“But it was an heirloom!”

“I have no opinion of heirlooms,” said her ladyship flatly. “If you mean to say that it belonged to Evelyn, I know it did, but, pray, what use was it to him, when what he needed, quite desperately, poor love, was the money to pay his gaming debts? I told him about it afterwards, and I assure you he made not the least objection!”

“I dare say! And what of his son?” demanded Kit.

“Dearest, you are too absurd! How should he raise an objection when he won’t know anything about it?”

“Have you—have you disposed of any more heirlooms?” he asked, regarding her with awe, and some reluctant amusement.

“No, I don’t think so. But you know what a wretched memory I have! In any event, it doesn’t signify, because what’s done is done, and I have more important things to think of than a lot of hideous family jewels. Dearest, do, pray, stop being frivolous!”

“I didn’t mean to be frivolous,” he said meekly.

“Well, don’t ask me stupid questions about heirlooms, or talk nonsense about it’s being as easy for Evelyn to pay my debts as it would have been for your papa. You must have read that hateful Will! Poor Evelyn has no more command over Papa’s fortune than you have! Everything was left to your uncle’s discretion!”

He frowned a little. “I remember that my father created some kind of Trust, but not that it extended to the income from the estate. My uncle has neither the power to withhold that, nor to question Evelyn’s expenditure. As I recall, Evelyn was prohibited from disposing of any part of his principal, except with my uncle’s consent, until he reaches the age of thirty, unless, at some time before that date, my uncle should judge him to have outgrown his—his volatility (don’t eat me, Mama!), when the Trust might be brought to an end, and Evelyn put in undisputed possession of his inheritance. I know I thought my father need not have fixed on thirty as the proper age: twenty-five would have been a great deal more reasonable, and in no way remarkable. Evelyn was vexed, of course—who wouldn’t have been?—but it made very little difference to him, after all. You’ve said yourself that he has no intention of wasting his principal. You know, Mama, the income is pretty considerable! What’s more, my uncle told him at the time that he was prepared to consent to the sale of certain stocks, to defray whatever large debts Evelyn had incurred—particularly any post-obit bonds—since he thought it not right that the income should perhaps be reduced to a monkey’s allowance until they had all been paid.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “He did say that, and it quite astonished me, for, in general, he’s as close as wax, Kit!”

“No: merely, he doesn’t live up to the door, and certainly not beyond it. But the thing is, Mama, that he didn’t wish Evelyn to succeed my father under a load of debt, and if you had but told him of the fix you were in I’m persuaded he would have settled your debts along with the rest.”

She gazed at him incredulously. “Henry? You must be out of your mind, Kit! When I think of the way he has always disapproved of me, and the rake-down he gave Evelyn, whose debts were nothing compared to mine—Oh, no, no! I had liefer by far put a period to my existence than cast myself on his mercy! He would have imposed the most humiliating conditions on me—condemned me to live the rest of my days in that horrid Dower House at Ravenhurst, very likely! Or worse!”

He was silent for a moment. Knowing that Henry, Lord Brumby, considered his charming sister-in-law incorrigible, he could not help feeling that there was some truth in what she said. His frown deepened; he said abruptly: “Why the devil didn’t Evelyn tell him? He could have handled my uncle so much more easily than you could!”

“Do you think so?” she said doubtfully. “He never has done so. Besides, he didn’t know just how things stood with me, because I never thought to tell him. Well, how was I to guess that nearly every soul I owed money to would suddenly start to dun me, and some of them in the rudest way, too? Not that I should have teased Evelyn with my difficulties when he was already in hot water with Henry on his own account. I hope you know me better than to suppose I should do such a selfish thing as that!”

A wry smile twisted his lips. “I’m beginning to, Mama! I wish you will tell me how you expected to settle matters, though, if you didn’t tell Evelyn?”

“Well, I didn’t know then that I should be obliged to,” she explained. “I mean, I never had done so, except now and then, in a gradual way, when I was particularly asked to, so you can imagine what a shock it was to me when Mr Child positively refused—though with perfect civility—to lend me £3000, which would have relieved my immediate difficulties, and even begged me not to overdraw the account by as much as a guinea more—just as if I hadn’t paid the interest, which, I promise you, I did!”

