Chapter Six #3
Ferdy, much gratified by the confidence reposed in his taste and judgment, professed himself to be very willing to place both at Hero’s service, for not only was he always ready to gallant a personable female, but his knowledge of all matters of ton was extensive and extremely nice.
He knew just what elegant knick-knacks a lady of fashion should have in her drawing-room, had no hesitation in deciding upon a wall-paper to set off the straw-coloured chairs, and was able unerringly to guide Hero’s taste in the choice of carpets and hangings.
As it occurred to neither of them to consider the Viscount’s purse, Ferdy’s genius was allowed full rein, and the proprietors of the several warehouses they visited showed a flattering, not to say obsequious, attention to such an open-handed pair.
The Viscount, meanwhile, having, under Mr Ringwood’s auspices, purchased a very pretty mare for his Hero to ride, two high-stepping bays to draw her barouche, and a light-mouthed grey to run between the shafts of her phaeton, lingered only to add a neatish bay, described by the auctioneer as ‘complete to a shade’, to his own stables before dragging Mr Ringwood off to a coach-builder’s in St James’s Street.
Here they had no difficulty in selecting a smart barouche with a yellow body; and a light phaeton.
They were just about to leave the premises to go in search of a set of silver-mounted harness when an elegant travelling chariot caught the Viscount’s eye, and he at once decided to buy that too, since not only would it be quite out of the question for Hero to travel post – his mother, he knew, never did so – but he himself liked nothing better than to tool a coach-and-four, and would no doubt derive no small degree of pleasure from possessing a coach of his own.
As the purchasing of this vehicle made it necessary for him to return to Tattersall’s to negotiate for a team to draw it, it was evident that the Viscount was spending money quite as lavishly as his bride.
When Hero learned that she was now the owner of no fewer than three carriages and eight horses, she turned quite pink, and after struggling for a few moments to express herself suitably, stammered out: ‘Oh, Sherry, it is just like K-King Cophetua and the beggar-maid!’
‘Who the devil was he?’ demanded Sherry.
‘Well, I don’t precisely remember, but he married a beggar-maid, and gave her everything she wanted.’
‘Sounds to me like a hum,’ said her sceptical husband. ‘Besides, what’s the fellow got to do with us?’
‘Only that you made me think of him,’ said Hero, smiling mistily up at him.
‘Nonsense!’ said Sherry, revolted. ‘Never heard such a silly notion in my life! If you don’t take care, Kitten, you’ll have people saying you’re bookish.’
Hero promised to guard against earning this stigma and after fortifying himself with some very tolerable burgundy from the hotel’s cellars, Sherry sat down to write a somewhat belated letter to his parent.
After a second day’s intensive shopping with Ferdy, there really seemed to be nothing left to buy for the house in Half Moon Street, except such dull necessities as kitchen furnishings and linen, and as Hero was getting tired of choosing furniture she greeted with acclaim Sherry’s suggestion that the rest should be entrusted to Mr Stoke to provide.
‘And I’ll tell you what, Kitten,’ he added, ‘I’ve had a devilish good idea.
We’ll be off to Leicestershire until the house is ready for us to step into.
I’ve got a snug little hunting-box there: just the very thing for us! ’
‘Leicestershire, dear old boy?’ exclaimed Mr Ringwood, who happened to be present. ‘What the deuce should take you there at this time of year?’
‘Time I ran an eye over my young stock,’ said Sherry.
He met his friend’s eye, and said: ‘Well, dash it, why shouldn’t we go to Leicestershire?
The house won’t be ready for weeks, from what I can see of it, and I’ll be damned if I’ll kick my heels in this place much longer!
What’s more, I’ve got a strong notion we shall have my mother posting up to London.
Seems to me a good moment to go into the country. ’
Hero turned pale at the thought of having to confront the Viscount’s enraged parent, and faltered: ‘Anthony! Do you indeed think she will come to town?’
‘There isn’t a doubt of it,’ replied Sherry tersely.
Hero clasped her hands tightly together. ‘And do you think – Cousin Jane as well?’
‘Shouldn’t be at all surprised. It never rains but it pours. Dare say she’ll bring my uncle Horace along with her too.’
‘Would it – would it be very poor-spirited of us to run away?’ asked Hero anxiously.
‘I don’t care a fig for that,’ replied Sherry. ‘It’ll be deuced unpleasant if we stay! Thing to do is to give ’em all time to get used to the notion of us being married. By the time we come back to town I dare say they won’t be having the vapours any longer.’
Mr Ringwood, who had been sitting apparently lost in thought, suddenly said: ‘Brighton.’
‘Too late in the season: we should never find a tolerable lodging,’ replied Sherry. ‘Besides, I was down there in May, and it didn’t agree with me.’
‘Lady Sherry would like it better than Leicestershire.’
‘No, she wouldn’t. I’m going to teach her to ride.’
‘Oh, are you, Sherry? Then do let us go to Leicestershire!’ cried Hero.
‘Lady Sherry,’ said Mr Ringwood obstinately, ‘would like the balls at the Castle Inn. Like to be presented to the Regent, too. Believe he’s still down there.’
‘Yes, and a pretty time I should have of it, looking after her!’ retorted Sherry scornfully. ‘You know very well she’s no more fitted to keep the line amongst the set of fellows she’d meet there than a half-fledged chicken!’
‘Very true,’ said Mr Ringwood, nodding wisely. ‘Better go to Leicestershire. Tell you what: give it out you’ve gone on your honeymoon.’
‘That’s a devilish good notion, Gil!’ approved the Viscount. ‘You’d better come along with us!’
This suggestion took Mr Ringwood aback, but as it was heartily endorsed by Hero, and as settling-day at Tattersall’s had left him without any expectation of being able to meet the more pressing obligations in the immediate future, he gratefully accepted the invitation.
The reflection that the Dowager Lady Sheringham, with whom he was only too well acquainted, might conceivably take it into her head to summon him to her presence to account for his having aided and abetted her son in his clandestine marriage, also weighed with him, but this circumstance he prudently kept to himself, trusting that his friend, Mr Fakenham, when the inevitable summons came to him, would not put two and two together, and accuse him of ratting.
Experience of Mr Fakenham’s processes of thought seemed to make it reasonably certain that this mathematical exercise lay rather beyond his powers.