Sylvester, or The Wicked Uncle

night, even convincing Sally Jersey that the whole thing was a hum, set about by that pea-goose, Ianthe Rayne— Where are my salts?”

“Why did she write it, ma’am?” asked Georgiana. “One would say she must detest Sylvester, but that she doesn’t!”

The Dowager, between sniffs at her vinaigrette, enlightened her. After that she took a sip of hartshorn and water, and lay back with closed eyes. Mrs. Newbury sat wrapped in meditation for a few minutes, but presently said: “I shouldn’t think that Sylvester will betray her, whatever she may have said to him.”

“She betrayed herself! Leaving him in the middle of the floor as she did! I did my best, Georgiana, but what was the use of saying she was faint when there was Sylvester, looking like a devil? I will never forgive him, never! To overset her there! Heaven knows I don’t excuse the child, but what he did was wicked! And I can’t even take comfort from the reflection that she made a laughing-stock of him, because she ruined herself in doing it!” said the Dowager.

“He must have been very angry,” said Georgiana, frowning. “Too angry to consider what might be the consequence of dashing her down in public. For it was not at all like him, you know, ma’am. Nothing disgusts him more than a want of conduct! I wonder if Lion was right after all?”

“Very unlikely!” snapped the Dowager.

“Well, that’s what I thought,” agreed the Major’s fond spouse. “He said it was a case between them. In fact, he laid me a bet, because I wouldn’t allow it to be so. I know just how Sylvester behaves when he starts one of his á suivie flirtations, and it was not at all like that. Can it be that he had formed a serious attachment?”

The Dowager blew her nose. “I thought it as good as settled!” she disclosed. “The wish of my heart, Georgie! Everything in such excellent train, and all shattered at a blow! Dare I suppose that his affections will reanimate towards her? No! They will not!”

Georgiana, with the sapient Lion’s comments in mind, was glad that Lady Ingham had supplied the answer to her own question. “Dished!” had said the Major. “Pity! Nice little gal, I thought. Won’t pop the question to her now, of course. Couldn’t have found a surer way to drive him off than by making him ridiculous.”

“What to do I don’t know!” said the Dowager. “It is of no use to tell me she should brave it out: she ain’t the sort of girl who could carry it off. Besides, she’ll be refused vouchers for Almack’s. I shan’t even try for them: nothing would delight that odious Burrell creature more than to be able to give me a set-down!”

“No, that won’t do,” said Georgiana. “I have a better scheme, ma’am: that’s why I came! Take her to Paris!”

“Take her to Paris?” repeated the Dowager.

“Yes, ma’am, to Paris!” said Georgiana. “Do but consider! Phoebe can’t remain mewed up within doors, and to send her home would be worse than anything, because it would be to abandon every hope of re-establishing her presently. Paris would be the very thing! Everyone knows that you have had some thought of removing there. Why, I heard you talking of it myself, to Lady Sefton!”

“Everyone may know it, but everyone would also know why I had gone there.”

“That can’t be helped, dear ma’am. At least they will know that you have not cast Phoebe off. And you know how quickly the most shocking scandals are forgotten!”

“This one won’t be.”

“Yes, it will. I promise you I shall be busy while you are away, and you know that no one can be more valuable than I in this affair, because I am Sylvester’s cousin, and what I say of him will be believed rather than what Ianthe says. I shall set it about that that scene last night was the outcome of a quarrel which began before Sylvester went away to Chance, and had nothing to do with The Lost Heir. I shall say that that was why he went to Chance: what could be more likely? And,” said Georgiana, in a voice of profound wisdom, “I shall tell it all in the strictest confidence! To one person, or perhaps two, just to make sure of the story’s spreading.”

There was a short silence. The Dowager broke it. “Pull the blinds back!” she commanded. “What does Muker mean by leaving us to sit in the dark, stupid woman? You’re a flighty, ramshackle creature, Georgie, but one thing I’ll allow! You have a good heart! But will anyone believe Phoebe didn’t write that book?”

