IN WHICH KITTY IS MORE INCOMPARABLE THAN EVER
“Good God!” said Nan Day, under her breath. “If that is not the Lafone
piece! My dearest Kitty, what insolence!”
“I invited her,” said my Lady Kilcroney, quietly.
“Kitty!”
“By special messenger to-day.”
“Kitty!!!”
“I particularly wished for the presence of Mrs. Lafone here to-night.”
The syren was now approaching, crowned with the very wreath she had
cast back at Pamela Pounce, writhing like a lissome snake, in the
billows and laces of her changing sea-green ball gown. Nan watched
Kitty’s urbanity, and the minx’s unconcealed impertinence with
ever-growing amazement.
“Am I too late to see the dear, dear Royals?”
“Unfortunately their Majesties stayed but a short time. The King was
feeling unwell.”
“Oh, my dearest Lady Kilcroney, what a disappointment for you!”
Kitty had a tilting smile.
“Less to me than to other people, perhaps, my dear Lafone, since I have
the privilege of being so constantly in Their Majesties’ company.”
“True, true. It must be a sad fatigue for you. Her Majesty has no mercy
on her ladies’ legs, I always heard.” The minx’s eyes were wandering.
“But His Royal Highness has remained, I trust? ’Twas the talk of the
place how he was expected.”
“His Royal Highness has left Weymouth, I understand.”
Kitty was really too unconcerned. It could take in nobody, Lady Anne
Day thought. She bit into a rose of her bouquet, and wished she could
beat Lafone about the head with it.
“Oh, my dearest Lady Kilcroney, who could have told you such a tale?
His Royal Highness is even now sitting at the window of the County
Club, eating lobster by the light of a silver candelabra. I saw him as
my chair was carried by. Surely he will present himself at supper time?
The Prince is always so courteous, so considerate.”
“Pray, Mrs. Lafone, the quadrille is beginning. Have you a partner? Or
shall I provide you with a gentleman?”
Molly rolled her glistening green eyes with well-feigned anxiety from
side to side.
“Well, there’s an old promise to my Lord Kilcroney. He made me swear to
give him the first dance at the next assembly, wherever we might happen
to meet. Ah--is he not yonder? Nay, ’tis quite another countenance. But
he will be at your Ladyship’s side in a moment, I make no doubt.”
“My Lord has left Weymouth.”
“Oh, my dearest Lady Kilcroney, what a sad, strange contretemps!”
Even as she spoke that green eye became fixed. One of Kitty’s
magnificent footmen was approaching, bearing a letter on a salver. My
Lady read it, glanced at Mrs. Lafone, and then turned to Lady Ann: “The
Prince is coming, after all, Nan. How strange--” she turned back to
Molly--“that you should this moment have suggested the possibility.”
Mistress Lafone had recognised in a single flash the great folded sheet
that she had herself prepared and sealed with so much amusement, to
the accompaniment of the protests of the rather doubtful, yet not
altogether unwilling Beau. The seal had been Molly’s triumph. What will
not a determined woman accomplish? She had actually got possession of
the kind of wafer habitually used by the Prince. Like mistress, like
maid, it is said: Mistress Molly’s own maid was as much of a minx as
her mistress. She had started flirtations with every likely scoundrel
about Weymouth before she had been a fortnight in the place. One of the
drawers at the Crown Inn had thought it a small price to pay for the
smiles of Jenny Jinks to give her, as a keepsake, a few wafers out of
the Prince’s own ivory box, off the writing-table in the room occupied
by His Royal Highness.
“The Prince coming after all!” cried Nan Day joyfully. She was
genuinely fond of Kitty, but even if she had not been so, to see Lafone
discomfited would have been delightful to her.
This latter was seized with a fit of tittering, and was fain to retire,
fanning herself violently and simulating a threat of the vapours.
Lady Ann looked after her contemptuously.
“She can hardly conceal her spite,” quoth she. “Ah, Kitty, I believe
you knew the Prince was coming all the while, and that was why you
invited that little rascal!”
Kitty had upon this, as even the obtuse Nan could not but notice, a
singular smile.
Certainly it would have been a thousand pities had my Lady Kilcroney’s
entertainment fallen flat, for never had even her bright wits and long
purse made more charming and sumptuous preparations.