Mr Fancot, considerably bemused, interrupted, to demand: “But what’s this talk of Child, Mama? My father never banked with him!”

“Oh no, but my father did, and your Uncle Baverstock does, of course, now that Grandpapa is dead, so I have been acquainted with Mr Child for ever—a most superior man, Kit, who has always been so very kind to me!—and that is how I come to have an account with him!”

Mr Fancot, his hair lifting gently on his scalp, ventured to inquire more particularly into the nature of his mama’s account with Child’s Bank, As far as he could ascertain from her explanation, it had its sole origin in a substantial loan made to her by the clearly besotted Mr Child. Something in his expression, as he listened in gathering dismay, caused her to break off, laying a hand on his arm, and saying imploringly: “Surely you must know how it is when one finds oneself—what does Evelyn call it?—oh, in the basket!. I collect that has something to do with cock-fighting: so disgusting and vulgar! Kit, haven’t you got debts?”

He shook his head, a rueful gleam in his eyes. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t!”

“None?” she exclaimed.

“Well, none that I can’t discharge! I may owe a trifle here and there, but—oh, don’t look at me like that! I promise you I’m not a changeling, love!”

“How can you be so absurd? Only it seems so extraordinary—but I expect you haven’t had the opportunity to run into debt, living abroad as you do,” she said excusingly.

He gave a gasp, managed to utter: “J-just so, Mama!” and went into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, dropping his head in his hands, and clutching his chestnut locks.

She was not in the least offended, but chuckled responsively, and said: “Now you sound like yourself again! Do you know, for a moment—only for a moment!—you looked like your father? You can’t conceive the feel it gave me!”

He lifted his head, wiping his streaming eyes. “Oh, no, did I? Was it very bad? I’ll try not to do so again! But tell me! When Child would give you no credit didn’t you then tell Evelyn?”

“No, though I did think I might be obliged to, till it darted into my mind, in the middle of the night, to apply to Edgbaston for a loan. Isn’t it odd, dearest, how often the answer to a problem will flash upon one in the night?”

“Applied to Lord Edgbaston?” he ejaculated.

“Yes, and he agreed to lend me £5000—at interest, of course!—and so then I was in funds again. Oh, Kit, don’t frown like that! Are you thinking that I should rather have applied to Bonamy Ripple? I couldn’t, you see, because he had gone off to Paris, and the matter was—was a little urgent!”

For as long as Kit could remember, this elderly and extremely wealthy dandy had run tame about his home, regarded by himself and Evelyn as a fit subject for ridicule, and by their father with indifference. He had been one of Lady Denville’s many suitors, and when she had married Lord Denville he had become her most faithful cicisbeo. He was generally supposed to have remained a bachelor for her sake; but since his figure resembled nothing so much as an over-ripe pear, and his countenance was distinguished only by an expression of vacuous amiability and the snuff-stains on his fat cheeks, not even the more determined brewers of scandal-broth could detect anything in his devotion but food for mockery. The twins, inured to his frequent appearances in Hill Street, accepted him with much the same contemptuous tolerance as they would have felt for an over-fed lap-dog which their mama chose to encourage. But although Kit would have hooted with ribald laughter at the suggestion that any impropriety attached to Sir Bonamy’s fidelity he was far from thinking it desirable that his mother should apply to him for help in her financial difficulties, and he said so.

“Good gracious, Kit, as though I hadn’t often done so!” she exclaimed. “It is by far the most comfortable arrangement, because he is so rich that he doesn’t care how many of my bonds he holds, and never does he demand the interest on the loans he makes me! As for dunning me to repay him, I am persuaded such a notion never entered his head. He may be absurd, and growing fatter every day, but I have been used to depend on him for years, in all manner of ways! It was he who sold my jewels for me, and had them copied, for instance, besides—” She stopped abruptly. “Oh, I wish I had never mentioned him! It has brought it all back to me! That was what made Evelyn go away!”

“Ripple?” he asked, wholly at sea.

“No, Lord Silverdale,” she replied.

“For the lord’s sake, Mama—!” he expostulated. “What are you talking about? What the deuce has Silverdale to say to anything?”