Джорджетт Хейер - Cotillion

“I must say, sir, it is an odd, whimsical notion!” Biddenden remarked. “And one which—”

“Whimsical!” exclaimed Hugh, in tones of disgust. “I had rather have called it outrageous!”

“Very well, my lad, if that’s what you think, don’t offer for her!” retorted Mr. Penicuik.

“Pray be silent, Hugh! May I enquire, sir, whether the whole of your estate is to be bequeathed to the—er— fortunate suitor?”

“To Kitty, once she safely married. I don’t hold with cutting up property.”

“And in the event of no offer’s being received?”

Mr. Penicuik gave vent to another of his cackles. “I ain’t afraid of that!”

Hugh rose to his feet, and stood towering above his greatuncle. “I will not be silenced! The whole of this scheme must be repugnant to any female of delicacy. Pray, which of us do you mean to compel her to marry?”

“Don’t stand there, giving me a crick in my neck!” said Mr. Penicuik. “I shan’t compel her to marry any of you. I don’t say I wouldn’t rather she had one than another, naming no names, but I’m not an unreasonable man, and I’m willing to let her have her pick amongst you. Plenty of you to choose from!”

“But what if she should refuse, sir?” asked Biddenden anxiously.

“Then I’ll leave my money to the Foundling Hospital, or some such thing!” replied Mr. Penicuik. “She won’t be such a zany!”

“Am I correct in assuming, sir, that Kitty has no fortune of her own?” demanded Hugh.

“Not a farthing piece,” said Mr. Penicuik cheerfully.

Hugh’s eyes flashed. “And you say you do not compel her! I marvel at you, sir! I may say that I am profoundly shocked! Without fortune, what hope can any female, circumstanced as Kitty is, have of achieving a respectable alliance?”

“She can’t have any, of course,” said Mr. Penicuik becoming momently more affable as his great-nephew’s choler rose.

“No, indeed!” exclaimed Lord Biddenden, almost shuddering at the thought of marriage with a portionless female. “Really, Hugh, you go too far! I don’t know where you learned your fantastic notions! One would say there had never been a marriage arranged before, yet you must be well aware that in our circle such things are always done! Your own sisters—”

“I have yet to learn that my sisters were forced into marriages that were distasteful to them!”

Mr. Penicuik opened his snuff-box again. “What makes you think marriage to one of you would be distasteful to the girl?” he asked blandly. “Maybe she don’t fancy you, but that ain’t to say there isn’t one amongst you she might not be glad to pick. She don’t know any other men, so there’s bound to be.” Inhaling too large a pinch of Nut Brown, he sneezed violently several times. When he had recovered from this seizure, he said: “Going to be open with you! Everyone knows the Charings: good stock, fit to couple with any family! The thing is, Kitty has French blood in her.”

This information was well known to the company, but he disclosed it with all the air of one making a damaging admission. “Evron was the name. Never knew much about the family myself. They were emigrés, but not noble—at least, if they were it’s more than Tom ever told me. They won’t trouble you: I saw to that! Fellow who said he was Kitty’s uncle came here once—oh, years ago! Brought his sons with him: couple of scrubby schoolboys, they were. I soon sent him to the rightabout: a very neat article I thought him! No use his trying to bamboozle me, and so I told him! A sponge, that’s what he was, if he wasn’t worse. However, to the best of my belief he took himself off to France again. I never heard any more of him, at all events. But Desirée—Kitty’s mother—” He broke off, and his gaze, which had been flickering from Biddenden’s face to the Reverend Hugh’s, transferred itself to the smouldering logs in the grate. He did not finish his sentence, but said, after a pause: “Pretty little thing, Kitty, but she’ll never be the equal of her mother. Favours poor Tom too much. Got something of her mother’s look: I see it now and then: but Des—Mrs. Charing—Well, never mind! That ain’t to the purpose.” He stretched out his hand towards the bell-rope, and pulled it vigorously. “I’ll have her in,” he said. “But, mind, now! I ain’t compelling her to choose any of you three—well, she can’t choose you, George, because you’re married already! I don’t know what brings you here: I never invited you!”

Lord Dolphinton, pleased to hear his words thus confirmed, turned his eyes towards his elder cousin, and remarked succinctly: “Told you so!”

A few minutes later, Miss Catherine Charing entered the room, accompanied by an elderly lady whose sparse gray locks had been crimped into ringlets which dangled on either side of an amiable if not comely countenance. The absence of a cap proclaimed her spinsterhood; she wore a high-gown of an unbecoming shade of puce; and carried a reticule in one bony hand. Mr. Penicuik no sooner saw her than he exclaimed with unnecessary violence: “Not you, woman, not you! Think I haven’t had a bellyful of your face today? Go away! go away!”

