The education had been provided by the girl’s paternal relatives, and at one time Mrs. Challoner had expected wonders to come of it. But Mary seemed to have acquired nothing from it but a quantity of useless knowledge, and a certain elegance of deportment The select seminary had housed young ladies of the highest rank, but Mary’s common-sense fell short of making fast-friends with any of them, so that Mrs. Challoner’s visions of entering the Polite World through her daughter’s friendships all vanished, and she was left to wish that she had never applied to the Challoners for help at all. Yet at the time of Charles Challoner’s early demise, it had seemed to her to be an excellent thing to do. Her brother had said that she could hope for nothing from such high and mighty folk, and it certainly seemed now as though she had got worse than nothing. While evincing no desire to set eyes on his late son’s spouse, General Sir Giles Challoner had expressed his willingness to provide for the education of his eldest granddaughter. Mrs. Challoner perforce had accepted this half-loaf, with the secret belief that it would lead to better things. It never had. On several occasions Mary had been bidden on a visit to Buckinghamshire, but no suggestion either of adopting her, or of inviting her mamma and sister to share the visit, had ever been made.
It was bitterly disappointing, but Mrs. Challoner was a just woman, and she had no doubt that the frustration of her ambitions was largely due to Mary herself. For all her wonderful learning, the girl had not the smallest notion of bettering her position. With every opportunity (if only she had known how to be ingratiating) of insinuating herself into the affections of her benefactors, she had apparently made no attempt to be indispensable to them, so that here she was, actually twenty years of age, still sharing the lodging of her mother and sister, and with no better prospect in view than marriage with her cousin Joshua.
Joshua, a stout and affluent young man, was not an earl, but then Mary was not Sophia, and Mrs. Challoner would have been quite satisfied with this match for her elder daughter. Inexplicably Joshua had no eyes for Sophia. He was obstinately and somewhat fiercely in love with Mary, and the mischief was that the stupid girl would have none of him.
“I don’t know what you look for, I’m sure,” Mrs. Challoner said, pardonably incensed. “If you think you will marry a titled gentlemen, let me tell you, Mary, that you have no notion how to go about the business.”
Whereupon Mary had looked up from her stitchery, and said with a humorous inflexion in her calm voice: “Well, mamma, I have plenty of opportunity for learning, haven’t I?”
“If all that fine education of yours taught you was to be odiously sarcastic about your sister, miss, you wasted your time!” said her mother sharply.
Mary bent her head over her work again. “Indeed I think so,” she said.
There was nothing much to be made of this. Mrs. Challoner suspected her daughter of a hidden, and probably unpalatable meaning, but could not resist saying: “And though you may sneer at Sophia now, I wonder how you will look when she is my lady.”
Mary re-threaded her needle. “I think I should look much surprised, mamma,” she replied somewhat drily. Then as Mrs. Challoner began to bridle, she put her work aside, and said in her quiet way: “Madam, surely in your heart you know that Lord Vidal does not dream of marriage?”
“I will tell you what it is, miss!” said her mother with a heightened colour, “you are jealous of your sister’s beauty, and all the suitors she has! Not dream of marriage? Why, what do you know of the matter, pray? Does he take you so deep into his confidence?”
“I do not think,” said Mary, “that Lord Vidal is aware of my existence.”
“I’m sure that’s no wonder,” declared Mrs. Challoner. “You’ve no notion how to make yourself agreeable to a gentleman. But that’s no reason why you should be so prodigious unpleasant about poor Sophia’s chances. If ever I saw a man fall head over ears in love, that one is Lord Vidal. Lord, he’s for ever kicking his heels upon our doorstep, and as for the posies and the trinkets he brings—”
“They had better be given back to him,” said her daughter prosaically. “I tell you that man means no good towards Sophia. Good God, mamma, don’t you know his reputation?”
Mrs. Challoner failed to meet that straight gaze. “Fie, and pray what should you, a chit from the schoolroom, know of a gentleman’s reputation?” she said virtuously. “If he has been something of a rake, that will all be changed when he weds my pretty Sophia.”
