The Earl gave his consent with the utmost readiness, but contrived to provoke Miss Taverner. “Certainly. It will be very desirable for you to go out of town for the summer. I had fixed the 12th May as a convenient date, but if you like to go sooner I daresay it can be arranged.”

“You had fixed—!” repeated Miss Taverner. “Do you tell me you have already made arrangements for out going to Brighton?”

“Naturally. Who else should do so?”

“No one!” said Miss Taverner angrily. “It is for Peregrine and me to arrange! You did not so much as mention the matter to either of us, and we will not have our future arranged in this high-handed fashion!”

“I thought you wished to go to Brighton?” said the Earl. “I am going to Brighton!”

“Then what is all this bustle about?” inquired Worth calmly. “In sending Blackader to look over suitable houses there I have done nothing more than you wanted.”

“You have done a great deal more. Perry is going to drive down with my cousin to select a house!”

“He may as well spare himself the trouble,” replied Worth, “there are only two to be had, and I hold an option on both. You must know that houses in Brighton for the season are excessively hard to come by. Unless you wish to lodge in a back street, you will be satisfied with one of the two Blackader has found for you. One is on the Steyne, the other on the Marine Parade.” He looked at her for a moment, and then lowered his gaze. “I strongly advise you to choose the house on the Steyne. You will not like Marine Parade; the Steyne is a most eligible situation, in the centre of the town, within sight of the Pavilion—the hub of Brighton, in effect. I will tell Blackader to close with the owner. Thirty guineas a week is asked for the house, but taking into account the position it cannot be thought excessive.”

“I think it ridiculous,” said Miss Taverner instantly. “From what my cousin has told me I should infinitely prefer to lodge on the Marine Parade. To be situated in the centre of the town, in the midst of all the bustle, can be no recommendation. I will consult with my cousin.”

“I do not wish you to take the house on Marine Parade,” said the Earl.

“I am sorry to disoblige you,” said Miss Taverner, a martial light in her eye, “but you will have the goodness to instruct Mr. Blackader to hire that and no other house for us.”

The Earl bowed. “Very well, Miss Taverner,” he said.

Judith, who had anticipated a struggle, was left triumphant and bewildered. But the Earl’s unexpected compliance was soon explained. Captain Audley, meeting Miss Taverner in the Park, got up beside her in the phaeton, and said: “So you are to go to Brighton, Miss Taverner! My doctor recommends sea air for me: you will certainly see me there as well.”

“We go next month,” replied Judith. “We shall lodge on the Marine Parade.”

“Yes, I was present when Blackader came back from Brighton. The place will be full this summer. There were only two genteel houses to be had, and one was on the Steyne—no very eligible situation for you, Worth thought.”

Miss Taverner’s lips parted; she turned her eyes towards the Captain, and regarded him with painful intensity. “He wanted me to choose the other?” she demanded.

“Why, yes; I am sure he had no notion of your lodging on the Steyne. It is very smart, no doubt, but you would have your front windows for ever stared into, and all your comings and goings ogled by young bucks.”

“Captain Audley,” said Miss Taverner, controlling herself with a strong effort, “you must get down immediately, for I am going home.”

“Good God!” exclaimed the Captain, in lively dismay. “What have I said to offend you?”

“Nothing, nothing! It is only that I have remembered I have a letter to write which must be sent off without any loss of time.”

Within a quarter of an hour Miss Taverner was seated at her desk, furiously mending her pen, her gloves and scarf flung down on the floor beside her. The pen mended to her satisfaction, she dipped it in the standish, and drew a sheet of elegant, hot-pressed paper towards her. After that she sat nibbling the end of her pen while the ink slowly dried. At last she nodded briskly to herself, dipped the pen in the standish a second time, and began to write a careful letter to her guardian.


Brook Street, April 19th.

Dear Lord Worth [she began], I am afraid that I behaved badly this morning in going against your wishes in the matter of the house in Brighton. Upon reflection I am bound to acknowledge that I did wrong. I write now to assure you that I have no real wish to stay on the Marine Parade, and shall obey you in lodging on the Steyne.

Yours sincerely,

Judith Taverner.


She read this through with a pleased smile, sealed it in an envelope, wrote the direction, and rang the bell for a servant.

