Sylvester (34 page)

‘Eh?’ said Tom. He saw that she was looking at the small boy as though she saw a ghost. ‘
Now
what’s the matter?’ he demanded.

‘Edmund Rayne! Salford’s nephew!’ she stammered.

‘There—on the boat!’

‘Is it?’ said Tom, glancing at the child. ‘Are you poz?’

‘Yes, yes, how could I mistake? Oh, Tom, I have the most dreadful fear—What was he like, the man who owns that coach?’

‘Like a counter-coxcomb!’ replied Tom. ‘I never saw such a quiz!’

She turned pale. ‘Fotherby! Then Lady Henry must be aboard. Did you see her? Very fair—very beautiful?’

‘No, I only saw the dandy, and the valet, and that fellow over there, whom I take to be the courier. Why, you don’t mean to say you think they’re eloping?’

‘I don’t know that, and I don’t care! They are kidnapping Edmund, and—oh, Tom, it is
my
fault! I am going aboard!’

He detained her. ‘No, you don’t! How could it be your fault, pray? I wish you won’t fall into such distempered freaks, Phoebe!’

‘Don’t you
see
,
Tom? I told you what it was that made my book so particularly abominable!’

‘I haven’t forgotten. But your book ain’t to be blamed for Lady Henry’s running off with that Jack-a-dandy. If you’ve got some notion of trying to interfere, let me tell you, I shan’t let you make such a cake of yourself! It’s none of your business.’

She said with determined calm: ‘Tom, if it is as I believe, and Lady Henry is taking that child out of England, I am so much to blame that I think I shall never hold up my head again.
I
put the scheme into her head! It was never there before she read my book. Oh, she told me herself how much struck she was by the end of it, and I never guessed, never suspected—!’

‘Took the scheme out of a trumpery novel? She couldn’t be such a greenhead!’

‘She is just such a greenhead! I don’t know how it will be, if they get Edmund to France, whether it will be possible for Salford to recover him, or even to find him, but only think what it must mean! More trouble, more scandal, and all to be laid at my door! I can’t bear it, Tom! You must let me go aboard that boat! Perhaps, if I could prevent this, he—people—might not think so badly of me. Tom, I’ve wished the book had never been written over and over again, but I can’t unwrite it, and don’t you think that this—if I could stop it—would be a sort of—of atonement?’

He was struck by her earnest manner, and even more by the expression in her eyes, which was almost tragic. After a moment he said: ‘Well—if you think you should, I suppose—Come to think of it, if the boy is being taken out of the country without his guardian’s leave it’s against the law! So we have got
some
right to meddle. I only hope we don’t catch cold at it, that’s all!’

But Phoebe had already stepped on to the gangway. As she reached the deck Sir Nugent Fotherby emerged from a doorway behind the ladder leading to the quarterdeck, and at once perceived her.

After looking at her through his quizzing-glass for a minute he came forward, bowing, and saying in a pleased voice: ‘Miss Marlow! How-de-do? ‘Pon my soul, I take it very kind in you to have called, and so, I venture to say, will her la’ship! Happy to welcome you aboard! Tidy little craft, ain’t she? Chartered her, you know: couldn’t take her la’ship on the common packet!’

‘Sir Nugent, will you have the goodness to lead me to Lady Henry?’ said Phoebe, ignoring these civilities.

‘Greatest pleasure on earth, ma’am! But—you won’t take it amiss if I give you a hint?—
not
Lady Henry!

‘I see. I should have said Lady Fotherby, perhaps?’

‘No,’ replied Sir Nugent regretfully. ‘
Not
Lady Fotherby. Lady Ianthe Fotherby.
I
don’t like it as well, but her la’ship informs me that to be called Lady Ianthe again makes her feel ten years younger, which is a gratifying circumstance, don’t you think?’

At this point they were interrupted. Master Rayne had approached, and he planted himself squarely before Sir Nugent, demanding: ‘When are we going to see the circus?’

Master Rayne had to look a long way up to Sir Nugent’s face, but his gaze was stern and unwavering, and under it Sir Nugent was visibly embarrassed. ‘Oh—ah—the circus!’ he said. ‘Precisely so! The circus!’

‘You said we were going to the circus,’ said Edmund accusingly. ‘You said if I didn’t kick up riot and rumpus I should go to the circus.’

‘Did I ?’ said Sir Nugent, eyeing him uneasily. ‘Said that, did I?’

