“Yes, yes, but that is more than a year ago!” Kitty pointed out. “Lord Legerwood’s relations, too—I believe he has many, and you must know that I have never met them! Besides, there will be all my bride-clothes to order from the warehouses, and—and—You must perceive, Fish, that it will be proper for me to visit the Legerwoods!”
Miss Fishguard acknowledged it, but ventured to enquire who was to fill Kitty’s place at Arnside while she went away on this visit of duty.
“Why, you, to be sure!” declared Kitty, with a brilliant smile.
Miss Fishguard had already faced with a sinking heart the prospect of being obliged, at an advanced time of life, to seek a new position, and it spoke volumes for the real benevolence of her character that she had been able to face it with fortitude, resolutely stifling every selfish wish that her pupil might remain unwed, and thus in need of her continued chaperonage. The tidings that her services would still be needed at Arnside, so far from relieving her mind of its most pressing care, threw her into disorder and no little agitation. “Remain to keep house for Mr. Penicuik?” she almost shrieked. “Oh, I could not! Oh, Kitty, how can you think of such a thing? You know how much he dislikes me!”
“Fiddle!” said Kitty bracingly. “It is only that you will let him bully and browbeat you, Fish! Depend upon it, he would be very much vexed if you left Arnside! You must be firm! Remember how much he hates to have strangers about him! If he should throw his stick at you, or fly into one of his absurd rages, you have but to tell him that you mean to leave Arnside immediately, and I assure you he will mend his ways!” She perceived that dismay still dwelled in Miss Fishguard’s countenance, and said imploringly: “Pray, Fish, do not fail me, I beg of you! He will never let me go to London if you too desert him! It will only be for one month! Oh, Fish—!”
Much moved, Miss Fishguard shed tears, and declared that no power on earth should prevail upon her to fail her dearest Kitty. But she felt bound to add, as she wiped her reddened eyes, that she was by no means persuaded that the betrothal would find favour with Mr. Penicuik! “My love, it is my duty to utter a warning!” she said, hiccuping on a sob. “I believe him to have intended, from the outset, to bestow you upon Mr. Jack! You cannot have failed to observe how vexed he is that Mr. Jack has not come to Arnside, how he delayed to make known his intentions for a whole day! Spiddle told me tonight—not that I would have you suppose that I have been gossiping with the servants, but you know how they will talk!—Well, he told me that Mr. Penicuik is in such a taking as never was, not having imagined that Mr. Jack would absent himself upon such an occasion. I have the greatest apprehension that you and dear Mr. Frederick may encounter strong opposition, and that there is little likelihood of his consenting to your proposed visit to London.”
But when the affianced couple obeyed a summons to Mr. Penicuik’s dressing-room next morning, he surprised them both by receiving them with almost alarming affability. In what spirit he had greeted the news of the engagement, obligingly conveyed to him overnight by his valet, Spiddle naturally did not inform the happy pair. The night had brought counsel; and had anything further been needed to confirm the old gentleman’s resolve to pursue a Machiavellian policy it was supplied by an early visit from the Reverend Hugh Rattray, whose discourse so much enraged Mr. Penicuik that he declared himself thankful at least that his ward had not been so misguided as to become engaged to such an intolerable stick of a parson. He then indicated his burning desire to see his house rid of his great-nephews, and charged the Rector with a message for his brother and for Dolphinton, that they need not put themselves to the trouble of taking formal leave of him.
By the time that Kitty and Mr. Standen (no early riser) presented themselves, Mr. Penicuik had consumed a sustaining repast, and was seated in a winged chair before the fire in his dressing-room, a shawl over his knees and another round his shoulders. His sagging form and apparently palsied hand informed the initiated that his role this morning was one of senile decay; but there was nothing very senile in the needle-sharp glance he cast at his ward, as she approached his chair.
“Well, my dear!” he said. “They tell me I’m to wish you happy. Hey?”
“If you please, sir,” responded Kitty, dutifully bending to kiss his cheek.
“I do wish you happy!” said Mr. Penicuik, with strong resolution. He turned his penetrating eyes towards Freddy, but instantly shut them, his countenance contorted, possibly, by a twinge of gout. “I felicitate you, Frederick!” he said. He opened his eyes again, took another look at the successful suitor, and averted them with a visible shudder. But this was unfair: the Honourable Frederick had done justice to the occasion by arranging his neck-tie in the style known as the trone d’amour, a mode as difficult to achieve as it was beautiful to behold. Any one of a score or more aspirants to fashion would have been glad to have studied its intricacies, and several dashing blades would have had no hesitation in demanding the name of the genius who had designed his waistcoat. It was not so with Mr. Penicuik. He reached out a trembling hand for his snuff-box, recruited his forces with a large pinch of Nut Brown, sneezed violently, shut the box with a snap, and said with all the air of one who had made up his mind to perform a painful duty: “Very well! You have my blessing!”
Kitty looked at her swain in an expectant way, but Freddy, quite unnerved by the basilisk glance he had encountered, forgot his carefully conned part, and merely said that he was very much obliged. Kitty, realizing that little could be hoped for from that quarter, made the best of it, and said brightly: “Yes, sir, and Freddy wishes me to go to Mount Street, to be formally presented to his parents, if you should not object to it.”
Recalled to a sense of his shortcoming, Freddy made hasty amends. “Very likely to have forgotten her,” he explained. “Good thing to remind them!”
“Imbecile!” said Mr. Penicuik. His gaze rested thoughtfully on Kitty’s face. There was a tense pause. “London, eh?” he said at last. “What do you mean to do there, miss?”
Kitty’s heart began to thump. “If—if Lady Legerwood should be so obliging as to invite me, sir, I—I shall do whatever she desires, of course!” she produced.
“Don’t tell me!” said Mr. Penicuik. “Go raking about town, that’s what you want to do!” He turned his eyes upon Freddy. “I suppose Emma—your mother—goes to all the swell places? Almack’s—box at the Opera—Carlton House parties? She was dressed as fine as fivepence the last time I saw her: I daresay fifty pounds wouldn’t have paid for what she had on her back! Not that it’s any concern of mine if your father chooses to let her squander a fortune on trumpery!”
“No,” said Freddy.
“What do you mean, No?” demanded Mr. Penicuik, glaring at him.
“No concern of yours,” said Freddy, with unimpaired amiability. “What’s more, fifty pounds wouldn’t have paid for her dress, let alone her hat, and her gloves, and the rest of it. Dash it, sir, m’mother don’t buy made-up clothes in Cranbourne Alley! Never heard of such a thing!”
Mr. Penicuik’s hand clenched on his ebony stick, and his demeanour was for a moment so alarming that Kitty feared her betrothed might flee from his presence. But as Mr. Standen had just then caught sight of a piece of fluff, adhering to the lapel of his riding-coat, and was carefully removing it, he remained entirely unconscious of the danger he stood in. By the time he had leisure to turn his attention again to his great-uncle, Mr. Penicuik had regained control over his emotions, and merely said: “Plump in the pocket, your father!”
“Oh, very!” agreed Freddy.
Mr. Penicuik regarded him with narrowed eyes. “Suppose I let Kitty go to London?” he said abruptly. “Think your mother will take her to the ton parties?”