shape! I coaxed Aunt Deborah to wait near Apsley House, on purpose that we might see her before we left the Park. And sure enough we did see her, as usual surrounded by a swarm of admirers; and next to her—positively next to her—Frank Lovell, on the very brown hack that had been standing an hour at our door. He saw me too, and took his hat off; and she said something to him, and they both laughed!

I asked Aunt Deborah to go home, for it was getting late, and the evening air was not very good for her poor cold. I did not feel well myself somehow; and when dear aunty told me I looked pale, I was forced to confess to a slight headache. I am not subject to low spirits generally—I have no patience with a woman that is—but of course one is sometimes a "little out of sorts;" and I confess I did not feel quite up to the mark that evening, I cannot tell why. If John flatters himself it was because he behaved so brutally in disappointing me, he is very much mistaken; and as for Captain Lovell, I am sure he may ride with anybody he likes for what I care. I wonder, with all his cleverness, he can't see how that woman is only laughing at him. However, it's no business of mine. So I went into my boudoir, drank some tea, and then locked myself in and had a "good cry."