Sylvester, or The Wicked Uncle

“Yes, I think so. I must have seen all the eligibles, I fancy.”

“And have made quite a number of them the objects of your gallantry—if the things I hear are to be believed!”

“My aunt Louisa,” said Sylvester unerringly. “What an incorrigible gossip your sister is, my dear! Well, if I have now and then shown a preference at least she can’t accuse me of having been so particular in my attentions as to have raised false hopes in any maiden’s bosom!”

The hint of laughter had quite vanished from her eyes. The image she cherished of this beloved son was all at once blurred; and a feeling of disquiet made it difficult for her to know what she should say to him. As she hesitated, an interruption occurred. The door was opened; a pretty, plaintive voice said: “May I come in, Mama- Duchess?” and there appeared on the threshold a vision of beauty dressed in a blue velvet pelisse, and a hat with a high poke-front which made a frame for a ravishing countenance. Ringlets of bright gold fell beside damask cheeks; large blue eyes were set beneath delicately arched brows; the little nose was perfectly straight; and the red mouth deliciously curved.

“Good morning, my love. Of course you may come in!” said the Duchess.

The vision had by this time perceived her brother-in-law, and although she did come in she said with a marked diminution of cordiality: “Oh! I didn’t know you had Sylvester with you, ma’am. I beg your pardon, but I only came to discover if Edmund was here.”

“I haven’t seen him this morning,” replied the Duchess. “Is he not with Mr. Leyburn?”

“No, and it is particularly vexatious because I wish to take him with me to visit the Arkholmes! You know I have been meaning for days to drive over to the Grange, ma’am, and now, on the first fine morning we have had for an age, no one can tell me where he is!”

“Perhaps he has slipped off to the stables, little rogue!”

“No, though, to be sure, that was what I expected too, for ever since Sylvester took to encouraging him to haunt the stables—”

“My dear, they all do so, and without the least encouragement!” interposed the Duchess. “Mine certainly did—they were the most deplorable urchins! Tell me, did you have that charming pelisse made from the velvets we chose from the patterns sent down last month? How well it has made up!”

The effect of this attempt to divert the beauty’s thoughts was unfortunate. “Yes, but only think, ma’am!” exclaimed Ianthe. “I had a suit made from it for Edmund to wear when he goes out with me—quite simple, but after the style of that red dress the boy has on in the picture by Reynolds. I forget where I saw it, but I thought at once how well Edmund would look in it if only it were not red but blue!”

“Wouldn’t he just!” muttered Sylvester.

“What did you say?” demanded Ianthe suspiciously.

“Nothing.”

“I suppose it was something ill-natured. To be sure, I never hoped that you would think it pretty!”

“You are mistaken. The picture you would both present would be pretty enough to take one’s breath away. Assuming, of course, that Edmund could be persuaded to behave conformably. Standing within your arm, with that soulful look on his face—no, that won’t do! He only wears that when he’s plotting mischief. Well—”

“Sylvester, will you be silent?” begged the Duchess, trying not to laugh. “Don’t heed him, my dear child! He’s only quizzing you!”

“Oh, I know that, ma’am!” said Ianthe, her colour considerably heightened. “I know, too, who it is who teaches poor little Edmund not to mind me!”

“Oh, good God, what next?” Sylvester exclaimed.

“You do!” she insisted. “And it shows how little affection you have for him! If you cared a rap for him you wouldn’t encourage him to run into heaven knows what danger!”

“What danger?”

“Anything might happen to him!” she declared. “At this very moment he may be at the bottom of the lake!”

“He is nowhere near the lake. If you must have it, I saw him making off to the Home Wood!”

“And you made not the smallest effort to call him back, I collect!”

“No. The last time I interfered in Edmund’s illicit amusements I figured in your conversation as a monster of inhumanity for three days.”

“I never said any such thing, but only that—besides, he may change his mind, and go to the lake after all!”

“Make yourself easy: he won’t! Not while he knows I’m at home, at all events.”

She said fretfully: “I might have known how it would be! I would as lief not to go to the Grange at all now, and I wouldn’t, only that I have had the horses put to. But I shan’t know a moment’s peace of mind for wondering if my poor, orphaned child is safe, or at the bottom of the lake!”

“If he should fail to appear in time for his dinner, I will have the lake dragged,” promised Sylvester, walking to the door, and opening it. “Meanwhile, however careless I may be of my nephew I am not careless of my horses, and I do beg of you, if you have had a pair put to, not to keep them standing in this weather!”

This request incensed Ianthe so much that she flounced out of the room in high dudgeon.

“Edifying!” remarked Sylvester. “Believing her orphaned son to be at the bottom of the lake this devoted parent departs on an expedition of pleasure!”

“My dear, she knows very well he isn’t at the bottom of the lake! Can you never meet without rubbing against one another? You are quite as unjust to her as she is to you, I must tell you!”

He shrugged. “I daresay. If I had ever seen a trace of her vaunted devotion to Edmund I could bear with her patiently, but I never have! If he will be so obliging as to submit to her caresses she is pleased to think she dotes on him, but when he becomes noisy it is quite a comedy to see how quickly she can develop the headache, so that Button must be sent for to remove her darling! She never went near him when he had the measles, and when she made his toothache an excuse to carry him off to London, and then was ready to let the brat’s tooth rot in his head rather than put herself to the trouble of compelling him to submit to its extraction—”

“I knew we should come to it!” interrupted the Duchess, throwing up her hands. “Let me tell you, my son, that it takes a great deal of resolution to drag a reluctant child to the dentist! I never had enough! It fell to Button to perform the dreadful duty—and so it would have done in Edmund’s case, only that she was ill at the time!”

“I shan’t let you tell me, Mama,” he said, laughing. “For I have performed the dreadful duty, remember!”

“So you have! Poor Edmund! Swooped upon in the Park, snatched up into your curricle, and whisked off to the torture-chamber in such a ruthless style! I promise you my heart bled for him!”

“It might well have done so had you seen his face as I saw it! I suppose the witless abigail who had him in charge told you I swooped upon him? All I did was to drive to Tilton’s immediately, and what was needed was not resolution but firmness! No, Mama: don’t ask me to credit Ianthe with devotion to her brat, for it sickens me! I only wish I knew who was the sapskull who told her how lovely she appeared with her child in her arms. Also that I hadn’t been fool enough to allow myself to be persuaded to commission Lawrence to paint her in that affecting pose!”

“You did so to give Harry pleasure,” said the Duchess gently. “I have always been glad to think it was finished in time for him to see it.”

Sylvester strode over to the window, and stood looking out. After a few minutes he said: “I’m sorry, Mama. I should not have said that.”

“No, of course you should not, dearest. I wish you will try not to be so hard on Ianthe, for she is very much to be pitied, you know. You didn’t like it when she began to go into society again with her mama, at the end of that first year of mourning. Well, I didn’t like it either, but how could one expect such a pleasure-loving little creature to stay moping here, after all? It was not improper in her to put off her blacks.” She hesitated, and then added: “It is not improper in her to be wishing to marry again now, Sylvester.”

“I haven’t accused her of impropriety.”

“No, but you are making it dreadfully hard for her, my love! She may not be devoted to Edmund, but to take him from her entirely—”