False Colours

her own drawing-room. But she was found there, though with no thought of directing invitations in her head. She was standing in front of the gilded mirror hanging above the fireplace, surveying, with every sign of disapprobation, her own delightful reflection. A litter of crumpled wrapping-paper on the floor, an open box on the table, with a necklace composed of fine topazes set in filigree lying beside it, indicated that she had received a valuable package from London; sent, possibly, and at a moderate charge, through the medium of the Newhaven Mailcoach, and deposited, with the post, at the receiving office in Nutley; and more probably, as Kit knew, by a special messenger, at large cost.

It was difficult to perceive why Lady Denville was dissatisfied with her appearance, for she was attired in an underdress of deep gold, which matched her hair, veiled by a tunic of pale muslin, and the effect was at once dashing, and extremely becoming, but she speedily explained the matter. “Was there anything ever more provoking?” she demanded. “I purchased these horrid beads, because it struck me that they were just the thing to wear with this dress, and I even had them restrung to the exact length I required, and now I don’t like them at all! In fact, I think them hideous!”

“Oh, no, no!” exclaimed Cressy. “The most beautiful clear amber! How can you call them hideous, ma’am? You look charmingly!”

“No, Cressy, I do not look charmingly!” said her ladyship firmly. “I don’t know how it is, but no matter how dear they may be, there is something about beads which makes one look shabby-genteel. If I were to wear these, even Emma would think I bought made-up clothes in Cranbourne Alley!”

This seemed an unlikely contingency, but neither Kit nor Cressy ventured to say so. Kit, picking up the topaz necklace, asked, with a sinking heart, if she had bought it at the same time.

“Oh, no, dearest! I bought that long before!” she replied, elevating his spirits for a brief moment. “Weeks ago, when I chose the silk for this underdress! But you may see for yourself that the stones are made to look insipid, worn with this particular shade of yellow. I was afraid they would, but it is such a pretty necklace that I don’t regret having purchased it. If I had some earrings made to match it, I could wear it with a pale yellow evening gown, couldn’t I? But those amber beads I will not wear!”

“No, don’t!” said Kit. “Send them back to the jeweller!”

She considered this suggestion, but decided against it. “No, I have a better notion! I shall give them to your cousin Kate! I don’t suppose you remember her, but she is Baverstock’s second daughter, and never has anything pretty to wear, because your odious Aunt Amelia won’t spend a groat more than she need on her until she has snabbled a husband for Maria—which I shouldn’t think she will ever do, for she’s a plain girl, and has been out for three Seasons already.” She unclasped the amber string, and laid it aside, and said, smiling brilliantly upon her audience: “So it turns out to be for the best, after all, and I must wear my pearls, until I find just what I have in mind! Did you want me particularly, my dears?”

“What did I tell you?” asked Kit, mocking Cressy. “No, Mama: Cressy would have it that it was you who wanted her, to direct invitations for you.”

“I knew there was something I must attend to this morning!” said her ladyship, pleased with this feat of memory. “Oh, dear, what a dead bore it is! I can’t think why I didn’t bring Mrs Woodbury with me, except, of course, that I shouldn’t have known what to do with her here, for one couldn’t expect her to dine in the housekeeper’s room, precisely, and yet—But she is an excellent person, and writes all the invitations, and answers letters for me, and never forgets to remind me of the things I’ve arranged to do!”

Her eyes dancing, Cressy said: “Never mind, ma’am! Only tell me the various directions, and I’ll engage to be quite as excellent a secretary! You made out a list, didn’t you, of all the people you wished to invite?”

“So I did! Not that I wish to invite any of them, because of all the tedious things imaginable Public Days are the worst! However, it would be very uncivil not to hold one, so we must make the best of it. Dear Cressy, how fortunate that you should have remembered that I made up that list! We have only to discover where I put it, and everything will be very simply accomplished—though I hope you don’t think that I mean to let you do more than assist me! I wonder where I did put that list? Not in a safe place, for that is always fatal. Dearest K—kindest Evelyn!” she said, correcting herself with aplomb, “perhaps, if you are not engaged elsewhere, you could direct some of the cards for me!”

“Nothing would afford me greater pleasure, love!” he replied, wondering how long it would be before his irresponsible parent unwittingly exposed him. “But I am engaged elsewhere, and you know well that only you and Kit seem to be able to decipher my handwriting!”

11

The rest of the day passed without untoward incident. Cressy, assisted spasmodically by Lady Denville, directed the invitation cards; Sir Bonamy and Cosmo, after consuming a substantial nuncheon, slept stertorously in the library all the afternoon, their handkerchiefs spread over their faces; the Dowager enjoyed her usual drive with Mrs Cliffe; and Kit, finding his young cousin idling disconsolately in one of the saloons, ruthlessly bore him off for an inspection of the stables, and a tramp across the fields to the stud-farm, where one of my lord’s brood mares had the day before given birth to a promising colt.

The evening was enlivened by the presence of the Squire, Sir John Thatcham, with his lady, and his two eldest offspring: Mr Edward Thatcham, just down from his second year at Cambridge; and Miss Anne, a lively girl, who had gratified her well-wishers by retiring from her first modest Season with a very respectable parti to her credit.

It might have been supposed that a party which included such ill-assorted persons as the Dowager, Sir John and Lady Thatcham, and Sir Bonamy Ripple was foredoomed to failure, for the Dowager, who arrogated to herself an old lady’s privilege of being as uncivil as she chose to anyone whom she considered to be a bore, could almost certainly be depended on to snub the Thatchams; and Sir Bonamy was too much the idle man of fashion to meet with Sir John’s approval. But, in the event, and due, as Cressy recognized with deep respect, to Lady Denville’s unmatched qualities as a hostess, the party was very successful, the only member of it to feel dissatisfaction being Cosmo, who pouted a good deal when he discovered that his sister had excluded him from the whist-table, set up for the Dowager’s edification in a small saloon leading from the Long Drawing-room. Having elicited the information that the Thatchams were very fond of whist, but liked to play together, Lady Denville settled them at the table with the Dowager and Sir Bonamy. No one could have guessed from Sir Bonamy’s good-humoured demeanour that he was in the habit of playing whist in the Duke of York’s company, for five pound points, with a pony on the rubber to make it worth while.

The rest of the party, with the single exception of Cosmo, who said that he was too old for such pastimes, gathered round a large table in the Long Drawing-room to play a number of games which the three youngest members of the party would, in their own homes, have condemned as being fit only for the schoolroom. But Lady Denville, who combined a genius for making her guests feel that she was genuinely happy to entertain them with an effervescent enjoyment of her own parties, rapidly infected the company with her own zest for such innocent pastimes as Command, Cross-Questions, and even Jack-straws. It was all very merry and informal, and when it culminated in a game of speculation Ambrose surprised everyone by displaying an unexpected aptitude for the game, making some very shrewd bids, and quite forgetting the languid air he thought it proper for a young man of mode to assume; and Cosmo, unable to bear the sight of his wife’s improvident play, drew up his chair to the table so that he could advise and instruct her.

At ten o’clock, the Dowager, who had been behaving with great energy and acumen, winning several shillings, and sharply censuring Sir Bonamy for what she considered faults of play, suddenly assumed the appearance of extreme decrepitude, and broke up the game, saying that she was tired, and must go to bed. As soon as she emerged from the saloon, leaning on Sir Bonamy’s arm, Lady Denville rose from the table, and went towards her, saying in her pretty, caressing voice: “Going to retire now, ma’am? I hope you are not being driven