The Stanbroke Girls Read online

  Elizabeth, applied to by Miss Lewis “please to stop,” now obligingly did so and instead turned her considerable powers of observation to other objects. “Well, I shall know in the future who to stay away from,” she remarked, opening her eyes at last and sitting up a little. “That Lemon man—what was his name?”

  “Middleford, I think,” supplied Isabella.

  “Yes, just so. What a dead bore! Can you imagine? He spoke to me for thirty minutes—really, thirty minutes!—about porcelain. Porcelain, if you will! Evidently he is a collector. But don’t you think he is too young to be a collector? Surely there must be some law prohibiting the collecting of porcelain before the age of five-and-thirty. Or if there is not we must ask Papa to introduce one when he is next in Parliament. It’s a positive scandal.” She was silent a moment, again stroking her eyelids. Then, “Well, whom will you marry, Bella? I’m afraid you’ve seen the pick of the ton tonight, so you might just as well make your decision among them and have done with it.”

  “Good heavens, Elizabeth, what a thought!”

  “Why, what’s the matter? Didn’t you see anybody who struck your fancy?”

  “Unfortunately Mamma kept me so busy being charming and courteous I had no opportunity to notice any gentleman in particular. Why, whom will you marry?” she asked in her turn.

  Elizabeth spoke without hesitation. “The Earl of Marchmont,” she said.

  Isabella sat bolt upright. “Elizabeth, what can you mean?” she demanded.

  “There is no great mystery, my love,” laughed the other. “I am going to marry Lord Marchmont—see if I don’t!”

  Miss Lewis, upon whom this announcement had also had a galvanic effect, now rose and crossed the room. She seated herself next to Lizzie and brought out haltingly, “You don’t mean…my dear, is it possible—he cannot have asked you tonight?”

  “Goodness, no,” cried the other, still smiling. “I dareswear he won’t ask for months. But he will ask,” she added deliberately.

  “Do you really like him so much?” Amy asked wonderingly, while Isabella exclaimed, “Isn’t it splendid! You knew at once, didn’t you Lizzie? The moment you set eyes on him.” She sat up and folded her legs before her, hugging her knees to her chest.

  “Oh come now, my pets, this is nothing to fly into the boughs about. It was only a thought. How serious you both are!”

  “But Elizabeth, to say you are going to marry a gentleman—! And then, that gentleman in particular,” Amy remonstrated.

  “Why not ‘that gentleman in particular’?” inquired Lizzie. “Is there something about him you object to?”

  “Oh gracious, not at all,” said Isabella. “He is a little old for you, perhaps…”

  “A little old! How old do you suppose him to be?”

  “Dear me, I should think at least forty,” her sister hazarded dubiously.

  “Forty! He is hardly that, dear girl. And even if he were, that is not so very old.”

  “It is more than twice your age,” Miss Lewis pointed out mildly.

  But Lady Elizabeth suddenly coloured. “Oh pooh, this whole discussion is silly. I merely said, quite idly, that I— Let us drop the subject, shall we? Lady Emilia was very kind to me last year, and she made me feel quite as if I knew her brother, and so I suppose that is why he made such—I mean to say, that is why his name stuck in my head.”

  “You love him,” Isabella pronounced flatly.

  “Bella, how could I?” she retorted, her blush deepening. “I have only just met the gentleman tonight.”

  “That is how it happens. All at once, you just know—”

  “Fustian!” insisted the other angrily. “You read too many novels; I have often told Mamma you do. And yet even you must have more sense than to believe—”

  “Look at you, you are crimson!” accused Isabella, interrupting. “Oh, my darling, I am so happy for you. I think he’s awfully handsome, even if he is a little old, and he is certainly charming. And what a catch—”

  “Isabella!” cried her sister, seeking furiously to quell this torrent. “I forbid you to—”

  “Where will you live, though? Aren’t they a Sussex family? Oh dear, you will be so far away from us—”

  “Isabella!” Elizabeth jumped to her feet and rose menacingly over her sister to her full height. “My dear, this is sufficient. I was merely making a little joke. I beg you will forget it.”

