Джорджетт Хейер: Cotillion

Lord Biddenden exchanged a speaking look with his brother; but Hugh merely remarked that it was very true, and that in such a contemptuous voice that Biddenden was goaded into saying: “Well, at all events, it is as much to the purpose that I have come as that Dolphinton has! Folly!”

“I’m an Earl,” said Lord Dolphinton, suddenly reentering the conversation. “You ain’t an Earl. Hugh ain’t an Earl. Freddy ain’t—”

“No, you are the only Earl amongst us,” interposed Hugh soothingly.

“George is only a Baron,” said Dolphinton.

Lord Biddenden cast him a glance of dislike, and said something under his breath about impoverished Irish peers. He had less patience with Dolphinton than any of the cousins, and the remark, moreover, had slightly wounded his sensibilities. He was a man of more pride than genius; liked to think himself the head of a family of great consequence; and was ambitious to improve his condition. However poorly he might think of Irish titles, he could never see Dolphinton without suffering a pang. A juster providence, he felt, must have reversed their positions. Not that he wished to exchange more with Dolphinton than his title: certainly not his snug inheritance for Dolphinton’s Irish acres, mortgaged to the hilt, as he had good reason to suppose they were. Dolphinton was an only child, too, and that would not have suited his cousin. Lord Biddenden’s instincts were patriarchal. He liked to see his brothers and sisters under his roof, and to feel that they depended upon him for guidance; and he was almost as anxious for their advancement as his own. It had been a source of considerable chagrin to him that circumstances had made it impossible for him to bestow his first living upon Hugh. He, and not Matthew Penicuik, should have been Hugh’s benefactor, and he could never quite forgive the valetudinarian who was nursing Hugh’s Rectory for having grossly outlived expectation. That Hugh’s presence within walking distance of Biddenden Manor might not be conducive either to his happiness or to his self-esteem he did not allow to weigh with him, for he was a man with a strong sense of propriety, and he knew that it was his duty to feel affection for all his brothers and sisters. But the melancholy truth was that he could never be long in company with Hugh without becoming vexed with him. He was a just man, and he did not blame Hugh for being a head taller than himself, and very much slimmer; but he did think that Hugh was to be blamed for supposing that his cloth gave him the right to adopt a censorious attitude towards his elders. Regretfully, Lord Biddenden thought of his second brother, Claud, and wished that he were not, at this particular moment, serving with his regiment in the Army of Occupation in France. He would have been glad to have helped Claud to a fortune, for he liked him, and he foresaw, too, that he would be obliged, at no very distant date, to help him to buy his promotion, if not to do the thing outright. Captain Rattray, though deferential to the head of his house, was expensive.

These reflections were disturbed by Lord Dolphinton, who raised his head again, and gave utterance to the thought which had been slowly germinating in his brain. “I’d as lief not be an Earl,” he said heavily. “Or a Viscount. Freddy’s going to be a Viscount. I wouldn’t wish to be. I wouldn’t wish to be a Baron, though that’s not much. George—”

“Yes, yes, we all know I am a Baron! You need not enumerate the degrees of nobility!” said Biddenden, in an exasperated tone. “You had as lief not be a peer of any degree! I am sure I don’t know what maggot has got into your head now, but that at least I have understood!”

“There is no occasion for you to speak so roughly,” said Hugh. “What would you like to be, Foster?”

Lord Dolphinton sighed. “That’s just it,” he said mournfully. “I wouldn’t like to be a military man. Or a parson. Or a doctor. Or—”

The Rector, realizing that the list of the occupations his cousin did not desire to engage in was likely to be a long one, intervened, saying in his grave way: “Why don’t you wish to be an Earl, Foster?”

“I just don’t,” said Dolphinton simply.

Fortunately, since his elder cousin showed signs of becoming apoplectic, any further remarks which he might have felt impelled to make were checked by the arrival on the scene of his great-uncle and host.

Mr. Penicuik, who had retired to his bedchamber after dinner for the purpose of having all the bandages which were bound round a gouty foot removed and replaced, made an impressive entrance. His butler preceded him, bearing upon a silver salver a box of pills, and a glass half-filled with an evil-looking mixture; Mr. Penicuik himself hobbled in supported on one side by a stalwart footman, and upon the other by his valet; and a maid-servant brought up the rear, carrying a heavy walking-stick, several cushions, and a shawl. Both Lord Biddenden and his brother started helpfully towards their infirm relative, and were cursed for their pains. The butler informed Lord Dolphinton in a reproachful whisper that he was occupying the Master’s chair. Much alarmed, Dolphinton removed himself to an uncomfortable seat at some distance from the fire. Mr. Penicuik, uttering sundry groans, adjurations, and objurgations, was lowered into his favourite chair, his gouty foot was laid tenderly upon a cushion, placed on the stool before him, another cushion was set at his back, and his nephew Hugh disposed the shawl about his shoulders, rather unwisely enquiring, as he did so, if he was comfortable.

“No, I’m not comfortable, and if you had my stomach, and my gout, you wouldn’t ask me a damned silly question like that!” retorted Mr. Penicuik. “Stobhill, where’s my cordial? Where are my pills? They don’t do me any good, but I’ve paid for them, and I won’t have waste! Where’s my stick? Put it where I can reach it, girl, and don’t stand there with your mouth at half-cock! Pack of fools! Don’t keep on hovering round me, Spiddle! I can’t abide hoverers! And don’t go out of hearing of the bell, for very likely I shall go to bed early, and I don’t want to be kept waiting while you’re searched for all over. Go away, all of you! No, wait! Where’s my snuff-box?”

“I fancy, sir, that you placed it in your pocket upon rising from the dinner-table,” said Stobhill apologetically.

“More fool you to have let me sit down before I took it out again!” said Mr. Penicuik, making heroic efforts to get a hand to his pocket, and uttering another anguished groan. An offer of Lord Biddenden’s Special Sort, put up in an elegant enamel box, was ungratefully rejected. Mr. Penicuik said that he had used Nut Brown for years, and wanted nobody’s new-fangled mixture. He succeeded, with assistance from two of his henchmen, in extricating his box from his pocket, said that the room was as cold as a tomb, and roundly denounced the footman for not having built up a better fire. The footman, who was new to his service, foolishly reminded Mr. Penicuik that he had himself given orders to make only a small fire in the Saloon. “ Man’s an idiot!” said Mr. Penicuik. “Small fire be damned! Not when I’m going to sit here myself, clodpole!” He waved the servants away, and nodded to his young relatives. “In general, I don’t sit here,” he informed them. “Never sit anywhere but in the library, but I didn’t want the pack of you crowding in there.” He then glanced round the room, observed that it needed refurbishing but that he was not going to squander his money on a room he might not enter again for a twelvemonth, and swallowed two pills and the cordial. After this, he took a generous pinch of snuff, which seemed to refresh him, and said: “Well, I told you all to come here for a purpose, and if some of you don’t choose to do what’s to their interest I wash my hands of them. I’ve given ’em a day’s grace, and there’s an end to it! I won’t keep you all here, eating me out of house and home, to suit the convenience of a couple of damned jackanapes. Mind, I don’t mean they shan’t have their chance! They don’t deserve it, but I said Kitty should have her pick, and I’m a man of my word.”