10
Katie And The Commander
Lady Caro Kellaway was giving a little card party. Not above four dozen persons present. The pretty little house gave the appearance of bursting at the seams. Eudora had hesitated, but finally accepted for herself and the Contessa. They did not receive so many invitations as all that, and Lady Caro was, after all, a Lacey, and—well, if it became too rowdy, she supposed she could always remove Raffaella bodily. Geddings was again present—possibly the rumour that he was pursuing Lady Caro was true; though he did not appear precisely over-eager. To the contrary: almost immediately he offered to teach Raffaella the rudiments of whist. Laughing very much, Raffaella protested that she knew the rudiments, but would be very glad to learn the refinements. Eudora was almost able to convince herself that Geddings read nothing into this speech. Brutally kidnapping Mr Charlie Grey as a fourth, she sat herself down at their table and proceeded to play the rôle of grim chaperone.
It was no consolation at all that after some time Commander Sir Arthur Jerningham came up, sent Mr Grey off about his business, and took his place. Because, what was he doing here? Eudora was aware that the pleasant Commander did have something of the reputation of a ladies’ man amongst his intimates, but she had not hitherto thought that he haunted the company of the like of Lady Caro and her set. After a little Raffaella informed him gaily that he could not expect to see Katie Dewesbury here. The Commander, Eudora observed with something of a sinking feeling, did not jump, blush, or betray any disturbance at all. He merely cut the cards placidly and said: “No, I should not expect to, indeed. Especially not tonight: in fact, I think she is probably at the von Maltzahn-Dressen dance. Mr Beresford will no doubt be there also.”
Raffaella went bright red and was reduced to silence.
“Yes, of course; the von Maltzahn-Dressens are his cousins,” croaked Eudora.
“Exactly,” he said mildly.
… “He has more to him,” said Raffaella somewhat lamely in the carriage going home, “than I had thought.”
“Yes, well, of course he is a very kindly personality, and has wonderful manners, but it does not do, on the whole, to take even the most pleasant-natured gentleman, especially one who has been on the town for quite some time, at face value.”
“No-o… I suppose all those rumours about him and that horrid cat Mrs Percy Murray are true after all!” she burst out.
Oh, dear, thought Eudora. Aloud she said calmly: “Undoubtedly, my dear. I hope you did not assure Katie that they must be exaggerated?”
She could not see Raffaella’s face very clearly in the gloom of the carriage but she was almost sure it was very red. After a moment Raffaella admitted sulkily: “I may have done. But Cousin Eudora, he is a perfect stick!” she burst out. “How could anyone suspect it to be true?”
“Well, Raffaella, although Arthur Jerningham has very many excellent qualities, the which no doubt did make him seem like a stick to you and your little brother when he caught you poaching his trout, he is also an extremely attractive fellow, with considerable charm. He is very popular with his peers—and I do not mean just Charles Q.-V., I know your opinion of him,” she said calmly. Ignoring Raffaella’s gulp, she continued: “But he is even more popular with the ladies. I concede he made quite a fool of himself over the P.W.; but then, one has to admit it, almost any other woman but she would have been making a push to engage his affections, had he shown the slightest interest.”
“I suppose you mean, she does not have to,” she said sulkily.
Eudora patted her hand lightly. “Something like that, yes.”
As they drew up at their own house Raffaella demanded fiercely: “And why, pray, was he not at the von Maltzahn-Dressen dance?”
“Er—well, I could not say. But if Katie truly affects him, I think it would be unwise to encourage her to play those little cat-and-mouse games with him.”
Raffaella was silent.
Eudora hesitated, but said no more. Nor did she reiterate the fact that the von Maltzahn-Dressens were Mr Beresford’s cousins: she could not but feel that poor Raffaella had more than taken the point. There was, alas, a very considerable difference between little card parties in Caro Kellaway’s pretty house just off Green Street and dances at the Hôtel von Maltzahn-Dressen, in one of the most fashionable squares of London.
Commander Sir Arthur’s absence had been noticed by more than one guest of the Fürstin von Maltzahn-Dressen, that evening. “Where is he?” hissed Lady Ferdy angrily in her sister’s ear.
