Even more richly attired was the young lady who blushed vividly, and dropped a slight curtsy, as Adam’s eyes turned towards her, for although a dress of figured French muslin was perfectly proper to her years it was so loaded with lace and silk floss that very little of it could be seen. A row of remarkably fine pearls was clasped round her throat; pearl drops, rather too large for her short neck, hung from her ears; several flashing bracelets adorned each arm; and a brooch composed of rubies and diamonds was stuck into the lace of her bosom. A tinsel shawl, and spangled slippers completed an ensemble which only so fond a critic as her father could have thought becoming.
Miss Chawleigh had not inherited her sire’s inches. Uncharitable persons had been known to describe hers as a little squab figure. Adam was not a tall man, but her head only just topped his shoulder. There was a suggestion of squareness about her; she was already plump, and would probably become stout in later life. She was certainly not a beauty, but there was nothing in the least objectionable in her countenance. Her eyes were not large, but they were of a clear gray, well-opened (except when she was amused, when they narrowed to twinkling slits), and holding a look of grave reflection; her hair, elaborately crimped and curled, was mouse-coloured; she had a small, determined month, a button of a nose, and a complexion which would have been good could she but have overcome an unhappy tendency to blush fierily whenever she was embarrassed.
She was as unlike Miss Oversley as she could be. There was no brilliance in her eyes, no allure in her smile, no music in her flat-toned voice, and not the smallest suggestion of the ethereal either in her person or in her bearing. Where Julia seemed to float, she trod with a firm, brisk step; where Julia could be enchantingly arch she was invariably matter-of-fact. She enjoyed a joke, but did not always perceive that one had been made; and she looked as though she had more sense than sensibility.
No blinding flash of recognition struck Adam, but he was able to identify her with the commonplace girl whom he had too often found in Mount Street a year earlier. He went up to her, saying, with his endearing smile, and easy civility: “I need no introduction to Miss Chawleigh, sir, for we are old acquaintances. How do you do? What a long time it seems since we last met!”
She gave him her hand, but replied only with a quick, spasmodic smile, and a very fleeting glance up at him. The carnation deepened in her cheeks; he felt sincerely sorry for her embarrassment, and tried to help her over the awkward moment by making some remark about the size of Russell Square: surely the largest in London?
Fortunately, since she remained tongue-tied, he was answered by Mr Chawleigh, who was delighted to tell him the history of the square, the circumstances which had led him to remove to it from Southampton Row, and the price he had paid for his house in it.
“It wouldn’t suit me to be peacocking about among the nobs in Mayfair — not but what we see plenty of ’em driving up to No. 65, now that this painting-fellow’s come to live there, I can tell you! They come to have their portraits taken, and very fine they are, by all accounts. So they should be, is what I say! You’d hardly credit it, my lord, but he’ll chouse you out of eighty or a hundred guineas for a small picture I wouldn’t give a hundred shillings for!”
“Oh, you are too satirical, Mr Chawleigh!” protested Mrs Quarley-Bix. “You must know, Lord Lynton, that we speak of Mr Lawrence. Such genius! I positively dote on his pictures, and — dare I say it, dear Mr Chawleigh? — have often indulged the wish that you would commission him to take our sweet Miss Chawleigh’s likeness.”
“Ay, well, I did have a notion of it, but when he got to talking of four hundred guineas for a full-length, which is what I wanted, because if I have the thing done at all I’ll have it done handsomely — well, I was off! Having a touch at me, is what I thought! However, there’s no saying but what I may come to it yet — that’s to say, if things go the way I want ’em to,” he added significantly.
“You, I dare say, Lord Lynton, have been familiar with this quarter of the town when Bedford House was still standing? One can’t but deplore its passing! So noble a mansion! so many associations! What a pang it must cause you to see the estate built over!”
“Oh, no!” Adam replied. “I don’t think I ever visited Bedford House above once in my life, and I was so young then that I have only the dimmest recollections of the event.”
“But you are acquainted with the Duke, I need hardly ask? He reminds one so much of his brother, the late Duke, whom, of course, you must often have seen. One of your father’s friends, was he not? Ardent agriculturists, both of them, you know. You observed the Fifth Duke’s statue in the square? One of Westmacott’s, and quite in his best manner — if I am any judge of the matter!”
“Well, it’s a fine, big statue,” conceded Mr Chawleigh, “but what a Duke wants with a plough I don’t see, nor yet with agriculture, which is work for fanners, not for Dukes. Each man to his own last is my motto.”
“Oh, but I assure you, dear sir, agriculture has become quite the thing!” cried Mrs Quarley-Bix. “I believe it was Mr Coke of Norfolk who made it fashionable, and he, you know — ”
“Lord, ma’am, how you do run on!” exclaimed Mr Chawleigh impatiently. “Ah, there’s the dinner-bell at last! Jenny, my dear, you’ll lead the way downstairs, and we’ll hope you’ve ordered a neat dinner to set before his lordship, even if there wasn’t a turtle to be had, not for love or money. But I warned you it would be pot-luck, my lord!” He added, in case Adam should take him too literally, and be dismayed: “Plain, good, and plentiful is my rule, and nothing ever set on the table which I wouldn’t like to offer to a guest, supposing one was to drop in for a bite. I don’t know what Jenny has to offer us today, but one thing I do know; you’ll get no hashes and haricots in Jonathan Chawleigh’s house!”
He might have spared his breath. By this time, Adam had formed a fair notion of what lay before him; and he was not in the least surprised at the array of dishes and side-dishes which weighed down the long dining-table, and overflowed on to the sideboard. Since the occasion was informal, only one course had been provided, a circumstance which made Adam feel profoundly thankful. He was not a large eater, and had for several years been accustomed to camp-fare, which, more often than not, consisted of hare soup, and a scraggy chicken, and to do justice even to one course which comprised a dozen dishes was a penance. Mr Chawleigh said, with a wave of his hand: “You see your dinner, my lord!” and thereafter made few contributions to the conversation, only sparing enough time from the serious business of eating his way through the meal to apologize for the absence of turbot from the board, recommend the sweetbreads, and call for more sauce.
Miss Chawleigh explained with composure that the recent storms had made it impossible to procure any turbot; and Adam, for want of anything better to say, gave her a humorous description of some of the less appetizing meals he had eaten in Spain. She smiled, and said: “But in one of your billets — I remember that you told us about it — there was always a penella, which was very good. Have I that word right?”
“Indeed you have, and it was good! A kind of stew, which I never saw off the stove — but what was put into it I didn’t discover: a little of everything, I suspect!”
“I don’t hold with stews,” remarked Mr Chawleigh. “Leftovers, that’s what they are, and just as well eaten in the kitchen. Allow me to tempt you to a morsel of ham, my lord!”
Adam declined it; and Mrs Quarley-Bix, possibly with the amiable motive of promoting further conversation, began to enumerate all the scions of nobility, at present serving in the Peninsula, whose parents were old acquaintances of hers, or distant relations. She had no doubt at all that they were well-known to his lordship; but as those who were not in Cavalry Regiments were to be found in the 1st Foot Guards, he was unable to respond satisfactorily; and was grateful to his host for creating a diversion, even though he might deprecate the manner of it.