‘Yes, you did,’ asserted Edmund. ‘Turnin’ me up sweet!’ he added bitterly.

‘Well, there you have the matter in a nutshell,’ responded Sir Nugent confidentially. ‘Must realize it was a devilish awkward situation, my dear boy!’

‘You told me a whisker,’ stated Edmund. ‘You are a Bad Man, and I won’t have you for a new papa.
My
papa didn’t tell whiskers.’

‘Be reasonable!’ begged Sir Nugent. ‘You must own it was the only thing to be done, with you saying you didn’t wish to go driving with us, and threatening to raise a dust! Why, you’d have had the whole household out on us!’

‘I want to go home,’ said Edmund.

‘Do you, my dear?’ interpolated Phoebe. ‘Then I will ask your mama to let me take you home! Do you remember me? You told me all about your pony!’

Edmund considered her. Apparently he remembered her with kindness, for his severity relaxed, and he politely held out his hand. ‘You are the lady which knows Keighley. I will let you take me home. An’ p’raps if you tell me some more
about your
pony I won’t feel sick,’ he added.

‘Very bad traveller,’ said Sir Nugent in an audible aside. ‘Seems to turn queasy every time he goes in a chaise. Dashed unfortunate, because it fidgets her la’ship. Pity we couldn’t have brought his nurse, but her la’ship said no. No use trying to bribe her: had to bamboozle her instead. Meant he should travel with her la’ship’s maid, but at the last moment we were queered upon that suit too. Maggoty female couldn’t be brought up to the scratch! Said she was scared to go on a ship. “ What would have happened if Nelson had been scared to go on a ship?” I said. She said she didn’t know. “The Frogs would have landed,” I said. “ No one to stop
’em,” I said. No use. Said she couldn’t stop ’em even if she did go to sea. Bit of a doubler, that, because I don’t suppose she could. So there we were, floored at all points.’

‘Who is this gentleman?’ suddenly demanded Edmund.

‘That is Mr Orde, Edmund. Sir Nugent, will you—’

‘I’m glad he asked that,’ said Sir Nugent. ‘Didn’t quite like to do it myself. Happy to make your acquaintance, sir! Daresay her la’ship would say the same, but she’s rather fagged. Gone to lie down in her cabin. Allow me to escort you, ma’am!’

‘I’ll wait for you here, Phoebe,’ Tom said. ‘Come on, Master Poll Parrot, you may bear me company!’

Sir Nugent, handing Phoebe down the short companion-way, told her that Ianthe found her quarters rather constricted but was bearing every inconvenience with the fortitude of an angel. He then opened one of the two doors at the bottom of the companionway and announced: ‘A visitor, my love!’

Ianthe had been lying on one of the two berths in what seemed to Phoebe quite a spacious cabin, but upon hearing these words she uttered a shriek, and sat up, her hands clasped at her bosom. But as soon as she saw who it was who had entered, her fright vanished, and she exclaimed: ‘Miss Marlow! Good God, how comes this about? Oh, my dear Miss Marlow, how glad I am to see you! To think that you should be the first to felicitate me! For you must know that Nugent and I were married by special licence yesterday! We fled immediately from the church door, in the travelling chariot Nugent has had built for me. Was it not particularly touching of him? It is lined with blue, to match my eyes! Nugent, do go and tell them to make less noise! I shall be driven distracted by it! Shouting, and tramping, and clanking, and creaking till I could scream! You must tell the sailors that I have the headache, and cannot endure such a racket. Dear Miss Marlow, I thought you had gone to Paris a week ago!’

‘We have been delayed. Lady Ianthe, I wish you very happy, but—excuse me—!—that was not my purpose in coming aboard. I saw Edmund, and realized what must be the reason for his being here. You will think me impertinent, but you must not steal him out of England! Indeed, indeed you must not!’

‘Not steal him out of England? Why, how
can
you say so when it was you who showed me what I must do?’

‘Oh, don’t say so!’ Phoebe cried sharply.

Ianthe laughed. ‘But of course it was you! As soon as I read how Florian and Matilda smuggled Maximilian on to that boat—’

‘I implore you, stop!’ begged Phoebe. ‘You cannot think that I meant that nonsense to be taken seriously! Lady Henry, you must let me take Edmund back to London! When I wrote that Ugolino couldn’t pursue Maximilian out of his own country it was make-believe! But this is real life, and I assure you Salford can pursue you—perhaps even have you punished by the law!’