“I think he escaped to the card room, Gwennie,” replied Katie blandly.
“What? Not Ferdy, you ape! Commander Sir A.!” Lord Ferdy’s spouse hissed angrily.
“Pray do not spit, Gwennie,” said Katie calmly. “I am sure I have no notion where he may be.”
“And next you will claim you do not care!” retorted her sister angrily.
“No, why should I?” said Katie indifferently.
Gwennie licked her lips. “I am sure he acted just as he ought over the Contessa.”
“Yes? I am sure that he acted like a prejudiced, boring prude,” said Katie coldly.
“Katie, I am sure all he was concerned for was your reputation!”
“Indeed? It seemed to me that all he was concerned for was the prejudiced spite of the unpleasant persons amongst whom it is his custom to move; though not,” said Katie on a very dry note, eyeing their hostess, glorious in silver satin with diamonds, “as you have pointed out, tonight. Please excuse me: here is Captain Paxton; it is our dance.”
Young Captain Paxton came up, smiling eagerly, and took her into the dance before Gwennie had the chance to point out that in the first instance he was a fribble, in the second instance he had not a penny to bless himself with, and in the third instance he had very recently, in the intervals of flirting outrageously with herself, tried to get out of Ferdy just what sort of dowry Sir Lionel Dewesbury might have in mind for his third daughter. Directing a horrid scowl at the blameless pink-faced Lieutenant Rupert Gratton-Gordon, who had looked as if he might be intending to ask her for the dance, she went off to the card room.
“Ferdy, I wish to speak to you,” she said tightly.
Lord Ferdy was indulging in a blameless hand of whist with his cronies, and feeling extremely virtuous because of it. The fact that faro was not offered at the Fürstin’s house did not strike him as in any way detracting from this virtue. “Eh? Hold on, Gwennie, I shall just—”
“Ferdy, if you please!”
“Dash it, Gwennie, what can be that urgent at a dashed— I’m coming, I'm coming!” Throwing down his hand, and informing the fellows that they were dashed lucky, considering the way his luck was running tonight, Lord Ferdy allowed his wife to draw him into a little alcove.
“I say, reminds you of our sittin’ out days, hey?” he noted pleasedly. “Sit down, old girl,” he said, seating himself on a little brocaded sofa and patting the place beside him.
“Never mind that! Have you seen Cousin Arthur lately?”
“Hey? Thought he were down in Lincolnshire?”
“Lin— Not old Cousin Arthur Dewesbury, you imbecile!”
“Oh: young Arthur Narrowmine!”
“Not your cousin Arthur Narrowmine!” almost screamed Gwennie. “Be silent, and listen! –And I am sure I do not care how much he loses in the hells, so pray do not bother to tell me of it!”
“No: that’s the thing, you see: after he lost that five hundred guineas Harry Narrowmine came down hard on him and said he could get on back to their Pa’s place in Norf— Um, sorry,” he said hastily. “Go on, then.”
“Commander Sir Arthur Jerningham,” said Gwendolyn between her teeth.
“Thought you had worked out he was your unc— Oh, no, that’s right: Cecil Jerningham’s your uncle. No, that’s wrong. I remember! Cecil Jerningham’s your nephew!” he said brilliantly.
“When did you last see him?” she shouted.
“Mm? Oh, t’other week—was it? Yes, think so. Boodle’s. Complainin’ like anything that they don’t hardly ever let him off the leash at the damned Horse G—”
“Not Cecil Jerningham, you total imbecile! Com-man-der Sir Ar-thur.”
“Oh, him. Haven’t seen him in this age. Thought he might be here tonight, actually,” he said vaguely.
Gwennie drew a deep and terrible breath. “Ferdinand Lacey, pray do not put on that vague tone with me, if you please! I wish to know what is keeping him away from Katie!”
Ferdy had thought she might wish that, yes. He wriggled. “Er—no idea. Er—the on-dit is, he’s dumped Mrs Percy M. So it can’t be her. Er—well, old thing, I think it’s actually Katie what's keeping him away from Katie, d’you see?”
