Sylvester, or The Wicked Uncle

“No,” said Sylvester, very slightly on the defensive.

“You will enjoy the journey! You wait till you’ve had to wash him half a dozen times a day, my lord Duke! You’ll have to dress him, and undress him, and tell him stories when he begins to feel queasy in the chaise, and see he don’t eat what he shouldn’t—and I’ll wager you don’t know, so the chances are you’ll be up half the night with him!—and you won’t even be able to eat your dinner in peace, because he might wake up, and start kicking up a dust. He don’t like strange places, you know. And don’t think you can hand him over to a chambermaid, because he don’t like foreigners either! And if you’re gudgeon enough to spank him for being an infernal nuisance he’ll start sobbing his heart out, and you’ll have every soul in the place behaving as if you was Herod!”

“For God’s sake, Thomas—” Sylvester said, half laughing. “Damn you, I wish I’d never met you! Is it as bad as that?”

“Much worse!” Tom assured him.

“My God! I ought to have brought Keighley, of course. But what you don’t realize is that when I drew from my bank what I supposed I should need I didn’t bargain for two more persons being added to my party. We should come to a standstill before we reached Calais!”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” admitted Tom. “Well, we shall have to pawn something, that’s all.”

“Pawn something?” repeated Sylvester. “Pawn what?”

“We must think. Have you got that dressing-case of yours with you?”

“Oh, it’s I who must pawn something, is it? No, I am happy to say I didn’t bring anything but a portmanteau!”

“It will have to be your watch and chain, then. It’s a pity you don’t sport diamond tie-pins and rings. Now, if only you had a spanking great emerald, like the one Fotherby’s dazzling us with today—”

“Oh, be quiet!” said Sylvester. “I’ll be damned if I’ll pawn my watch! Or anything else!”

“I’ll do it for you,” offered Tom. “I ain’t so high in the instep!”

“What you are, Thomas, is a—” Sylvester stopped, as the door opened, and Phoebe came into the room.

She was looking so haughty that Tom nearly laughed; and her voice was more frigid than Sylvester’s at its coldest. “Excuse me, if you please! Tom—”

“Miss Marlow,” interrupted Sylvester, “I understand that I did you an injustice. I beg you will accept my sincere apology.”

She threw him a disdainful glance. “It is not of the slightest consequence, sir. Tom, I came to tell you that I meant what I said to you on the stairs, and have settled what I shall do. I mean to beg Lady Ianthe to allow me to accompany her as far as to Paris. Once there I can await Grandmama at the Embassy. I am persuaded Sir Charles and Lady Elizabeth will permit me to remain with them when I tell them who I am. If you will go back to Dover with his grace—”

“Yes, that’s a capital scheme!” said Tom. “What’s more, I’d give my last coachwheel to see the Ambassador’s face when you tripped in, and said you was Lady Ingham’s granddaughter, and had come to stay because you’d mislaid her ladyship on the road, with all your baggage! For heaven’s sake, don’t be so shatterbrained! Do you want to set Paris talking as well as London?”

She flinched at this, and Sylvester, seeing it, said: “That’s enough! Miss Marlow, you must see that that scheme is quite ineligible. Pray accept my escort to England!”

“I had rather hire myself out as a cook-maid!” she declared. “Anything would be preferable to travelling in your company!”

Having expressed himself in much the same terms, Sylvester was instantly nettled, and retorted: “You endured my company for a se’enight not so long since without suffering any ill-effect, and I daresay you will survive a few more days of it!”

“I wish with all my heart I had never gone aboard that ship!” said Phoebe, with deep feeling.

“So do I wish it! For a more ill-judged—I beg your pardon! I believe you meant well!”

“I shall never mean you well again!” she told him fierily. “As for your condescension, my lord Duke—”

“Phoebe, take a damper!” commanded Tom sternly. “And listen to me! I’ve gone along with you till now, but I’m going no farther. You’ll do as I tell you, my girl. We shall go home with Salford, and you will not be beholden to him, if that’s what frets you, because he needs you to look after Edmund. Yes, and let me remind you that you promised that boy you wouldn’t leave him until he had his Button again!”

“He won’t care for that now!” she said.

But as Edmund peeped into the coffee-room at that moment, and, upon being applied to by Tom, instantly said that he would not let Phoebe go away, this argument failed. She did suggest to Edmund that his uncle would suffice him, but he vigorously shook his curly head, saying: “No, acos Uncle Sylvester is damned if he will be plagued with me afore breakfast.”

This naive confidence did much to alleviate constraint. Phoebe could not help laughing, and Sylvester, wreaking awful vengeance on his small nephew, lost his stiffness.

But just as Edmund’s squeals and chuckles were at their height the company was startled by a roar of rage and anguish from above-stairs. It seemed to emanate from a soul in torment, making Sylvester jerk up his head, and Edmund stop squirming in his hold.

“What the devil—?” exclaimed Sylvester.

24

“Now what’s amiss?” said Tom, limping to the door. “It sounds as if the Pink of the Ton has found a speck of mud on his coat.”

“Pett! Pett!” bellowed Sir Nugent, descending the stairs. “Pett, where are you? Pett, I say!”

As Tom pulled the door wide Sylvester set Edmund on his feet, demanding: “What in God’s name ails the fellow?”

With a final appeal to Pett as he crossed the hall Sir Nugent appeared in the doorway, nursing in his arms a pair of glossy Hessians, and commanding the occupants of the coffee-room to look—only to look!

“Don’t make that infernal noise!” said Sylvester sharply. “Look at what?”

“That cur, that mongrel!” Sir Nugent shouted. “I’ll hang him! I’ll tear him limb from limb, by God I will!”

“Oh, sir, what is it?” cried Pett, running into the room.

“Look!” roared Sir Nugent, holding out the boots.

They were the Hessians of his own design, but gone were their golden tassels. Pett gave a moan, and fell back with starting eyes; Tom shot one quick look at Edmund, tried to keep his countenance, and, failing, leaned against the door in a fit of unseemly laughter; and Phoebe, after one choking moment, managed to say: “Oh, dear, how very unfortunate! But p-pray don’t be distressed, Sir Nugent! You may have new ones put on, after all!”

“New ones—! Pett! if it was you who left the door open so that that mongrel could get into my room you leave my service today! Now! Now, do you hear me?”

“Never!” cried Pett dramatically. “The chambermaid, sir! the boots! Anyone but me!”

Balked, Sir Nugent rounded on Tom. “By God, I believe it was you! Laugh, will you? You let that cur into my room!”

“No, of course I didn’t,” said Tom. “I’m sure I beg your pardon, but of all the kick-ups only for a pair of boots!”

“Only—!” Sir Nugent took a hasty step towards him, almost purple with rage.

“Draw his cork, Tom, draw his cork!” begged Edmund, his angelic blue eyes blazing with excitement.

“Fotherby, will you control yourself?” Sylvester said angrily.

“Sir, there is no scratch on them! At least we are spared that!” Pett said. “I shall scour Paris day and night, sir. I shall leave no stone unturned. I shall—”

“My own design!” mourned Sir Nugent, unheeding. “Five times did Hoby have them back before I was