When the news of the projected dinner-party was broken to Adam he was almost as much dismayed, but concealed it better. Jenny, at work on the first of a set of chair-covers, asked him placidly if he thought she might invite Mr Oversley, and he replied, in an indifferent voice: “You may do so, of course, but I should doubt whether he’ll come. If I know Charlie, hell think it by far too slow!”
He was right, but Mr Oversley did grace the party with his reluctant presence, because his father, using none of the diplomacy he found necessary when dealing with his daughter, told him that he must.
“What, drive Tab to the Lyntons? No, dash it, sir — !” protested Mr Oversley, revolted by the thought of this family expedition.
“Nonsense! If Jenny wants you she shall have you! I dare say she needs you to make up her numbers.”
Mr Oversley, who had been upon the strut for over a year, directed a look of pained reproach at his parent, and said: “Much obliged to her!”
Lord Oversley laughed, but told him not to be a coxcomb. “The thing is, Charlie, she has hit on this way of bringing your sister about, after that shocking business at Nassington House, and mighty good-natured of her it is!”
“Here, I say!” exclaimed Mr Oversley, alarmed. “Julia ain’t going off into a faint, is she? Because if there’s to be any of that kind of bobbery — ”
“No, no, she has promised to behave just as she ought!” said his father reassuringly.
Chapter XII
The Dowager, attended by her daughter and her dresser, reached London in excellent time on the day appointed, for she came post, her previous journey having helped her to overcome her dread of strange postilions. Mr Chawleigh would heartily have approved of the cavalcade which set out from Fontley, for two of the grooms rode with the chaise, and it was followed by a coach carrying my lady’s footman and a number of trunks and portmanteaux, and also by a fourgon loaded with such movables as the Dowager considered her own and had removed from Fontley.
She arrived in a wilting condition, but Jenny was on the watch, and as soon as she saw the chaise she called to Adam to go down immediately to welcome his mother. He reached the street in time to support her as she totteringly descended on to the flagway. She was gratified by this attention, and uttered: “Dear one!” as he kissed first her hand and then her cheek. She then, and in less fond accents, said: “Lydia dear!” as that damsel ruthlessly hugged Adam.
Adam led her into the house, where the first object to attract her apprehensive gaze was the Egyptian lamp at the foot of the staircase. She drew in her breath sharply. “Good heavens! Ah, yes, I see! A female form, with sphinxes. Dear me!”
“It is a lamp, Mama,” said Adam defensively.
“Is it, dearest? No doubt Jenny found the stair ill-lit. I was never conscious of it myself, but — And are those strange alabaster bowls lamps too?”
“Yes, Mama, they are! And here is Jenny, coming to welcome you!”
He was relieved to see that Jenny was more successful than he had been in dealing with his mother. She greeted her with proper solicitude, and said that it was no wonder she should be feeling done-up.
“I am afraid I am a sad, troublesome guest,” sighed the Dowager. “I am so much pulled by all I have gone through that I am fit for nothing but my bed.”
“Well, then,” said Jenny, “you shall come up directly, ma’am, and get between sheets, and have your dinner sent to you on a tray.”
“So kind!” murmured the Dowager. “Just a bowl of soup, perhaps!”
Lydia, who had been listening in strong indignation to these melancholy plans, exclaimed: “Mama, you can’t go to bed the instant you set foot inside the house! Why, you said yourself, when Mrs Mitcham came to Fontley, that nothing was more odious than a visitor who arrived only to be ill, and was for ever wanting glasses of hot water, or thin gruel!”
“Oh, fiddle!” said Jenny. “It’s to be hoped your mama don’t think herself a visitor in her son’s house! She shall do whatever she chooses. Do you come upstairs, ma’am, and be comfortable!”
The Dowager mellowed. She had had the amiable intention of frustrating any festive scheme which might have been devised for her, entertainment by retiring to her bedroom in a state of exhaustion; but as soon as she was entreated to do exactly what she liked she began to think that if she rested for an hour she might feel sufficiently restored to join her family at the dinner-table. She allowed Jenny to escort her upstairs, and although it naturally caused her a pang not to be going to her “own” room, she found that such careful provisions for her comfort had been made in the handsomely furnished apartment allotted to her that her melancholy abated. By the time she had been settled on a cushioned day-bed, and had been revived with tea and toast, she was wonderfully in charity with Jenny, and told her that rather than disappoint her dear ones she would make an effort to overcome her fatigue sufficiently to come downstairs in time for dinner.
Meanwhile, Lydia, having peeped into the dining-room, and exclaimed, in awed accents: “Goodness, how rich!” had gone up to the drawing-room with her brother. She paused on the threshold, and stood at gaze, not saying anything for a full minute. Then she looked doubtfully at Adam. His eyes twinkled. “Well?”
“May I say what I think, or — or not?”
“You may, but you needn’t. I know what you think.”
“It’s the stripes!” she said “It wouldn’t be nearly as bad if you took them away — though I must own I don’t like that very peculiar sofa much. Those horrid little legs look like some sort of an animal.”
“Reptile. They are crocodile legs.”
“Crocodile?” Lydia inspected them more closely, and went into a peal of laughter. “Yes, they are! I thought you were trying to hoax me. But why? Oh, yes, I see! It’s the Egyptian mode, isn’t it? I know it’s all the crack, but I don’t think it’s very comfortable, do you?”
“I think it’s detestable,” he answered, laughing too. “Wait until you see Jenny’s preposterous bed! She didn’t choose this stuff, you know: it was her father.”
“Poor Mr Chawleigh! I expect he thinks it’s the very first style of elegance. Mama won’t, you know. Besides, she doesn’t like Mr Chawleigh. I do, even if he is a funny one!” She heaved a sigh. “Oh, Adam, I wish Mama hadn’t settled on Bath! If she had decided on a house in London I could have borne it better, for I should have had you to talk to when I felt quite desperate, which, I’m sorry to say, I frequently do.”
“Has she been very trying?” he asked sympathetically.
“Yes. And I find that I cannot be a comfort to her. Am I very unnatural, Adam?” He shook his head, smiling. “Well, Mama says I am, and sometimes I fear I may be, because I am growing to dislike Charlotte as much as I dislike Maria! Would you have believed it possible that I could? Charlotte!”
He laughed. “Poor Charlotte! But you don’t really, you know.”
She eyed him somewhat ominously. “No! But I shall if you are going to call her poor Charlotte too!”
“I take it back!” he said hastily. “I never said it!”
Her dimples quivered into being, but she said gloomily: “It’s such humbug! Mama talks about her as if she were dead — except that she hasn’t yet called her her sainted Charlotte. And how she can do so, when she knows Charlotte is as happy as a grig — ! We have had a letter from her, you know, sent from York, where they were staying for a few days.”