Gwendolyn strode round the little alcove, her lips tightly compressed.
“Er—sit down, old thing: wear yourself out,” said Ferdy kindly.
“Kindly do not address me by that absurd appellation. You are not yet a doddering fool in his dotage, though I admit that you frequently give a very good imitation of it!”
‘That’s a bit hard, old th—girl. And it ain’t my fault that you ain’t started— I never spoke!” he said as his wife’s perfect complexion turned an alarming shade of puce.
“I venture to suggest, Ferdy, that it is entirely your fault. Given the late hours that you customarily keep and the fact when you do roll home stinking of disgusting cigars and worse, all you are capable of as you roll into bed is a yawn.”
“It was one—”
“It was far too many,” said Gwendolyn flatly. “I am not here to discuss that. I should like you to find out whether Commander Sir Arthur is aware that Lord and Lady Keywes’ version of the Roman affair entirely supports the Contessa’s story.”
“Gwennie, I can’t walk flat up to the man and ask him a thing like that! Fellow’s twice my age!”
Gwendolyn merely looked at him icily.
“I can’t,” said Ferdy miserably.
“Those who claimed,” noted his wife evilly, “that I was throwing myself away on a spineless worm when I married you, were not far wrong. How you come to be your mother’s child, I know not.”
“That ain’t fair!”
“All you have to do,” she said with a terrible patience that was a very good imitation of Lady Lavinia at her most intimidating, “is mention casually that it is a great pity that the clubs have hold of that horrid rumour, for of course that is not the true story. And that Lord Keywes confirms her entire innocence.”
“Y— Not entire; she did run off with the— Very well, entire,” he said sulkily.
“Can you do that?” demanded Gwennie coldly.
“Out of the blue?” he croaked.
She merely looked at him coldly.
“Um, well, the man’s twice my age, Gwennie! Barely addressed two words to him in me life!”
She merely looked at him coldly.
“And I’ve never spoken to Keywes in me life! Man’s a terrific swell!”
“Rubbish. Your father is a duke.”
“He ain’t a dashed ambassador, though!”
She merely looked at him coldly.
“Look, Jerningham hardly ever looks in at Boodle’s. Think he's mostly at White’s. I ain’t a member, and it’s no use saying I ought to be, because—”
“Papa is a member. I suggest you go there on the excuse of looking for him. I dare say that they may admit you,” she said coldly.
“Don’t be like that, Gwennie. I’ve said I’ll do it,” he said miserably.
To say truth, Gwennie was not at all sure he had capitulated. Her face softened somewhat. “Very well, then. But do not fail me.”
“No,” he said glumly. He waited, but as Gwendolyn did not say he might go back to the card room, did not suggest it. After a few moments, as she merely stood there staring blindly before her, he croaked: “Feel like a glass of champagne, old girl?”
“What? Oh—not very much, thank you,” she said dully. “Remember what an adventure it used to be?”
“Er—what?” he fumbled.
“Having champagne behind Mamma’s back. Sitting out. All this,” said Gwennie with a sigh, waving her hand at the little alcove.
“Yes. Um, ain’t marriage no fun, then?” he said sadly.
“Not very much,” she admitted sourly.
Ferdy smiled palely. “No. Sorry, and all that. Thought you quite liked me,” he added miserably.
“I do quite like you,” said Gwendolyn with an impatient sigh.
“Thing is, not a very brainy fellow,” he said apologetically.
“No, well, I think it does not take brains to see that gambling, drinking and smoking all night with one’s cronies is not the way to endear one to one’s wife. Merely, it takes a modicum of common sense and a smidgin of honour,” said Gwendolyn tiredly.
Ferdy was very red.
“Do not say it: all the fellows do it,” she said with shrug.
“S’pose you’ll claim, all the ones with smidgins of honour don’t,” he said glumly. “No, well, s’pose you are right. Don't even like gambling, much. Well, all the fellows do it. –No excuse.”
There was a short silence.
“S’pose we could pretend,” said Ferdy without hope.
“Pretend what?” she demanded impatiently.
