Джорджетт Хейер: The Unknown Ajax

“During my one Season,” said Anthea, in a level tone, “I received two offers of marriage. One came from a widower, old enough, I conjecture, to have been my father. The other was from young Oversley, who, besides being next door to a moonling, had the fixed intention of continuing under his parents’ roof. Between Grandpapa and Lady Aberford I am persuaded there wasn’t the difference of a hair! I haven’t watched the trials you’ve been made to endure only to stumble into the same snare, Mama!”

“No, and heaven knows, dear child, I must be the last person alive to wish to see you in such a situation,” sighed Mrs. Darracott.

“I could, I think, have developed a tendre for Jack Froyle,” said Anthea reflectively. “But he, you know, was obliged to hang out for a rich wife, and thanks to the improvidence for which the Darracotts are so justly famed my portion can’t be called anything but paltry. Does Grandpapa consider that circumstance when he talks of the chances I have frittered away?”

“No, he doesn’t!” replied Mrs. Darracott, with unaccustomed bitterness. “But I do, and it utterly sinks my spirits! That’s why I can’t help thinking that perhaps you ought not to set your face against this scheme of your grandfather’s. Not until you have met your cousin, at all events, my love! Of course, if he should prove to be impossible—only, you know, his is a Darracott on one side!”

“The side I should like the least!” said Anthea.

“Yes, but—but you would be established! ”Mrs. Darracott pointed out. “Even if the young man is a coxcomb, which I do pray he is not, your position as Lady Darracott would be one of the first respectability. Anthea, I cannot bear to see you dwindle into an old maid!”

Anthea could not help laughing at this impassioned utterance, but Mrs. Darracott was perfectly serious, saying very earnestly: “How can you help but do so when no eligible gentleman ever sees you? Dear Anne was used to say that when Elizabeth and Caroline were off her hands she would invite you to stay in London, because she entered into all my sentiments on that head; but now that your uncle Granville is dead, and she has gone away into Gloucestershire, it would be useless to depend on her. Aurelia has still two daughters of her own to bring out, and although I could write to my brother—”

“On no account in the world!” exclaimed Anthea. “My uncle is the most amiable soul alive, but I would far rather dwindle into an old maid than stay for as much as two days with my aunt Sarah! Besides, I don’t think she could be prevailed upon to invite me.”

“No, nor do I: she is the most disagreeable woman! So what, I ask you, is to become of you? When Grandpapa dies we shall be obliged to leave Darracott Place, you know. We shall be reduced to seeking lodgings, very likely in some dreadful back-slum, and eat black-pudding, and turn our dresses, and—”

A peal of laughter interrupted this dismal catalogue. “Stop, stop, Mama, before you fall into an incurable fit of the blue-devils! We shall do nothing of the sort! With your skill in dressmaking, and my turn for making elegant reticules, we shall set up as mantua-makers. In Bath, perhaps, on Milsom Street: not a large establishment, but an excessively modish one. Shall we call it Darracott’s, to enrage the Family, or would it be more tonnish to call ourselves Elvira? Yes, I’m persuaded we should make a hit as Elvira! Within a year every woman of fashion will patronize us, because we shall charge the most exorbitant prices, which will convince the world that we must be top-of-the-trees!”

Mrs. Darracott, while deprecating such a nonsensical idea, could not help being strongly attracted by it. Anthea encouraged her to enlarge upon the daydream; and soon had the satisfaction of seeing her volatile parent restored to her usual optimism. Not until they retired to bed was the unknown cousin again mentioned. He came into Mrs. Darracott’s mind as she picked up her candle, and she ventured to beg Anthea not to speak of the matter to her grandfather. She was much relieved when Anthea, kissing her, and giving her shoulder a reassuring pat, replied: “No, I shan’t say anything to Grandpapa. I am sure it would be quite useless!”

Mrs. Darracott, much cheered, was able then to go to bed with a quiet mind. She was too deeply occupied with household cares on the following morning to have a thought to spare for any other problems than which bedchamber it would be proper to allot to the heir; how best to hide from Lady Aurelia that there was not a linen sheet in the house which had not been darned; and whether the undergroom would be able to purchase in Rye enough lobsters to make, when elegantly dressed, a handsome side-dish for the second course at dinner that day. She, and Mrs. Flitwick too, would have been glad to know for how many days my lord had invited five guests to stay at Darracott Place, but neither considered for as much as a minute the eligibility of applying to him for information on this head. Nothing but a rough answer could be expected. My lord would be unable to understand what difference it could make to anyone. He would also be unable to understand why the addition of five persons to his household should make any appreciable difference to the cost of maintaining his establishment. As he would, at the same time, cut up very stiff indeed if fewer than seven or eight dishes were provided for each course, the task of catering to his satisfaction was one of the labours of Hercules. “For, ma’am,” (as Mrs. Flitwick sapiently observed) “I dare not for my life tell Godney to use the mutton in a nice haricot, or toss up some oysters in an escallop: his lordship will want everything to be of the best.”

It soon transpired that there was one thing which his lordship did not want to be of the best. When Mrs. Darracott asked him if he wished Poor Granville’s bedchamber to be prepared for the reception of his successor, his reply was explosive and unequivocal, and carried the rider that the weaver’s brat would think himself palatially housed if put to sleep in one of the attics.

The first of the guests to arrive were Mr. Matthew Darracott and Lady Aurelia. They came in their own travelling-carriage, drawn by a single pair of horses; and they reached Darracott Place shortly after noon, having left town the day before, and rested for the night at Tonbridge.

Of my lord’s four sons, Matthew, the third, was the one who had caused him the least trouble and expense. His youthful peccadilloes had been of a venial nature, committed either in emulation of his elder brothers, or at their instigation. He had been the first to marry; and from the day that he led Lady Aurelia Holt to the altar his career had been at once blameless and successful. It had been a very good match, for although Lady Aurelia was not beautiful her fortune was respectable, and her connections excellent. She had also a forceful personality, and it was not long before Matthew, weaned from the Whiggish heresies in which he had been reared, found himself (under the aegis of his father-in-law) with his foot firmly set on the first rung of the political ladder. His progress thereafter had been steady; and although it seemed unlikely that he would ever achieve the topmost rungs of the ladder, it was only during the brief reign of “All the Talents” that he was out of office; and although there were those who did not scruple to stigmatize his continued employment as jobbery, no one could deny that he discharged his duties with painstaking honesty.

His political apostasy notwithstanding, it might have been expected that so worthy a son would have occupied the chief place in his father’s affection. Unfortunately Lord Darracott was bored by virtue, and contemptuous of those whom he could bully. Matthew had always been the meekest of his sons, and although his marriage had rendered him to some extent independent of his father, he still accorded him a sort of nervous respect, obeying his periodic and imperious summonses with anxious promptitude, and saying yes and amen to his lordship’s every utterance. His reward for this filial piety was to be freely apostrophized as a pudding-heart, with no more pluck in him than a dunghill cock. Since his conduct was largely governed by the precepts of his masterful and rigidly correct wife, my lord was able to add, with perfect truth, that he lived under the sign of the cat’s foot.