  “I wish I may be so fortunate when I fall in love,” Bella continued, undismayed. “Think of it, you will be a countess, like Mamma.”

  “Isabella, I am warning you. In fifteen seconds I shall—I shall take this cushion,” she threatened, snatching up a velvet pillow, “and smother your unstoppable mouth with it!”

  “We shall have to call you Lady Marchmont, I suppose. How well that sounds,” she went on tranquilly, now introducing a note of grandeur. “My sister, Lady Marchmont, always bespeaks her biscuits from Gunther’s. Yes, even when she is at home in Sussex! She has them delivered specially. She says they are much better than any her cook can—”

  “That’s it!” exclaimed Lizzie, and flew at her, weapon in hand. Isabella dodged her attacker by diving head-foremost into the cushions of her settee, leaving Elizabeth only the back of her blond head to smother—but since Bella’s face was consequently squashed against the settee’s silk upholstery she did not gain much by the manoeuvre. In fact, she was saved from extinction only by the very timely entrance into the Oriental saloon of her brother. He took in the scene with a single glance, then grabbed Elizabeth by the shoulders and dragged her away from her squealing prey.

  “Hello, what’s all this? Bit of a dust-up? You girls ought to wait for me, really you should, before you start going at one another like that. I might be able to give you a few pointers. Lizzie, for example,” he went on smoothly, “if you are going to smother someone with a pillow, you oughtn’t to start with an ornamental one. In general they are much too small for the business…and in any case the really elegant murderess makes certain she has a goose-down pillow before she makes a move. Why, this pillow is stuffed with horse hair, I should think, at least by the feel of it. Oh, you girls are impossible, ’pon my word; I don’t know why I bother with you.” He seated himself, grinning, on the green sofa, his fingers still tightly clamped round Elizabeth’s wrist.

  “You may leave go of me now,” she suggested primly.

  “Oh my, I don’t know if I should just yet. What do you think, Amy?” he asked, with great geniality. “Does she look as if she can be trusted?”

  Miss Lewis turned her large, soft eyes on him. To say truth, she had trouble turning them anywhere else when he was in the room. And he was indeed very pleasant to look upon: he had his sisters’ butter-coloured hair (just a shade darker than theirs, though, Amy always thought, and a shade glossier) and was every bit as handsome as they were beautiful. They all had intensely blue eyes, as had both their parents. The family resemblance was very strong among them in all respects, in fact. Lady Elizabeth’s features were perhaps a trifle more delicate than any of the others, her hair finer and her complexion more subtly tinted. Amy supposed that she was, of the three, the most beautiful, at least in the strictest sense. She had an extremely graceful demeanour as well, and stood a full two inches taller than her sister. Isabella was somehow more dashing than Lizzie. Her movements were quick and sure, her features more clearly defined than Elizabeth’s. Altogether she gave the impression that she might at any moment spring up from her chair and leap into the saddle of a waiting stallion, which would then bear her off to a life of noble adventure and daring deeds.

  And then there was Charlie, tall and lean and agile, with a full red grin and eyes of a liquid blue that hinted at great tenderness (though it must be admitted his behaviour seldom justified this intimation). Amy had hardly ever seen him in full evening dress before: the tight stockinet suited his legs so well! She was ashamed to admit she had noticed it (even though she admitted it only to herself), but his figure seemed to h
er far superior to that of any other gentleman who had attended tonight. Lord Marchmont, to take an instance, was all very well in his way. He was broad-shouldered, where her Charlie was narrow, and sleekly muscular where Charlie might be called wiry—but what were broad shoulders and perceptible muscles? Merely so much unnecessary baggage, in her opinion. Miss Lewis’s introduction to fashionable gentlemen had left her affections quite unmoved: the notion that there might be some man who would appeal to her more than Charlie did not cross her mind at all.