“You know,” he said, waving his hand at the little alcove. “That we’re not married: still hiding from your ma. That sort of stuff.”
Gwennie’s jaw had sagged. After an appreciable pause she managed to croak: “Sit out?”
“Aye. Well, silly notion.”
“No! Ferdy, it’s a splendid notion!” she gasped.
“Eh? Oh, well, good show! Tell you what, ’member that time you pretended to be Porky Potter and I was Vyv G.-G. discovering the moustache?”
Giggling frightfully, Gwennie hissed: “Yes! Quick, draw the curtain, before Mamma spots us, Ferdy!”
Grinning, he bounced up and drew the curtain.
The Ferdinand Laceys duly took up their places on the brocade sofa, Gwendolyn bridling, pouting, thrusting the bosom well forward and fluttering the eyelids horridly, what time she assumed an expectant and much exaggerated pout: Porky Potter to the life; and Ferdy, possibly less convincing in the rôle of the dashing Captain Lord Vyvyan Gratton-Gordon of the hussars, clearing his throat and uttering: “Hah! What have we here, eh?” And duly approaching his lips to hers…
After the feigned horrid shock and the subsequent gales of giggles from Gwendolyn as herself, Ferdy admitted: “That was not half bad.”
“Oh, Captain Lord Vyv, I am sure I cannot imagine what you mean!” carolled Gwennie.
“Ugh, Lor’: she didn't call him that, did she?”
“What? Oh! Of course she did. Isn’t it repulsive?” she said pleasedly.
“Lor’. –I say, Miss Porky—beg pardon, Miss Potter—you are not half game,” he ventured.
Predictably Gwennie collapsed again, gasping: “Even Vyv G.-G. could not have been so mutton-headed as to call her that to her face!”
He winked. “No, well, rumour is he did, but only when it dawned she was after him in earnest. Come on, then, try it again?”
They tried it again, this time without very much pretence at being anyone but themselves.
After which the brilliant Ferdy produced: “We ought to do this more often.”
“Mm.”
There was a short silence.
“It is up to you, I suppose, Ferdy,” admitted Gwennie. “It is always so easy for a man, to be quite elsewhere, in London.”
“Eh? The times I've come home to find you off at some dashed— Well, never mind that. S’pose you can’t get off to the club, no. Well—uh—try harder, in the future, hey? Both of us, I mean!” he said quickly,
“Yes,” said Gwennie, squeezing his hand.
“That sounds like supper,” he noted. “I’m dashed starving. Coming?”
“Yes.” She got up and took his arm.
“I tell you what, old girl: you be the P.W., and I’ll be Stamforth. Stiff as a ramrod, face like a fiddle!” He made the requisite grimace, and Gwennie, giggling, allowed herself to press her bosom against his arm in the observed manner…
“It ain’t half bad,” admitted Ferdy as they strolled slowly into supper.
“No; I suppose that's why she does it!” discovered the sophisticated Gwendolyn with a giggle. “Um, Ferdy, you won’t forget to speak to Arthur J., will you?”
“Oh, Lord, no, old thing!” he reassured her. “He’ll think it odd, mind; but then he’d probably think I was odd, anyway, so what’s the odds?”
Gwendolyn gulped in spite of herself. “Yes. Well, thank you, Ferdy, dear.”
“Not at all. Wonder if they’ll have any of those little savoury pastry whatsits: you know, had them at that damned stiff party what Ma forced us to go to after we got engaged,” he said, peering.
Reflecting that he was not all bad, Gwendolyn assisted him in his search for those precise little savoury pastry whatsits.
Whether it was due to the amiable Lord Ferdinand Lacey’s intervention, Katie’s well-wishers were never to be sure: but certainly, on the one day Ferdy spoke to Commander Sir Arthur at White’s, and on another day not so very long after, Katie, Gwennie and Nellie, escorted by Captain Dewesbury and a yawning Ferdy, encountered him during their usual morning ride. He was also riding, took off his hat, greeted them very amiably, and, as her sisters and Ferdy considerately drew ahead a little, ranged alongside Katie. And Quentin; but after about half a minute Ferdy, obedient to a significant look from Gwennie, called him off.