“It seems fairly safe to say so,” agreed Mary, picking up her work again. “You choose to be hoodwinked, ma’am, but if you will believe he means honestly by my sister, will you not at least consider how far apart are their fortunes?”
“As to that,” replied Mrs. Challoner, preening herself, “I am sure the Challoners are good enough for anyone. Not that it signifies in the least, for we all know how the Gunnings, who were nobody, married into the nobility.”
“They did us a great disservice thereby,” sighed Mary.
More she would not say, deeming it useless, but it was with deep misgiving that she regarded her sister when that damsel danced in, fresh from an expedition with her bosom friends, the Matchams.
Sophia was just eighteen, and it would have been hard to have found a fault in her appearance. She had the biggest of cornflower-blue eyes, the daintiest of little noses, the softest, most adorable mouth in the world. Her curls, which her mamma nightly brushed for her, were of a gold that had nothing to do with flaxen, and her complexion was of that rose-leaf order that seems too perfect to be natural. She had a frippery brain, but she could dance very prettily, and knew just how to drive a man to desperation, so that it really did not matter in the least that she was amazingly ignorant, and found the mere writing of a letter the most arduous task.
Just now she was bubbling over with plans for the immediate future, and she broke in impatiently on her mother’s lamentations over a torn muslin gown. “Oh, it doesn’t signify, mamma, you will be able to mend it in a trice. But only fancy what a delightful scheme there is afoot! My Lord Vidal is to give a supper-party at Vauxhall, and we are all to go. There is to be dancing and fireworks, and Vidal promises we shall go by water, which makes Eliza Matcham so cross because I am to be in Vidal’s boat, and he never asked her at all.”
“Who is ‘all,’ Sophia?” inquired her sister.
“Oh, the Matchams, and their cousin Peggy Delaine, and I dare say some others,” Sophia replied airily. “Can you conceive of anything more charming, mamma? But one thing is sure! I must have a new gown for it. I would die rather than wear the blue lustring again, if you can’t contrive a new one, I vow I shan’t go to the party at all, which would be a shame.”
Mrs. Challoner quite saw the force of all this, and was at once prolific of plans for the acquiring of a suitable gown, and exclamatory over the pleasure in store for her daughter. Into their ecstasies Mary’s matter-of-fact voice broke once again. “You’ll hardly be seen at Vauxhall in Vidal’s and Miss Delaine’s company, Sophia, I should hope.”
“And why not?” cried Sophia, beginning to pout. “Of course I knew you would try to spoil it for me, you cross thing! I dare say you would prefer I should stop at home.”
“Infinitely,” said Mary, unmoved by the hint of tears in her sister’s eyes. She looked straightly across at her mother. “Will you think for a moment, ma’am? Do you see nothing amiss in allowing your daughter to go out in public with a play-actress and the most notorious rake in town?”
Mrs. Challoner said to be sure it was a pity Miss Delaine was to be of the party, but was immediately cheered by the reflection that Sophia would be accompanied by the two Misses Matcham.
Mary got up, and it was to be seen that she was of medium height and very neat figure. There was a sparkle in her eyes, and her voice took on a certain crispness. “Very well, ma’am, if that comforts you. But there’s not a man alive would take my sister for the innocent girl she is who sees her in such company.”
Sophia swept a curtsey. “La, and
thank you, my dear! But perhaps I am not so innocent as you think. I know very well what I am about, let me tell you.”
Mary looked at her for a moment. “Don’t go, Sophy!”
Sophia tittered. “Lord, how serious you are! Have you any more advice, I wonder?”
Mary’s hand dropped to her side again. “Certainly, child,” she said. “Marry that nice boy who worships you.”
Mrs. Challoner gave a small shriek of dismay. “Good God, you must be mad! Marry Dick Burnley? And she with her chances! I’ve a mind to box your ears, you stupid, provoking girl.”
“Well, ma’am, and what are those fine chances? If you push her much further down the road she is travelling now, you’ll have her Vidal’s light o’ love. A rare end, that, to your ambition.”
“Oh, you wicked creature!” gasped Sophia. “As if I would!”
