False Colours

brother in Vienna too, didn’t you? I wish you will tell me about it!”

There was no difficulty about this; and as they strolled companionably down the paths that separated the rose-beds Kit soon found that her reading had taught Cressy a great deal. She listened eagerly, interpolating an occasional question; and from time to time Kit paused to break off a particularly fine bloom to give to her. When they made their way back to the house she held quite a bouquet, and said, conscience-stricken: “If we should meet your gardener now he will become my enemy, not my slave! Tell me, Denville, did your father make the Grand Tour when he was young? Don’t you wish you had grown up then, before the war, when it was thought to be part of a young man’s education to travel abroad, learning to speak foreign languages, seeing how people live in other countries?”

“Except that if my father’s Grand Tour is anything to judge by they went at too early an age, and were hedged about by tutors. As far as I could ever discover from the things my father told me, he went from one large city to another, armed with introductions to the ton, and spent his time between studying with his tutor and attending balls and routs—which he might as well have done in London!”

She said thoughtfully: “Yes, but I have a melancholy suspicion that our fathers—and even more our grandfathers—had very little interest in the beauties of nature, and still less in the customs of the people. My own grandfather kept a diary of his Grand Tour, and it is composed almost entirely of great names, and social functions which he attended: I was never more disappointed, when Papa gave it to me to read! For he must have passed throughout the grandest scenery, you know!”

“Did he record that he took care to wear lambswool next the skin when travelling over an Alpine pass?”

She burst into laughter. “Yes, he did! Oh, dear! How sad that our forebears should have had such opportunities, and should have wasted them so shockingly!”

They had reached the terrace-steps by this time. As they mounted them, Kitsaid: “Have you taken Miss Clara Stavely’s place in attendance on your grandmama, Cressy? My mother wasn’t perfectly sure if she would be accompanying you, or not.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I should have told her. Yes, I always go with Grandmama to Worthing at the end of the Season, so that Clara may enjoy what is known in the family as her holiday! In fact, she has gone to fetch and carry for my Aunt Caroline—and will very likely be required to take charge of the children as well, if I know my Aunt Caroline!” She smiled. “Don’t look so shocked! Let me tell you that my Aunt Elizabeth, who is the kindest creature imaginable, was used to think it as abominable as I can see you do that Clara should become a mere drudge. She invited her once to spend the summer in Hertfordshire, determined that she should enjoy a holiday of ease and comfort. Clara had nothing to do but be cosseted and amused—and had almost moped herself into a decline (as she later confided to me) when Aunt Eliza summoned her to come instantly to her aid, one of her children having thrown out a rash; her eldest son, my cousin Henry, having taken a toss, and broken his arm; and her housekeeper having been obliged to leave at a moment’s notice to succour her ailing mother, who had been laid low with a palsy-stroke. Aunt Eliza told me that Clara packed her trunks in the twinkling of a bedpost, and was on her way to Lincoln while she, and her very attentive children, were still trying to prevail upon her to remain at Stoborough Hall! I collect that there was all to do in Lincoln, and I know how exacting is my Aunt Caroline, but I promise you that when Clara resumed her post beside Grandmama she was wonderfully refreshed!”

He was obliged to laugh at this lively history, but he said, cocking an eyebrow at her: “Yes, I too have an aunt who—according to what my mother tells me—derives immense satisfaction from immolating herself on the altar of family duty. But I hope you don’t mean to try to bamboozle me into believing that you are of this cut!”

“Not in the least!” she replied. “Nor do I immolate myself. The worst I have to suffer when I go to Worthing with Grandmama is—is a certain tedium! And even that is alleviated by Grandmama’s tongue.” He had opened a door that gave access to the terrace from the house, and she said, pausing before she stepped across the threshold: “Thank you for my roses! Do you keep country hours at Ravenhurst? Will you desire one of the servants to take me to my room, if you please? It must be time I made myself ready for dinner.”

“We’ll find my mother,” he replied. “She will certainly wish to take you up herself.”

