Revenants (2)

The other conspirators had also arrived

Lady Rachel Merrett looked into the pier-glass in the chamber set up for a ladies’ retiring room at the Dowager Duchess of Humpleforth’s fine mansion and considered that she was in reasonable looks the night. It was, she knew, gratifying, quite the accolade, to be invited to the Dowager Duchess’s end of Season party. And when one had started the Season under the burden of malicious whispers about one’s unEnglish looks, even if those had dissipated, that was very pleasing indeed.

Sure, 'twas very largely because Her Grace had made her come-out at the same time as Mama, and similarly under the wing of the Duchess of Mulcaster, and they remained excellent good friends. So was not surprizing that there had been invitations for Lord and Lady Nuttenford, Lord Undersedge, and Lady Rachel.

Well, perchance a little surprizing because there had been some doubt that there would be this party at all, the Duchess having travelled south to recruit her health. But had returned in the spring o’ the year, and although it was supposed that this return was at least in part due to the very unsettled state of matters upon the continent, she was looking exceeding well.

Looking exceeding well, and, thought Rachel, tidying a straying lock of hair, still considered a ravishing beauty not only at her age, but not at all in the approved Anglo-Saxon style. That – still – midnight black hair – that ivory complexion – that exotic line of features –

Of course, her mama had remarked, it ever helps, being a Duchess.

The door of the chamber opened and came in somewhat timidly Scilla Fendersham.

Rachel turned around and smiled broadly. Scilla – you look ravishing.

For sure she had entirely come on! At the Season’s beginning Miss Fendersham had been a provincial dowd, very nervous and unsure of herself. But then – like Rachel – her dressing had been put into the hands of clever little Thomasina Jupp at Mamzelle Bridgette, that made a quite immense difference. And after that, Scilla had the great good luck – having been obliged to attend a drawing-room meeting on behalf of one of Lady Pockinford’s pet causes – to win in the raffle the hairdressing skills of Lady Bexbury’s Sophy. Rachel was in the greatest envy, especially as she herself had only won one of the very horrid little purses made by Aggie Saxorby.

It was well-known that Lady Bexbury’s Sophy was an entire sorceress in the matter of hair; and Scilla’s hair was not only now dressed in a most exceeding becoming fashion, Sophy had recommended a wash of herbs that would bring up its shine.

Scilla twirled around and said, but you are looking wonderful, Rachel, too. Then jumped and said, O, what is that? as something went scurrying across the floor and behind a curtain.

La, said Rachel, I must suppose 'tis one of Her Grace’s pet mongooses, that she is quite famous for, because they remind her of her childhood in Bombay – has a deal of the creatures, that are more curious than any cat.

Scilla went to peep behind the curtain. Minds me of my brother’s ferrets, she said. Well, let us go and promenade.

They smiled at one another conspiratorially, linked arms, and went out to make their curtseys to their hostess.

That was almost entire surrounded by an admiring crowd, as she smiled languidly at 'em, and, sure, one might observe a mongoose or so about her skirts.

The two young women looked about a little, and then turned to one another, and nodded. The other conspirators had also arrived.

But 'twas not yet time to bring 'em into play. And, very gratifying, here was Lord Sallington came offer that Lady Rachel might dance, and her brother Undersedge very civil asking Scilla.

One might always discourse to Sallington about somewhat connected with art, and she had lately been to the Royal Academy exhibition, so that was a topic she might lead with.

Sallington gave a little groan and said, why did everyone suppose that a fit subject to talk to him about? He fancied they hoped for some suitable phrase or so for their own converse.

Rachel giggled and said, la, it must be so! one might make a game out of it, to see how many times one could evoke the same comment about some painting –

And how far it went – very like some good thing Lady Bexbury says about a play, will be took up and sailed about conversation under false colours.

Rachel giggled again. Is Lady Bexbury here? she enquired.

Not yet, I surmize – there, look where she comes!

O, sighed Rachel, and wearing her rubies. Is there not some romantical tale about 'em?

Sallington looked down at her and said, he apprehended that 'twas a romantical tale quite unsuited to the ears of young women, and then grinned.

Rachel wrinkled her nose and said, la, did he say such things to Miss Ferraby?

Sallington positively laughed and said, would not dare for fear of an entire sermon upon the evils of inculcating ignorance!

They came to the end of the dance, and he bowed, and came up to her looking hopeful Henry Hackstead, that she had not anticipated to see at this occasion – yet, sure, was known that Her Grace’s party was ever an eclectic congeries and she had a great fondness for savants and artists &C rather than merely those that could boast antient breeding –

Indeed she was pleased to see Mr Hackstead, even did she still feel somewhat ashamed of the way she had flirted with him when he had first been introduced into their circles. Well, she had been feeling that chagrin over those beastly whispers concerning her unEnglish looks. While Davey Samuels talking about the fine new spirit among the Jewish communities on the Continent had been very exciting, and gave one a pride in that ancestry, had also come to seem to her that did not seem much place in it for women except as domestic creatures. Whereas had had some notion that marrying a scholar might present one in the character of a patron of learning –

And of course Mr Hackstead was a very nice-looking young man!

But indeed, she thought, as they spoke of this enterprize of his to go with the Ollifaunts to New South Wales as tutor to their children, she was no longer beguiled by that superficiality, feeling a warm inward glow.

She said the very proper things about what a loss he would be to their circle. And there were other partners for other dances, until Bobbie Wallace came up to claim her for the supper dance, with a sly wink, as she saw Artie Demington lead Scilla to the floor.

She smiled at him, and asked what he had been about, that turned to lately have been cricket, and at the end of the dance he gave her his arm to go into supper.

Where they were able with a little strategy to place themselves at a table in a quiet corner with Artie and Scilla, and rearrange themselves, so that she was sitting next to Artie, and Scilla next to Bobbie, and they all smiled. Artie took her hand under cover of the table, and she dared say that the like was the case on the other side. Sure, there could be no objections! Would be reported, no doubt, to Lord Fendersham, that was not among the guests, that Scilla had danced with Demington and been took into supper by him, and likewise to Lord Pockinford.

What – there was Henry Hackstead had contrived to convey Lady Bexbury into supper! Well!

Oh, that was a shrewd glance that Her Ladyship cast upon their little group as she passed. Did she, Rachel wondered, guess? Sure there were a deal of rumours of matches made up, or unwelcome ones unmade, when Her Ladyship intervened…