The elderly lady made a faint clucking noise, but although she looked frightened she did not seem to be surprised by this unconventional greeting. She said: “Oh, Mr. Penicuik! At such a time—such a delicate occasion—!”

“Kitty!” interrupted Mr. Penicuik. “Throw that Fish out of the room!”

The elderly lady uttered a protesting shriek; Miss Charing, however, pushed her gently but inexorably over the threshold, saying: “I told you how it would be!” She then closed the door, favoured the company with a wide-eyed and thoughtful gaze, and advanced into the middle of the room.

“Good girl!” approved Mr. Penicuik. “Sit down!”

“Take this chair!” urged Lord Biddenden.

“You will be comfortable here, my dear Kitty,” said the Reverend Hugh, indicating the chair from which he had risen at her entrance.

Not to be outdone, Lord Dolphinton gulped, and said: “Take mine! Not comfortable, but very happy to— Pray take it!”

Miss Charing bestowed a small, prim smile upon her suitors, and sat down on a straight chair by the table, and folded her hands in her lap.

Miss Charing was a rather diminutive brunette. She had a neat figure, very pretty hands and feet, and a countenance which owed much to a pair of large, dark eyes. Their expression was one of candour and of innocence, and she had a habit of fixing them earnestly (and sometimes disconcertingly) upon the face of any interlocutor. She had a slightly retrousse nose, a short upper-lip, a decided chin, and a profusion of dusky curls, which were dressed in the demure style which found favour in the eyes of her guardian and her governess. She wore a round robe of green cambric, with a high waist and long sleeves, and one narrow flounce. A small gold locket was suspended round her throat by a ribbon. It was her only ornament. If Lord Biddenden, a man of fashionable inclinations, felt that a few trinkets and a more modish gown would have improved her, it was plain that his brother surveyed her modest appearance with approbation.

“Well, Kitty,” said Mr. Penicuik, “I’ve told these three what my intentions are, and now they may speak for themselves. Not Biddenden, of course: I don’t mean him, though I don’t doubt he’d speak fast enough if he could. What brought him here I don’t know!”

“I expect,” said Miss Charing, considering his lordship, “he came to bring Hugh up to the mark.”

“Really, Kitty! Upon my word!” ejaculated Biddenden, visibly discomposed. “It is time you learned to mend your tongue!”

Miss Charing looked surprised, and directed an enquiring glance at Hugh. He said, with grave kindness: “George means that such expressions as ‘up to the mark’ are improper when uttered by a female, cousin.”

“Ho!” said Mr. Penicuik. “So that’s what he meant, is it? Well, well! Then I’ll thank him to keep his nose out of what don’t concern him! What’s more, I won’t have you teaching the girl to be mealy-mouthed! Not while she lives under my roof! I have quite enough of that from that Fish!”

“I must observe, sir, that my cousin would be perhaps well-advised to model her conversation rather upon Miss Fishguard’s example than upon that set her by—I conjecture —Jack,” returned Hugh, pointedly enunciating each syllable of the governess’s name.

“Gammon!” said Mr. Penicuik rudely. “It ain’t Jack’s example she follows! It’s mine! I knew how it would be: I shan’t get a wink of sleep tonight! Damme, I never knew a fellow turn my bile as you do, Hugh, with that starched face of yours, and your prosy ways! If I hadn’t made up my mind to it that—Never mind that! I did make it up, and I won’t go back on my word! Never have, never will! However, there’s no reason for Kitty to be in a hurry to decide which of you she’ll have, and if she takes my advice she’ll wait and see whether—Not that either of ’em deserves she should, and if they think they can keep me dangling on their whims they will very soon discover their mistake!”

With these suddenly venomous words Mr. Penicuik once more tugged at the bell-rope, and with such violence that it was not surprising that not only the butler, but his valet as well, appeared in the Saloon before the echo of the clapper had died away. Mr. Penicuik announced his determination to retire to the library, adding that he had had enough of his relations for one day, but would see them again upon the morrow, unless—as was more than probable—he was then too ill to see anyone but the doctor. “Not that it’ll do me any good to see him!” he said. He uttered a sharp yelp as he was hoisted out of his chair, cursed his valet, and cast a malevolent look at Lord Biddenden. “And if I were to sleep all night, and wake up without a twinge of this damned gout, I still wouldn’t want to see you, George!” he declared.