Lady Denville was not far to seek, for she was coming down the stairs as Kit conducted Cressy into the main hall. She was looking a trifle harassed, but when she saw Cressy her face brightened, and she came quickly down the remaining stairs to fold the girl in a scented embrace. “Dearest child! I was wondering where you were, for I haven’t exchanged above two words with you!”

“I beg your pardon, ma’am! Denville took me to see your rose-garden—and was so kind as to pluck these for me! Aren’t they beautiful? The garden too, so charmingly laid out! We have nothing like it at Stavely.”

“It is pretty, isn’t it?” agreed her ladyship. “Such a labour as it was to make it! But I’ve never regretted it. Cressy, I must warn you that this is the dreariest party! It positively overpowers me to think that I should have invited you to it, poor child! What with my brother, prosing and moralizing in the most boring manner, and Emma growing drabber under one’s very eyes, and speaking like a mouse in a cheese, not to mention Ambrose, whom anyone would take for a mere April-squire—”

“You didn’t invite me, Godmother!” Cressy interrupted, laughing. “I know very well I’ve been foisted on to you! And I defy any party of which you are a member to be dreary!”

“Yes, but I am already feeling excessively low and oppressed,” said her ladyship. “And I was obliged to tell Norton to set dinner forward, because your grandmama particularly desired me not to expect her to keep late hours. So we shall dine at six, my dear—though why one should dine in daylight merely because one is in the country I have never understood! However, it won’t be so very bad, because I have ordered supper at eleven, when I do hope Lady Stavely will have retired!”

“You can’t say I didn’t warn you that I too have relations who put me to the blush, Cressy!” interpolated Kit.

“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Lady Denville, stricken. “Well, doesn’t it show you how disordered my senses are? Besides, Cressy knows that her grandmama always puts me in a quake!”

“Of course I do!” averred Cressy, her eyes alight with amusement. “Was she very twitty. ma’am? Are you at outs with me for having left her to your management? I do beg your pardon, but I thought you would contrive to smooth down her bristles much more easily if I were not present. I expect you did, too!”

“Well, I don’t know that I did that, precisely,” said Lady Denville, considering the matter, “but I must own that when I took her to her room a few minutes ago she was not so out of reason cross! I don’t mean to say that she was in high good-humour, but she very fortunately detected that the colour had faded a little from the brocade I chose for the curtains in the Blue saloon—which I never thought to be thankful for, K—Evelyn! because I had it sent from Lyons, and the cost put your father all on end. Indeed, I was quite provoked myself when I saw how sadly it had faded! But one never knows when what seems to have been a mistake will turn to good account: it put Lady Stavely in a much better humour when she was able to tell me what a peagoose I had been. Dearest Cressy, I think I should take you to your room immediately, for it won’t do to keep your grandmama waiting for her dinner! They tell me you haven’t brought your maid, so I will send Rimpton to you—and don’t, my love, allow her to put on airs to be interesting! I wonder sometimes why I bear with her—but she is a wonderful dresser!”

Miss Stavely, though in no doubt of Miss Rimpton’s skill, declined her condescending offices, saying that Grandmama’s Jane would do all for her that was necessary. This was not of a nature to tax the skill of an abigail who was more a nurse than a dresser, for it consisted merely of hooking up a very becoming gown of light orange crape. This was done in the Dowager’s room, and under her eye. She accorded the gown a certain measure of approval, but said that the skirt was too narrow, adding the time-honoured observation that she didn’t know what the world was coming to, when females tried to make themselves look like hop-poles. Disdaining the modern fashion of high waists and clinging skirts, she was herself attired in a stiff black silk, worn over an underdress embroidered with silver thread. A cap of starched black lace was on her hair: mittens covered her arms; and in one hand she held a fan. Unlike her granddaughter, who wore the lightest of silk sandals, she had chosen from a large collection of outmoded shoes a pair with high heels, and paste buckles. Cressy told her mischievously that the only thing wanting was a patch on her cheek.