False Colours

you, or Papa, or anyone may say!”

The Dowager’s claw-like hand closed on hers like a vice. “What?” she demanded. “Denville’s brother?”

Cressy raised glowing eyes to hers. “His brother, Grandmama. You have never met Denville. Kit is so like him that even I was deceived at first! But there is no comparison! I—I felt the difference when he came to Mount Street in Denville’s place, to meet you; and that was why I was willing to come here with you!” She drew the Dowager’s twisted hand to her mouth, and kissed it. “You will perceive the difference, because you’re so wise, ma’am, and so discerning! Oh, I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to know that you think so well of Kit!”

“You’re out!” interrupted the Dowager harshly, snatching her hand away. “Jackanapes!” she uttered, her jaws working. “So he’s been making a May game of me, has he? A more impudent imposture I never heard of, not in all my days!”

Cressy smiled lovingly at her. “You will discover him to be in perfect agreement with you, ma’am, for that is precisely what he thinks. He entered into it against his will, and would have escaped from it had you not proposed this visit to Lady Denville! I must try to make you understand the circumstances—the bond that exists between him and Denville! But I am much inclined to think that no one who was not born a twin could wholly understand the—the strength of that bond!”

“What I understand, and without difficulty, is that he’s a cozening rascal who knows just how to bring you round his finger, nickninny!” retorted the Dowager, in no way appeased.

“Well, he hasn’t tried to do so, but I haven’t the least doubt that he could!” admitted Cressy, unabashed. “I have no more knowledge than you, Grandmama, of what it means to be a twin, but I collect that, if they are as close as Kit and Evelyn, each knows when the other is in trouble, or has suffered a physical injury—and neither would hesitate, no matter what the cost, to fly to the other’s rescue. It seems,” she said slowly, knitting her brows, “that they can’t help but do so!”

“Does it indeed?” snorted the Dowager. “Well, perhaps you’ll explain to me, my girl, what trouble Denville was in which caused his brother to practise this abominable cheat!”

“Yes, indeed I will, ma’am!” Cressy said, with disarming readiness. She chuckled. “It is quite fantastic, you know, but for my part I have never enjoyed anything more in my life! Only a Fancot could have embarked on such a crazy adventure—and only Kit could have carried it with such a high hand! He doesn’t want for proper spunk, Grandmama!”

“Cut no wheedles for my benefit!” commanded the Dowager, “A round tale is all I wish to hear!”

It was not quite a round tale which Cressy, disposing herself more comfortably at her knee, recounted, for it underwent certain expurgations; but it was true in all its essentials, and the Dowager listened to it in silence. It could not have been said that there was any relaxing in her countenance; but she appeared, several times, to be afflicted with a tic, which twitched the muscles in her cheek; and once, when Cressy, knowing her love of a salted story, ventured to describe the encounter with Mrs Alperton, she was seized by a choking fit, which, glaring at her granddaughter, she ascribed to asthma. But when the tale was told she declared that a more disgraceful one she had never heard, adding shrewdly: “I notice that that pretty, silly gadabout whom you choose to call your dearest Godmama don’t figure in it! Trying to put the change on me, ain’t you? You may hang up your axe, Cressy! I’m not a pea-goose, and never was, so if you mean to tell me she wasn’t at the back of it, spare your breath!”

“Why, of course she was, ma’am!” said Cressy, all wide-eyed innocence. “It was her notion that Kit should take Evelyn’s place just for that one evening, and to save his face! Surely I told you so?”

“Ay! You told me!” said the Dowager sardonically. “What you haven’t told me is why it was so mightily important to Denville to have the Trust wound up!”

“But can you wonder at it, Grandmama? Only think how irksome it must be to him!”