“Why, child, what hope would you have once Vidal got you in his clutches?” Mary said gently. “Oh, I allow he’s hot for you! Who would not be? But it’s not marriage he means by you, and it will be something quite otherwise if he sees you in such loose company as you keep.” She stayed for a moment, awaiting any answer they might choose to give, but Mrs. Challoner for once had nothing to say, while Sophia sought refuge in a few sparkling easy tears. Having nothing further to say, Mary gathered up her embroidery and went out.
She might as well have held her peace. Uncle Henry having been coaxed into providing the necessary guineas to buy his pretty niece a new gown, Sophia went off to her party in high spirits, entirely, and quite rightly, satisfied with her appearance in pink tiffany, trimmed with rich blonde in scallops. Cousin Joshua, getting wind of it, came to condemn such behaviour, but got little satisfaction from Mary. She heard him out in a silence that seemed more abstracted than attentive and this so piqued him that he was unwise enough to ask her whether she were listening.
She brought her gaze back from the window, and surveyed him. “I beg your pardon, cousin?”
He was annoyed, and showed it “I believe you’ve not heard one word!” he said.
“I was thinking,” said Mary thoughtfully, “that puce does not become you, Joshua.”
“Puce?” stammered Mr. Simpkins. “Become me? What—Why—?”
“It is maybe your complexion that’s too high for it,” mused Miss Challoner.
Mr. Simpkins said with dignity: “I was speaking of Sophia, Mary.”
“I’m sure she would agree with me,” replied the lady maddeningly.
“She’s too easy, cousin. She don’t know the path she treads,” Joshua said, trying to bring the conversation back to its original topic. “She’s very different from you, you know.”
A slow smile curled Miss Challoner’s lips. “I do, of course, but it’s hardly kind in you to tell me so,” she said.
“In my eyes,” declared Joshua, “you are the prettier.” Miss Challoner seemed to consider this. “Yes?” she said interestedly. “But then, you chose puce.” She shook her head, and it was apparent she set no store by the compliment. When Sophia returned from her party it was long past midnight She shared a bedchamber with her sister, and found Mary awake, ready to hear an account of the night’s doings. While she undressed she prattled on of this personage and that, of the toilettes she had seen, of the supper she had eaten, of the secret walk she had stolen, and the kiss she had received, of how Eliza had come upon them, and been near sick with jealousy, and much more to the same tune. “And I’ll tell you what, Mary,” she ended jubilantly, “I shall be my Lady Vidal before the year’s out, you mark my words.” She curtsied to her own reflection in the mirror. “‘Your ladyship!’ Don’t you think I shall make a vastly pretty marchioness, sister? And everyone knows the Duke is getting very old, and I dare say he cant last very long now, and then I shall be your grace. If you don’t wed my cousin, Mary, maybe I shall find you a husband.”
“What, have I a place in all these schemes?” inquired Mary.
“To be sure, you need not fear I shall forget you,” Sophia promised.
Mary regarded her curiously for a moment. “Sophia, what’s in your mind?” she asked suddenly. “You’re not fool enough to think Vidal means marriage.”
Sophia began to plait her hair for the night. “He’ll mean it before the end. Mamma will see to that.”
“Oh?” Mary sat up in bed, and cupped her chin in her hands. “How?”
Sophia laughed. “You think no one has brain but yourself, don’t you? But you’ll see I shan’t manage so ill. Of course Vidal don’t mean marriage! Lord, I’m not so simple that I don’t know the reputation he bears. What if I let him run off with me?” She looked over her shoulder. “What then, do you suppose?”
Mary blinked. “I’m too mealy-mouthed to hazard a guess, my love.”
“Don’t fear for my virtue!” Sophia laughed. “Vidal may think I’m easy, but he’ll find he’ll get nothing from me without marriage. What do you think of that?” Mary shook her head. “We should quarrel if I told you.”
“And if he won’t wed me,” Sophia continued, “then mamma will have something to say, I promise you.”
“Nothing is more certain than that,” agreed Miss Chal-loner.
“Oh, not to Vidal!” Sophia said. “To the Duke himself! And I think Vidal will be glad to marry me to prevent the scandal. For there is my uncle as well as mamma, you know, and he would create a rare to-do. Vidal will have to marry me.”