‘He won’t know where we are,’ replied Ianthe confidently. ‘Besides, Sylvester hates scandal. I am persuaded he would endure anything rather than let the world know the least one of the family secrets!’

‘Then how could you serve him such a trick?’ demanded Phoebe hotly. ‘The Duchess too! You cannot have considered what distress you will cause her if you hold by this scheme!’

Ianthe began to pout. ‘She is not Edmund’s mama! I think you are being very unjust! You don’t care for my distress! You cannot, enter into the feelings of a mother, I daresay, but I should have thought you must have known I could never abandon my child to Sylvester. And don’t tell me you didn’t mean Maximilian for Edmund, because everyone knows you did!’

‘Yes!’ flashed Phoebe. ‘Because you told everyone so! Oh, haven’t you harmed me enough? You promised me you wouldn’t repeat what passed between us—’

‘I didn’t repeat it! The only person I told was Sally Derwent, and I particularly warned her not to mention it to a soul!’ interrupted Ianthe, much aggrieved. ‘How can you be so unkind to me? As though my nerves were not worn down enough! I have had to bring Edmund without Button, and I am obliged to do everything for him, because he is so cross and naughty with poor Nugent, and I scarcely closed my eyes all night, because we were travelling, and I had to hold Edmund in my lap, and he kept waking up and crying, and saying he wanted to be sick, till I was fagged to death! If I told him one fairy-tale I told him fifty, but he would do nothing but say he wished to go home, till I could have slapped him! And that odious abigail refusing at the last minute to go with me, and now you reproaching me—oh, it is too bad! I don’t know how I shall manage, for I am feeling very unwell already! Why can’t those horrid sailors keep the boat
still
?
Why does it rock up and down when it isn’t even moving yet? I know I shall be prostrate the instant we set sail, and then who is to take care of Edmund?’

This impassioned speech ended in a burst of tears, but when Phoebe, seizing on the final woe, represented to the injured beauty how imprudent it would be to embark with Edmund upon a rough sea passage without providing him with an attendant, Ianthe declared herself ready to sacrifice her health, comfort, and even her sanity rather than give up her child; adding however, with a slight lapse from nobility: ‘People would say I cared more for riches than Edmund!’

Since this seemed more than likely Phoebe found it difficult to reassure her; but before she had uttered more than a dozen words Ianthe was struck by a brilliant notion, and started up from her berth, her face transfigured. ‘Oh, Miss Marlow, I have hit on the very thing! We will take you with us! Just as far as to Paris, I mean. There can be no objection: you mean to go there, and I am sure there is no occasion for you to travel with Lady Ingham if you don’t choose to do so! She may join you in Paris—you can stay at the Embassy until she comes: that may easily be arranged!—and she must surely be able to undertake the journey without you. She has her abigail to go with her, remember! I am persuaded she would be the first to say I ought not to be obliged to travel without a female to support me. Oh, Miss Marlow, do, pray, say you will stay with me!’

Miss Marlow was still saying that she would do no such thing when Sir Nugent once more begged his bride’s permission to come in.

He was followed by Tom, whom he at once presented, with great punctilio. Tom said that he begged her ladyship’s pardon for intruding upon her, but had come to tell Phoebe it was time to be going ashore again. A speaking look directed at his childhood’s friend conveyed to her the information that his attempts to bring Sir Nugent to a sense of his wrongdoing had met with failure.

Beyond bestowing a mechanical smile upon him, Ianthe paid him little heed, addressing herself instead to Sir Nugent, and eagerly explaining to him her brilliant notion. In him she found her only supporter: not only did he think it a stroke of genius, but he called upon Phoebe and Tom to applaud it. He won no response. Politely at first, and later with distressing frankness, Tom explained to him why he thought it rather the hall-mark of folly. He said that he would neither accompany the party to France nor remain behind to tell Lady Ingham why her granddaughter had abandoned her, and from this standpoint nothing would move him.

He had entered the cabin with the intention only of taking Phoebe ashore. In his view, there was nothing more to be done, and she might wash her hands of the affair with a clear conscience. But as Ianthe reiterated her former arguments, several times asserting that it was absurd of Phoebe to have scruples now, when everyone knew she had instigated the plot, his sentiments soon underwent a change. He saw all the force of what Phoebe had previously urged, and ranged himself on her side, even going so far as to talk of laying information with the nearest magistrate.