  Just now this paragon was continuing, in his melodious voice, to quiz his sisters on the cause of their recent dispute. Neither would satisfy his curiosity, however. Elizabeth was glad to observe that, whatever else her faults might be, Isabella was not a tell-tale; still, she adroitly turned the conversation as soon as she could. “Well, my dear,” she said, “if you will leave go my arm I will tell you all about what Sir John Firebrace told me about Cribb’s match with Bill Neate last week.”

  Since Charlie was an avid spectator of pugilistic bouts—and an amateur of some standing himself—this was strong inducement indeed. He released Elizabeth and begged to know the details.

  “According to Sir John,” she said, “that mill was rigged. He says Mr. Neate was given three hundred pounds to take his fall, and a hundred more to make it look convincing.”

  “Damme, I knew there was something queer about that fight! I lost five pounds on Neate, you know. Who fixed it?”

  Elizabeth shrugged, rising strategically as she did so and beginning to cross to the door. “I have no idea.”

  “You have—you mean, John Firebrace told you it was rigged, but didn’t say who by?”

  “That’s right,” she returned, laughing.

  “Well what the devil use is that to me?” he demanded. “To be told a fight was crooked, and not told who was responsible! Lizzie, now I’ll never sleep, trying to puzzle this out! I’m going to call on John at once—oh damme, no—that won’t do. Well, first thing in the morning,” he asserted, ever more excited. Elizabeth, who had known how frustrating her limited information would be, had now safely crossed the threshold of the wide double doors.

  “Good night, my dears,” she called gaily, thoroughly enjoying her brother’s discomfiture. Then she retired altogether, shutting the doors behind her.

  “What a minx it is!” swore her brother as she disappeared. “It’s not the five pounds, of course, it’s the idea of being taken in. When a man makes a wager he expects a fair chance at—” Charlie had been planning to continue these fulminations for some time, but was interrupted by the entrance of his mother. “Oh! Good evening ma’am,” he broke off, with grudging politeness. “All well in the kitchens I hope?”

  “Where is Elizabeth?” she inquired, ignoring his question and seating herself on the green sofa her elder daughter had just vacated.

  “Gone to bed, the coward,” young Halcot informed her. “Wait till you hear what she’s done, ma’am! She told me—”

  “In the morning please, my love. Dear Lord, I’m tired!” exclaimed Lady Trevor. She reached across to Isabella and took the girl’s hand. “You were splendid tonight, my dear. Truly charming. And so were you, Amy,” she added, with only a slight diminution of enthusiasm. She was a small woman, fragile and elegant, with the same fine blond hair and large blue eyes she had given to Lizzie.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “In fact you were all wonderful, my chickens. Charlie, I must thank you for coming to my aid with that Lemon man. What an extraordinary trial he is! Porcelain, if you please!” she went on, unconsciously echoing her daughter. “I thought I would scream.”

  “Oh, it was nothing, Mother,” Halcot said carelessly. “In fact, he rather interested me.”

  Lady Trevor stared. “I beg your pardon? You must be joking.”

  “Not at all,” said Charles, reddening slightly for no apparent reason. “It isn’t just the quality of the porcelain itself, you know. It’s the glaze as well—” he commenced.

  “I do not believe what I am hearing,” cried his progenitrix. “Do you?” she asked of Isabella.

  “Not particularly,” said she. “What can you mean, Charlie?”

  “It is a very interesting topic, that’s all,” insisted he, colouring ever more deeply. “I mean to call upon him and learn a bit more about it presently.”

  “Call upon him?”

  “Certainly,” he continued, with an attempt at dignity. “You know I do have some interests other than boxing and horseflesh. The arts have always appealed to me, and fine porcelain is really an art…”

  “Oh, this is too much,” exclaimed his exasperated mother. She was far too intelligent to be taken in by a ruse like this. “What is the meaning of this—this unnatural seizure? Are you well, my boy?”