“Don’t talk flummery to me, girl!” said the Dowager irascibly. “I have it on the best of authority that his revenues don’t bring him a penny less than £16000 a year, and Henry Brumby told me himself that his debts were paid out of the estate when his father died!” Her eyes narrowed. “His mother’s debts, eh? You needn’t put yourself to the trouble of denying it! It’s common knowledge she’s been at a standstill these dozen years and more! Means to settle ’em, does he? Well, I don’t think the worse of him for that, but what such a caper-witted, fly-away wastethrift has ever done to deserve so much devotion I shall never know, if I live to be a hundred!” Her crooked fingers worked amongst the folds of her silken skirt. Cressy said nothing; and after a moment or two, she brought her piercing gaze back to the girl’s face. “A pretty piece of business you’ve made of it, between you!” she said scathingly. “Understand me, miss! I’ll have no scandal attached to our name! Good God, it must be common knowledge by now that you stand upon the brink of an engagement to Denville! What do you imagine your father will have to say, when he learns of this?”

“He will await your decision, Grandmama,” Cressy answered calmly. “You know that as surely as I do! I hope it may be in my favour—in Kit’s favour!—because I love you both, and to marry without your approval couldn’t but throw a cloud over my happiness.” She raised her eyes, giving the Dowager look for look. “But in less than a twelvemonth, ma’am, I shall come of age, and neither you nor Papa will have the power to prevent my marriage to Kit!”

“If,” said the Dowager, after a pregnant silence, “I had ever dared to speak so to my grandmother, I should have been soundly whipped, and confined to my bedchamber on bread-and-water for a sennight!”

The gravity vanished from Cressy’s face. “No, would you, ma’am? How very brave your parents must have been!”

“Hussy!” said the Dowager, putting up her hand to hide her quivering mouth. “Don’t think you can come over me with your impertinence! Pull the bell! I am out of all patience with you, and fagged to death as well! Look at the time! I should have been laid down on my bed half-an-hour ago! Not an hour left before I shall be obliged to rig myself out for dinner, and not a wink of sleep shall I get, thanks to you, you ungrateful, abandoned, unnatural baggage! Go away! And don’t flatter yourself that you’ve won my support, because you haven’t!”

Retiring discreetly from the presence, Cressy closed her eyes in momentary thankfulness, before running down the stairs in search of Mr Fancot. Admirably though she had concealed it, it had been with considerable trepidation that she had admitted the Dowager into the secret of the hoax practised upon her. The result of her disclosure had, so far, been more hopeful than she had allowed herself to expect. At no time had she indulged her fancy with the thought that her tyrannical grandparent would instantly bestow her blessing on a union which, besides being undeniably inferior to the one first submitted for her approval, bore all the signs of being attended by exactly the sort of scandalous on-dits which were most obnoxious to a highbred dame of her age and generation; she had rather entertained a lively fear that the Dowager would fly into a towering rage, which might even impel her to sweep herself and her granddaughter off to Worthing that very day. She had certainly, and justifiably, taken a violent pet; but, to Cressy’s experienced eye, no thought of proceeding to extremes had so much as crossed her mind. Even more significantly (and very much to Cressy’s relief), she had not instantly summoned her hostess to account for her perfidy. Instead, and in a querulous voice which belonged to a vexed and bewildered old lady rather than to an infuriated despot, she had abused her erring granddaughter, not for having lent herself to a disgraceful hoax, but for having caused her to lose half-an-hour’s sleep. Grandmama, thought Cressy shrewdly, wanted time for reflection; and that circumstance alone was enough to encourage optimism in the initiated. The battle was by no means won; Grandmama might yet prove hard to handle; but she had undoubtedly been amused by certain aspects of the outrageous story unfolded to her; and equally undoubtedly she had taken a strong fancy to Mr Christopher Fancot. In Cressy’s judgement, all now depended upon that resourceful gentleman’s ability to discover a discreet way of extricating himself and her from a situation which gave every promise of affording the ton matter for unlimited gossip and conjecture. She ran him to earth in the library, but he was not alone.

Even as she spoke his name, she saw that Sir Bonamy was present, and she drew back, murmuring an apology.

Kit was standing with his hand on the back of a chair, confronting Sir Bonamy, seated on a sofa, his hands on his knees, and an expression of resignation on his countenance. Kit turned his head quickly, saying in rather an odd voice: “Don’t go, Cressy! Sir Bonamy knows the truth about us, and won’t object, I believe, to my disclosing to