The note was taken round by hand, but the Earl being out when it was delivered, no answer was brought back to Miss Taverner.

By noon on the following day, however, the answer had arrived. Miss Taverner broke the seal, spread out the single sheet, and read:


Cavendish Square, April 20th.

Dear Miss Taverner, I accept your apologies, but although your promise of obedience must gratify me, it is now too late to change. I regret to inform you that the house on the Steyne is no longer on the market, but has been snapped up by another. I have this morning signed the lease of the one on Marine Parade.

Yours, etc.,

Worth.


“My love!” cried Mrs. Scattergood, coming suddenly into the room, in her street dress and hat, “you must instantly drive with me to Bond Street! I have seen the most ravishing sea-coast promenade gown! I am determined you must purchase it. Nothing could be more desirable, more exactly suited to the seaside! It is of yellow creped muslin, confined at the bosom and down the entire front with knots of green ribbon, and bound round the neck with, I think, three rows of the same. You may imagine how neat! There is a high lace tucker, and ruffles on the sleeves, and a Zephyr cloak to wear with it, made of lace, falling in long points to the feet, with green tassels to finish each point, and a sash round the waist. You could wear your yellow morocco sandals with it, and the pebble ear-rings and necklace, and the beehive bonnet with the long veil. Oh, and what do you think, my dear? I met Charles Audley on my way, and he told me Worth is to go to Brighton too, and has taken a house on the Steyne for the whole summer. But what is the matter? Why do you look at me like that? Have you received bad news?”

Judith sprang up, and screwing the Earl’s letter into a ball, hurled it into the empty grate. “I think,” she said stormily, “that Lord Worth is the most odious, provoking, detestable creature alive!”

Chapter XVI

Worth’s duplicity, Worth’s despicable strategy, Worth’s infamous triumph, possessed Miss Taverner’s mind for many days. In all the business of choosing muslins, gauzes, French cambrics, and crapes for the making up for gowns to wear at Brighton, plans for revenge on him were revolving in her head, and her thoughts wandered even when she was engaged in choosing between sandals made of white kid, and Roman boots of Denmark satin. Mrs. Scattergood was in despair, and when Miss Taverner cast an indifferent glance at two hats displayed by a milliner (the one an enchanting Lavinia chip tied down with sarcenet ribbons, and the other a celestial-blue bonnet with a jockey-front edged with honeycomb trimming) and said that she liked neither, her chaperon, seriously alarmed, spoke of sending for Dr. Baillie to prescribe a tonic.

Miss Taverner declined seeing a doctor, but continued to brood darkly over Worth’s enormities.

Somewhat to Peregrine’s disappointment, the Fairfords were not going to Brighton, but to Worthing instead, a resort much patronized by persons to whom the racket of Brighton was distasteful. Nothing but the discovery that Worthing was situated only thirteen miles from Brighton reconciled him to his sister’s choice of watering-place, and with the smallest encouragement he would have forgone all the gaiety of Brighton and secured lodgings at Worthing instead. But Judith was adamant, and he was forced to be content with the prospect of riding over to see his Harriet three or four times a week.

The time for their departure from London drew near; everything was in train; all that remained to be done was to pack their trunks, and to decide upon the route to be followed. There could be little question: all the advantages of the New Road, which was shorter and in better condition than any other, were felt. At the most four changes only could be thought necessary, and with her own horses posted on the road, Judith might expect to accomplish the journey in five hours or less. Twenty-eight stage-coaches a day ran between London and Brighton during the season, but Peregrine could not discover that any of them made the journey in less than six hours. He was of the opinion that a light travelling chaise-and-four might very well accomplish it in five, though he, driving his curricle, had every expectation of rivalling the Regent’s performance in 1784, when, as Prince of Wales, he had driven a phaeton drawn by three horses, harnessed tandem-fashion, from Carlton House to the Marine Pavilion infour hours and a half.

“Though I shan’t drive unicorn, of course,” he added. “I shall have four horses.”

“My dear, you ‘could not drive unicorn if you wanted to,” said Judith. “Those randoms are the most difficult of all to handle. I wish I might go with you. I hate travelling boxed up in a chaise.”