“Tactful fellow, your brother-in-law,” noted Arthur Jerningham mildly.
“Um—oh! My brother-in-law Hilary Parkinson! Yes, indeed; he is a sweet man.”
“Mm. I didn’t mean him, however: Lord Ferdy,” he said, nodding at him.
Katie gaped at him.
Concluding with some relief that she could not, after all, have been behind the misguided Ferdinand’s attempt to set him right about the little Contessa, the Commander said baldly: “Miss Katie, I owe you an apology. You were perfectly right about that story that is going around about the poor little Contessa dalla Rovere. She was very clearly the innocent victim of that venal stepfather. Keywes tells me the fellow is quite notorious, in Rome.”
“Yes,” said Katie shakily.
Arthur Jerningham shrugged just a little. “S’pose it explains why his family let the frightful Principessa Claudia marry the fellow.”
“Yes. The Contessa claims,” said Katie somewhat faintly, “that no respectable Roman family would have accepted an offer for their daughter from him.”
“No, quite. Great pity that the little girl has had to suffer because of it, hey? So, am I forgiven?” he said with his charming smile.
Katie looked up into his handsome face and sparkling blue eyes, and suddenly felt very cross. “I certainly forgive you for having been mistaken in your facts,” she said stiffly. “No man can be blamed for that.”
“But?”
“I cannot say I feel precisely forgiving on the score of your patronising attitude towards myself,” she said coolly.
The Commander went very red. “I see. I suppose, if I try to say that I was merely anxious lest your own reputation should suffer through the friendship, you will say that that is precisely an instance of the patronising attitude?”
“You are quite correct. I realise you meant it kindly, but I am capable of forming my own judgements. Being short, young and female need not necessarily imply that one does not possess a reasoning faculty,” said Katie on a bitter note. “I think I am as capable as yourself of perceiving that the Contessa is something of a flirt and that that doubtless aided the gossips of Rome to spread a horrid tale of her. Not to say, the gossips of London to believe it. And I do not entirely believe that she agreed to run away with the Conte dell’Aversano in a spirit of total innocence—though that is certainly the version she has given me. Frankly, I think that in her heart of hearts she thought that he might not marry her, but that anything would be better than being returned to a home like hers. I cannot condemn her for it,” she said, lifting her chin, “and in fact, in her place I would have felt exactly the same!”
Commander Sir Arthur Jerningham looked at that stubbornly tilted little chin. “I see,” he said slowly. “And done exactly the same?”
“Yes,” said Katie, going very red in spite of herself.
“Even though propriety would have indicated, not a return home, certainly, but the convent?” he murmured.
“Yes.”
His eyes twinkled. “Miss Katie, I am very nearly sure that is a lie, but it is certainly a gallant one! No, no, I do not mean to patronise you!” he said quickly, as she frowned. “So—er—you have suffered rather a lot, have you, from being—what was it? Short, young and female?”
“Yes,” said Katie baldly, scowling.
“Mm… I am trying to put myself in your place, but I confess it is very difficult indeed… Well, tall, old and male?” He shrugged a little.
“And accustomed for so many years to be lord of all you survey: whether on your poop deck or on your own lands,” said Katie with a little sigh: “Yes. I suppose one cannot blame you, sir.”
“Er—no,” he said, rather startled. “You paint rather an odd picture of me, ma’am!”
“Do I? I suppose I was thinking of Raffaella’s story of how you lectured her and her little brother when you caught them poaching your trout. They were very small, and you were very tall; I think she actually used the phrase ‘lord of all you surveyed.’”
“Mm,” he said, grimacing. “I had not actually been accustomed so very long to being lord of all I surveyed, at that time. That was not so very long after my poor dear brother Ronnie died.’’
“No,” said Katie, going scarlet. “Of course, it cannot have been. I am so sorry, Commander.”
“Not at all. Er—forgive me, but could not the effect which you discern as patronage be merely the result of the difference in height?” he murmured.
“For me, or for Raffaella and her little brother?” said Katie uncertainly.
“For you, Miss Katie,” said the Commander on a prim note.