The Assembly Rooms had been transmogrified into a fairy bower, with
hangings of white silk, and garlands of roses. The band was surpassing
itself: the supper, no doubt, would be unsurpassable. There was a
special supper-room prepared off the great ball-room, where, it
was hinted, such delicacies would be served as would tickle the
jaded palate of the Prince. If he had not come ’twould have been a
catastrophe. Yes, positively a catastrophe for my Lady Kilcroney.
The moment approached for the appearance of the Royal guest. The most
pompous of the company had taken its departure closely upon the heels
of Royalty, and now there was left none but that select circle to which
Mistress Lafone had referred with so much acrimony, and a sprinkling of
young naval officers, quite negligible beings.
Nevertheless, one of these was now to suit Mistress Molly’s purpose
very well. Most unaccountably, she, who was generally surrounded by the
male sex, found herself neglected to-night by the gentlemen of Kitty’s
coterie. Perhaps her mermaid charms seemed more dangerous than alluring
after the trap into which my Lord Kilcroney had fallen. Anyway, she
was glad to hang upon the arm of a blushing youth in blue, and the
celebrated band striking up “God save the Prince of Wales” with a great
stroke of bows, planted herself with her cavalier near the entrance to
watch, her heart beating high with ecstasy and fear--for the appearance
of brother-in-law Tom as the Prince of Wales.
A stout gentleman, in the very pink of the fashion, with all his double
chins majestically sunk in swathes of fine cambric, with ruffles, blue
ribbon and a star, with calves that must have made Kitty’s footmen
green with envy, and shoulders that would have been remarkable in a
guardsman, advanced, stepping with the inimitable carriage of the great.
Again an hysterical burst of laughter rose in Molly’s throat. The next
moment she pinched the arm of the young naval gentleman so fiercely
that he turned in alarm.
“What is the matter?”
“I am swooning!” said Molly with a gasp, and swoon she did, and no
mistake about it!
However cunningly Mr. Stafford might make himself up, however paint and
pad and be-wig himself, strut and look majestic, he could not have
given to his handsome brown eyes the dull protruding stare, nor to his
features that thickness which a plethoric habit was inducing in the
heir to the throne; and Mr. Stafford would not have been escorted by
the gentlemen of the Prince’s own suite; and, most certain of all, he
would not have had my Lord Kilcroney by his side.
The dreadful discovery flashed upon the unfortunate Molly with the
still more appalling realisation that the next few minutes must
inevitably see the bogus Prince present himself on the heels of the
genuine one; and that all would be discovered, to the everlasting
undoing of those concerned.
“Oh, if I have but the time to warn him!” she thought; when Nemesis
overtook her in the shape of that real swoon.
* * * * *
“You go on slapping her hands, auntie, while I burn another feather.
Dear, to be sure, don’t she look bad! Downright silly, I call it, for
ladies to be lacing themselves so tight, and she as thin as a fish
to begin with! I declare, when I cut those green laces, they regular
popped.”
As through layers of swirling mist which both blinded and deafened her,
Mrs. Lafone vaguely caught these words. Another voice penetrated more
sharply to her growing consciousness.
“And if you was to pull yourself in a bit, Pamela, you’d look a deal
more genteel. A well-looking girl like you, with all your advantages
and gowned, I will say that for you, with uncommon taste, to go about
with such a milkmaid figure! I’d drink a tablespoonful of white vinegar
night and morning, if I was you. Drat! How green she do keep! Slap a
bit harder, child. I’m all of a dither to get into that little balcony
that overlooks the supper-room, and see my Lady and His Highness and
all.”
“A balcony, is there?” Pamela’s pleasant accents questioned.
“Yes, my dear, and you can come along with me, once we get the life
back into Madam. A minstrels’ gallery they call it, overlooking the
hall. Oh, I had a peep just now when I ran for the hartshorn. ’Tis the
elegantest spectacle you ever saw; to look down on the supper table was
like fairyland. Ain’t she sighed? She was always an aggravating piece,”
said the elder Miss Pounce with some asperity.
Molly lay with closed eyes and fully recovered wits. She was debating
whether to prolong the fit and let herself be carried back seemingly
unconscious to her lodgings, would not be the best way out of an
unpleasant dilemma. It would annoy these two impertinent females: that
was an added advantage.
“Was they already at table when you looked in on them, auntie?” asked
Madame Mirabel’s partner, between two brisk smacks of Mrs. Lafone’s
palm.