Miss Challoner drew a deep breath, and lay back on her pillows. “My dear, I’d no notion you were so romantic,” she drawled.
“I am, I think,” nodded Sophia innocently. “I have always thought I should like to elope.”
Miss Challoner continued to observe her. “Do you care for him?” she asked. “Do you care at all?”
“Oh, I like him very well, though to be sure, I think Mr. Fletcher dresses better, and Harry Marshall has prettier manners. But Vidal’s a marquis, you see.” She took a last complacent look at her own image, and jumped into bed. “I’ve given you something to think of now, haven’t I?”
“I rather believe you have,” concurred Miss Challoner. It was certainly long before she fell asleep. Beside her Sophia lay dreaming of the honours in store for her, but Mary lay staring into the darkness, and seeing before her mind’s eye, a black-browed face, with a haughty thin-lipped mouth, and eyes that seemed to her fancy to look indifferently through her.
“You’re a fool, my girl,” Mary told herself. “Why should he look at you?”
She could find no reason at all, being singularly free from conceit. She could find very little reason either why she should want the gentleman to look at her. She took herself to task over it. What, was she to turn into a languishing miss? A bread-and-butter schoolgirl, sighing for a handsome face? God help the woman Vidal’s fancy lighted on! Ay, that was a better tune. Like father, like son. The old Duke’s affairs had been the talk of the town. He had a pretty-sounding name once, though he might be as virtuous as you please to-day. Satan, was it? Some such thing. They called the son Devil’s Cub, and not without reason, if the half of the tales told were true. Lord! Sophia was no match for the man. He would break her like a china doll. And how to prevent it?
Again there seemed to be no answer. The plan the chit had in mind would have been laughable had it not been nauseating. To be sure Vidal deserved to get paid in his own coin, but that—no, that was nasty work, even if it succeeded. And what a plan it was! Faith, it seemed mamma was so foolish as Sophia. What would the noble family of Alastair care for one more scandal added to their list? The plague was, mamma and Sophia would never be brought to realize that they would come off the worst from that encounter. Uncle Henry? Miss Challoner grimaced in the darkness. From Uncle Henry to Aunt Bella was no great step, and from Aunt Bella to the world a shorter one still. Miss Challoner had no desire to publish Sophia’s indiscretions abroad. She began to nibble one finger-tip, pondering her problem, and so, at last, fell asleep.
The morrow brought his lordship before he
r again, this time no picture of the mind. Nothing would do but that Sophia must go walking in Kensington Gardens with her sister to meet Eliza Matcham. When Mary perceived the Marquis approaching them down one of the paths, she understood the reason for this unwonted desire for exercise.
As usual, he was richly, if somewhat negligently dressed. Miss Challoner, incurably neat, wondered that a carelessly tied cravat and unpowdered hair could so well become a man. Not a doubt but that the Marquis had an air.
Sophia was blushing and peeping through her eyelashes. His lordship possessed himself of her hand, kissed it, and placed it on his arm.
“Oh, my lord!” Sophia murmured, casting down her eyes.
His smile was indulgent. “Well, child, what?” he said.
“I did not think to meet you,” Sophia explained, for her sister’s benefit.
The Marquis pinched her chin. “You’ve a short memory, my love.”
Miss Challoner with difficulty suppressed a chuckle. My lord disdained the art of dissimulation, did he? Faith, one could not help liking the creature.
“Indeed, I don’t know what you mean,” Sophia pouted. “We came expressly to meet Eliza Matcham and her brother. I wonder where they can be got to?”
“Confess you came to meet me!” the Marquis said. “What, was I really forgotten?”
There was a toss of the head for this. “La, do you suppose I think of you all day long, sir?”
“Egad, I hoped I had a place in your memory.”
Miss Challoner broke in on them. “I think I have just seen Miss Matcham cross the end of this walk,” she remarked.
His lordship glanced down at her impatiently, but Sophia said at once: “Oh, where? I would not miss her for the world!”
Miss Matcham, with her brother James, was soon overtaken, and Miss Challoner at once perceived that their mission was to engage her in talk while the Marquis and Sophia lost themselves. This friendly office was frustrated by the exasperating behaviour to their quarry, who refused to be separated from her sister.