  “Dear ma’am, you refine upon it too much! I do not see why I may not take an interest in the more…er, recherché pursuits of life without—”

  “Mamma, is not Mr. Lemon the brother of all those exquisite sisters?” Isabella suddenly broke in, a little incoherently.

  “The brother of—Oh, yes, the Lemon girls. Susannah, I think is the oldest. And Augusta, and…is it Amelia? In any case, yes.”

  “Well then, I think we’ve solved our mystery. My brother does not wish to further his acquaintance with Mr. Lemon at all—much less increase his knowledge of porcelain, forsooth!” she went on drily. “It is those Lemon girls he wishes to cultivate, depend upon it. Oh, look at him, one can see it at a glance.”

  Charlie did in fact appear pretty well confused. He was at this time about twenty-six years of age, but he had had very little experience of ladies, and his manner of dealing with the subject was far from polished. “Preposterous,” he sputtered awkwardly, adding at once, “and even if it were so, what would be the harm in it?”

  “No harm,” his mother reassured him, amused, but she cast a curious glance at Amy Lewis. The poor girl’s secret was a secret to no one but Charlie himself—though perhaps the depth of her feeling was not guessed at by the others. “I am sure the Lemon girls are very pleasant,” she added quietly.

  “Pleasant! I should say so,” asserted young Lord Halcot. “Why, she’s—I mean to say, they are diamonds of the first water. What elegance, I mean to say. And as graceful as a…er, as swans,” he concluded lamely.

  Isabella looked to Amy, whose rosy complexion had gone suddenly white. “I found them almost as dull as their brother,” Bella remarked, regretting with her whole heart her stupidity in allowing the discussion to take this turn. Poor Amy! Isabella could not see what there was to worship in her brother…but since Amy did, it was the least one could do to be discreet in her company. “Did not you, Amy?” she now added, hoping to vote the Lemon girls down before Charlie became really attached to them.

  But Amy was not capable of such stratagems. “I only spoke to one of them,” she answered softly. “Miss Susannah, I believe it was. She was very civil.” Her dimpled chin lifted proudly with these words, while her cheeks (if possible) went a little whiter.

  It had obviously been an effort for her to make the speech. Lady Trevor felt it was time to draw the discussion to a close. “Come, my pets,” she said, extending a hand to each girl. She rose adding, “It is extremely late. Let us see if we can catch Elizabeth before she goes to sleep. I want to congratulate her,” she continued, drawing them towards the door, “for I believe she charmed Lady Jersey quite thoroughly. We shall soon have vouchers for Almack’s, I am persuaded.”

  Isabella dropped her mother’s hand and drew Amy’s arm through her own instead. It had been an awkward scene and had left her a little sad. Romantic though she was, she saw nothing poetical in Miss Lewis’s attachment to her brother. Charlie was a silly, cork-brained boy, scarcely worth mooning over in her opinion—and what was more important, he never gave the least sign of having noticed Amy. When she was present, he behaved to her as he did to his sisters; when absent, he never spoke of her. Whereas he had indeed noticed several other wo
men, to her certain knowledge. Before the Lemon girls, it had been a Miss Hammond; and before her, Miss Stickney, his friend’s younger sister. Naturally very little had come of these fits and starts—but it was painful for Lady Isabella to see her friend persevere in her devotion without any reward, or even the promise of a reward. She was angry with Halcot for failing to notice Amy’s merits; still, to speak with him on the subject was out of the question. So she limited herself to hoping energetically that Miss Lewis would find some gentleman among London society who would appreciate her more, and whom she could love as well—while in the meantime the whole unspoken weight of Amy’s unrequited affection grew daily more perceptible and more burdensome.

  3

  The jolting report of a pistol split the air, then another, then another. Above the men hung the crisp evil odour of exploded gunpowder, a gathering if invisible cloud. The noise of the shots reverberated and faded. In a moment Warrington Weld rushed up to his friend Marchmont and shook him vigorously by the hand. “Well done, by Jupiter,” he exclaimed. “Well done! They’ll think twice before they challenge you again.”