“They was, my dear. Well, since there don’t seem to be a mite of use
trying to get her to swallow anything, I’ll have that drop of ratafia
myself. It sort of turns me to see people that colour--they was all
a-sitting round the supper table, His Highness beside my Lady, and
my Lord with Lady Flo, and just the rest of my Lady’s intimates. The
supper table looking beautiful with the best gold plate. And them
red, red roses my Lady paid such a sum for. And the Prince’s top-knot
shining lovely, and your wreath--’twas the naturallest thing; you could
have sworn the dew had just fallen on it! But my Lady Anne’s blue
turban’s a trifle heavy for my taste, Pam. She was a-sitting rather
glum, I thought, but perhaps that was because she didn’t have her
gentleman.”
“Her gentleman?”
“My Lady was counting on Mr. Stafford----”
There was a double cry.
“Mr. Stafford!” screamed Pamela and Mrs. Lafone together. Pamela
dropped the hand she was slapping with such good will, and Mrs. Lafone
sat bolt upright.
“Did you say my Lady was expecting Mr. Stafford?” asked Pamela. She
was in such amazement she could not give a thought to the patient’s
miraculous recovery.
“Well, and upon my word, and why should not my Lady invite Mr.
Stafford? What’s took you? And as for you, ma’am, if ever I see a lady
come out of a swound as you have sudden-like this minute----”
But the invalid interrupted, rising to her feet, clasping her
dishevelled head with both hands, and staring from one to the other, as
if she or they were mad.
“When was Mr. Stafford invited? What do you know about his having been
expected? Heavens, woman, answer me! ’Tis a matter of life and death
for me.”
“Mercy on us! Shall you be giving us the screaming vapours next, ma’am?
I happen to know--if you must have it--that my Lady only heard of his
presence in Weymouth at seven of the clock this evening, and nothing
would serve her but he must be sent to that instant minute.”
“Take me to the balcony you spoke of,” said Mrs. Lafone, in an extinct
voice.
Her clothes were hanging off her back, as Lydia shockedly pointed out;
and her hair was a sight for the crows; and my Lady had only given
leave for her own woman (though she wouldn’t mind Pam); Lydia felt sure
she wouldn’t, so to speak, care about people as isn’t asked to the
supper party, spying on His Highness in that common kind of way!
But Mrs. Lafone produced a gold piece with so much promptitude that her
bodice was pinned together, her mantle brought, and her still tottering
steps guided to the upper passage and to the gallery in a remarkably
short space of time. The balcony was filled with palms and flowering
plants. If anyone had thought of looking up, and chanced to see the
narrow, white face and fiery eyes peering down at them, they might have
thought some witch had flown in on her broomstick to cast a baleful
spell upon the cheerful company.
The two Miss Pounces quite forgot their uncomfortable companion in
the thrilling interest of the scene. Lively were the whispers they
exchanged across the stem of a stout tree fern.
“La, aunt, if that isn’t Mr. Stafford down there, as cool as a
cucumber! Well, to be sure; ain’t the world a strange place?”
“Cool he always was, as nobody knows better than me. The way he on and
off with that poor piece, Madame Eglantine, when she kept a milliner’s
shop at Bath, and proposing to my Lady all the while, and she the rich
widow Bellairs. Well--cucumbers was not in it.”
Pamela Pounce was craning eagerly forward. Certainly to see Mr.
Stafford _in propria persona_ sitting genially in the company of the
Prince, the guest of my Lady Kilcroney, after conspiring to humiliate
and confound her, was the last development she had expected of the
night’s drama.
That my Lord Kilcroney should be playing host to the wife who had with
contumely dismissed him was another matter, Miss Pamela Pounce was
by no means so amazed to see him sitting at the supper table as Mrs.
Lafone had been to see him walk in.
“The little cat,” thought Pam, “’twas a real fit, sure enough, and
serve her right. She ain’t succeeded this time--though she came near
enough to it--in separating the elegantest couple in all society. What
a good thing it is, Pam my girl,” (she was fond of apostrophising
herself thus) “that you ain’t too squeamish to do a bit of spying in
season and listen outside doors.”
“His Royal Highness is taking a glass of wine with Mr. Stafford,”
whispered Lydia sibilantly, in a prodigious state of excitement.