“Are you laughing up your sleeve at me, sir?” she said dangerously.
“Well, only a very little. On the assumption that you will grasp that I cannot take the credit for my height, any more than you can be blamed for your lack of inches.”
“I see… You mean,” she said shrewdly, “that you cannot be blamed for your height.”
“Mm. And I truly do not mean to take advantage of it,” he said with his pleasant smile. “So if I seem to be doing so at any time, perhaps you will advise me of it?”
Katie was now very flushed. “I did not meant be rude, Sir Arthur,” she said stiffly.
“Why, no, of course you did not!” he agreed cheerfully. “I quite see that. –I keep trying to put myself in your place,” he said with a vexed little laugh, “and it is well-nigh impossible! It is many a long year since I suffered from a lack of inches. But I perfectly understand you do not wish to be treated like, nor thought of, as a schoolroom Miss. And frankly, I do not wish to treat you as such. I hope you will believe that I certainly do not think of you as one. And—well, does that take care of the ‘short’ and the ‘young’ points?” he murmured.
“Mm,” admitted Katie, licking her lips.
“As to the ‘female’ issue… Alas, the habit of protecting and serving your sex is, I fear, ingrained in me, Miss Katie,” he said lightly. “So I must beg you to forgive me if I fail to overcome it.”
“Yes. But why,” said Katie, clearing her throat, “should it be ingrained, sir? Not in you, in especial, but in general terms? The assumption that the female sex is weaker than the male one does not seem to me to be a valid one, except on the most crudely physical level.”
“Er—no,” agreed Commander Sir Arthur in a shaken voice. “Lady Stamforth once said something very similar to me… No, well, you are very right,” he ended weakly.
“Lady Stamforth did?” croaked Katie, staring. She had never had the impression that the Portuguese Widow would either conceive or state such a notion!
“Mm. Oh, are you so prejudiced as to believe that there cannot be a brain behind a very pretty face?” he said drily.
After a moment Katie admitted: “It appears I am, yes. I—well, I suppose I just accepted Society’s judgement, without ever bothering to wonder if it were justified… Well, of course I know that His Grace of Wellington greatly admires her; I should have realised it was not just because of her looks.”
“No!” said the Commander with a sudden shout of laughter. “Don’t you know? Far from talkin’ tactics or such like with him, the P.W. maintains that His Grace is not the greatest tactician since Vercingetorix! Known for the opinion!” he choked, going into a paroxysm.
Katie looked at his laughing face and sparkling eyes and felt fiercely that if the P.W. had stood before them at this moment she would happily have ridden her down.
“I do beg your pardon,” he said weakly. “No, well, the thing is, Wellington ain’t particularly interested in brainy women, my dear.”
“No, well, of course you move in their set,” said Katie tightly. “You would know.”
“Mm.”
They rode on in silence, each of them having considerable food for thought.
Eventually he said with a little smile: “Shall I expect to see you at the Contessa’s salon this Tuesday?”
And Katie, lifting her chin a little, replied firmly: “Of course.”
“Don’t think I dare ask how you are getting away with it,” he said drily. “No, no, don’t look daggers at me! There is a style of command which believes so firmly that one’s word must be law, that there is no room for doubt whether others might hold the same belief as firmly. I have seen it succeed with a body of men, and then, on the other hand, I have seen it fail. I admit I have not hitherto witnessed Lavinia fail with it. –Well, I have known her most of my life,” he said as she gave him a startled look. “And I ain’t blind.”
“No, you are certainly not that,” said Katie limply. “I could tell you how we are getting away with it, she added, rallying slightly, “but as it would be highly unfair to involve anyone but ourselves in it, shall not. But I must admit that it was not my intention to draw Nellie into it.”
“She just tacked herself on, mm? Aye, little sisters do that!” He related an amusing anecdote of his sisters when young, and as the gates were now in sight, touched his hat, bade the group a graceful farewell, and rode away.
Miss Dewesbury was left not knowing what to think. And very much with the impression that Raffaella had had: that there was considerably more to Commander Sir Arthur Jerningham than met the eye.
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