“They must be made to, even if I have to say I too know who is the real author! If Sylvester had taken it in good part—made a joke of it, as though he didn’t care a button, and had been in the secret the whole time—it wouldn’t have signified a scrap, because he was the only person unkindly used in the book, and if he hadn’t taken it in snuff all the others whom Phoebe dug her quill into must have followed his example.”

“Don’t talk to me of Sylvester!” said the Dowager, with loathing. “If I hadn’t set my heart on his marrying Phoebe I should be in transports over her book! For she hit him off to the life, Georgie! If he ain’t smarting still I don’t know him! Oh, drat the boy! He might have spared a thought for me before he provoked my granddaughter to enact a Cheltenham tragedy in the middle of a ballroom!”

Perceiving that slow, unaccustomed tears were trickling down her ladyship’s cheeks, Georgiana overcame a desire to retort in defence of Sylvester, and made haste to soothe her, and to turn her thoughts towards Paris.

“Yes, but it’s useless to think of it,” said the Dowager, dabbing at her eyes. “I cannot go without some gentleman to escort me! Poor Ingham would turn in his grave! Don’t talk to me of couriers! I won’t have strangers about me. And I am a wretched traveller, always seasick, and as for depending on Muker, she, you may lay your life, will be in the sullens, because she don’t want to go to France!”

Georgiana was rather daunted by this. After having her suggestion that the present Lord Ingham might escort his parent spurned she was at a loss, and could only say that it seemed a pity if the scheme must fail after all.

“Of course it is a pity!” said the Dowager irascibly. “But with my constitution it would be madness for me to attempt the journey without support! Sir Henry wouldn’t hear of it! If Phoebe had a brother—” She broke off, and startled Georgiana by exclaiming: “Young Orde!”

“I beg your pardon, ma’am?”

The Dowager sat up with surprising energy. “The very person! I will write at once to Mr. Orde! Where are they putting up? Reddish’s! Georgie, my love, the ink, my pen, paper, wafers! In that desk! No! I will get up! Here, take all this away, child!”

“But who is he?” asked Georgiana, receiving from the Dowager a fan, a vinaigrette, a bottle of eau-de-Cologne, another of sal volatile, and three clean handkerchiefs.

“He’s as good as a brother. Phoebe’s known him all her life!” replied the Dowager, beginning to divest herself of various scarves, shawls, and rugs. “A very pretty-behaved boy! Wants town-polish, but most gentlemanly!”

Georgiana put up her brows. “A fresh-faced young man, with a shy smile? Does he walk with a limp?”

“Yes, that’s he. Just give me your hand—or no! Where has Muker put my slippers?”

“Then I fancy he is with Phoebe at this very moment,” said Georgiana. “We met on the doorstep: I wondered who it could be!”

The Dowager sank back again. “Why didn’t you tell me so before?” she demanded. “Ring the bell, Georgie! I’ll have him up here at once!”

Georgiana obeyed, but said, as she did so: “To be sure, ma’am—if you think it right to take him?”

“Right? Why shouldn’t it be? It will do him good to see something of the world! Oh, are you thinking they might fall in love? No fear of that, I assure you—though why I should say fear I don’t know,” added her ladyship bitterly. “After last night I should be thankful to see her married to anyone!”

Tom, entering the dressing-room a few minutes later, was looking grave. He cast an awed glance at the battery of medicines and restoratives set out on the table beside the Dowager’s sofa, but was relieved to hear himself hailed in robust accents. When asked abruptly, however, if he would escort her ladyship and Miss Marlow to Paris he looked to be more appalled than pleased; and although, when the inducement of a week in Paris as her ladyship’s guest was held out to him, he stammered that he was much obliged, it was plain that this was a mere expression of civility.

“Let me tell you, Tom, that foreign travel is a necessary part of every young man’s education!” said the Dowager severely.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Tom. He added more hopefully: “Only I daresay my father would not wish me to go!”

“Nonsense! Your father is a sensible man, and he told me he thought it time you got a little town bronze. Depend upon it, he can very well spare you for a week or two. I shall write him a letter, and you may take it to him.