Pamela felt an abrupt movement beside her, and glancing round, beheld
Mrs. Lafone darting from the gallery like a snake disturbed. The girl
drew a long breath. The air was easier to her lungs now that this
miasma of malice was removed from it.
His Royal Highness was most agreeably and flatteringly inebriated at
the end of Kitty’s supper party. He declared thickly that it had been
a most delightful evening. If he did not salute her cheek with his
royal lips as he had saluted the Duchess of Hampshire, he mumbled her
hand with repeated kisses. But Kitty’s triumph was not yet complete.
Its culminating point was only reached when she found herself with my
Lord back in the withdrawing-room of her lodgings, accompanied on her
express invitation, by Mr. Stafford.
She flung off her wraps and, standing in the middle of the room, with
rather a tearful smile, held out a hand to each.
“Denis, my love--Stafford, my old friend--we have, each of us, I dare
say, things against each other to forgive and forget, but for my part
’tis all done with already.”
“Ah, my Lady Kilcroney. Ah, Kitty!” cried the Beau, moved out of
his wont, and pressing the little hand against his breast, before
lifting it to his lips, “When I received your note warning me of the
ass I would be making of myself in trying to get the better of you,
I thought--dash me, I thought--there’s not a woman in the world to
compare to her for generosity and wit! And how, in the name of God, did
you know, Kitty?” he cried, with a change of tone. “’Pon my soul, never
tell me that piece, Molly, betrayed me for an invitation?”
“By no means, sir, the invitation was sent to her--well! as a little
punishment. She came all agog to see my discomfiture, and Lydia, my
woman, tells me she was so overset at the sight of His Highness that
she swooned.”
My Lord by this time had an arm about his wife’s waist.
“’Twas I told me wife,” said he in his richest brogue, “of your
dastardly plot, me fine fellow.”
“You?”
“Ay, meself and no other.”
“But this is mystery upon mystery,” said Mr. Stafford, and he was
really mystified.
“A little bird told me,” said Kilcroney, wagging his head.
Kitty interrupted, laughing.
“Aye, and by the way, my Lord, ring the bell and send Pompey for that
very little bird. She must not go unrewarded.”
“She?” repeated Mr. Stafford. His eyebrows went up. He was perhaps not
altogether amazed to see Pamela Pounce walk into the room.
“Come here, child,” said my Lady, and picked from her bodice a pretty,
sparkling brooch. “Wear this for my sake in remembrance of to-night.
As for me,” her light voice deepened, “I shall never forget your good
sense and courage. She guessed you were planning some mischief with
your charming sister-in-law, Mr. Stafford, sir, and having to tie her
bandboxes outside the door, she caught some whispers of your little
game.”
“Oho!” said Mr. Stafford.
“I listened,” cried Pamela with flaming cheeks, “and I went straight to
my Lord here and my Lord----”
Here my Lord himself took up the tale, his lazy, pleasant voice
creaming forth in contrast to the excited tones of the young milliner.
“And faith, bad husband as I am--troth, sure it’s the worst in the
world--there was but one thing for me to do, and that was to protect
me wife. So I went to His Royal Highness and did a little bit of
coaxing--not that he needed much. God bless him, isn’t he always ready
to condescend to be entertained? And I got him to promise easy enough
to come in to supper after his royal parents had gone to bed. And then
I wrote a line to my Lady and asked her permission to bring the Prince,
and by the same token I told her about your fine scheme of counterfeit.
Sure, I knew my Lady could be trusted to deal with that.”
“Denis,” said Kitty. “There was an infamous note I sent you on pink
paper. Have you got it about you?”
He gave her a grim look, inserted two fingers into his waistcoat
pocket, and drew it forth.
“Give it back to me, my dear love.”
“Why, I was thinking ’twouldn’t be a bad token for me to keep about
me, lest I should be meeting some sorrowful young creature that wanted
comforting on a parade----”
“Oh, my Lord, don’t mock me.”
She twitched it from his hand and began to tear it into a hundred
shreds. Then, between laughing and crying, she gathered in her turn a
little note from her bosom.
“’Tis you that are generous, ’tis you that are forgiving, my Lord. How
could I keep up petty malice, Mr. Stafford when my Denis had treated
me so gallant? This letter,” cried Kitty, kissing it, “shall be my
treasure till I die.”