‘Not the least in the world!’ said Kit cordially. ‘You have been reading to her, I daresay, and keeping her quietly entertained, which is an excellent thing! It is a hard matter to induce her to rest, but at her age, you know –’
‘Lord Denville, I regard her ladyship as an angel!’ said Mr Horning reverently.
‘Oh, no, no, you take too melancholy a view of her case!’ Kit assured him. ‘We trust she may – with care – enjoy several more years of life, and tolerably good health!’
With these optimistic words he smiled sweetly at the stunned poet, and passed into the house.
Bent on regaling his mama with this passage, he looked into the drawing-room on his way upstairs, and was gratified to find her there, charmingly attired in a half dress of fawn figured silk, a treble pleating of lace falling off round the neck, and a cap of French lace, adorned with a cluster of flowers, set on her shining gold hair. She looked elegant, graceful, and absurdly youthful: circumstances which made Kit chuckle, as he said: ‘I’ve just encountered y
our mooncalf, Mama! Next time he comes to visit you he won’t bring a poem, but a gum-plaster!’
‘Bring me a gum-plaster?’ she said, astonished.
‘Yes, love: for your gout!’ he said mischievously. ‘I told him that we hoped you would survive for a few years yet, however. That was when he called you an angel – and a more inappropriate description I never heard!’
She burst out laughing. ‘Oh, what an abominable creature you are! But come in, Evelyn! Bonamy and I were this instant talking about you!’
Having advanced a step into the room, and closed the door behind him, he had already seen that his mama was not alone: the enormous bulk of Sir Bonamy Ripple occupied almost the whole of a sofa placed opposite her chair. Kit shot a startled, questioning look at his mother, for although he did not rate Sir Bonamy’s intelligence high, he could hardly believe that one who had known him and Evelyn from their cradles would detect no difference between them. But Lady Denville appeared to feel no misgiving. She smiled seraphically at Kit. ‘Dearest, Bonamy tells me that proposed connexion with Cressida Stavely is one of the on-dits of London!’
‘What, are the quizzes busy already?’ Kit said, shaking hands with the visitor.
‘Bound to be,’ said Sir Bonamy, in a rich voice that accorded well with his massive person. ‘How-de-do? Been out of town, I hear. Didn’t see you at Ascot Races.’ He scanned Kit’s face, and added: ‘You’re looking better than when I saw you last. Told you it was time you went on a repairing lease. And now you’re in a way to become riveted, are you? I wish you happy, my boy.’
‘Thank you, sir, but you are a trifle previous! The matter is not yet decided, you know. Who set the rumour afoot, I wonder?’
‘Lady Stavely, of course!’ said his mother. ‘Trying to force you both into it, meddlesome ninnyhammer that she is!’
Owing to the height and rigidity of his collar-points, and the depth of his Oriental Tie, Sir Bonamy could neither shake his head, nor nod it. When he wished to signify assent he was obliged to incline the upper part of his body in a stately manner which frequently exercised an unnerving effect upon strangers already awed by his size and magnificence. He did so now, but as the Fancots were well accustomed to his ways neither Kit nor his mama was dismayed. Lady Denville, indeed, stared very hard at him, and exclaimed: ‘Bonamy! It’s you who are making that creaking noise! Exactly like the Regent!’
He looked so crestfallen that Kit interposed to ask him how he had fared at Ascot. But although he was chagrined he was not in the least embarrassed by his hostess’s forthright words. He said: ‘Oh, tol-lol!’ in answer to Kit, but told Lady Denville that in point of fact his new corset was a replica of the one worn by the Regent, only rather larger. ‘For the truth is, Amabel, that I am growing to be a little too stout,’ he confided earnestly.
Her eyes danced. ‘How can you say so? I’ll tell you what you must do: you must subsist wholly on biscuits and soda-water, as they say Lord Byron was used to do!’
He blenched perceptibly, but responded with great gallantry: ‘Ah, my pretty, if I could hope to win you at last I would even do that!’
‘If this is a proposal of marriage, I think I ought to go away,’ said Kit.
‘She won’t have me,’ said Sir Bonamy mournfully. He shifted his position ponderously, so that he could look at Kit, who had sat down out of the direct line of his vision. ‘But I’ll tell you this, Evelyn! you’ll be a lucky fellow if you get yourself leg-shackled to Stavely’s girl! They tell me she’s a very amiable, pretty young woman. She can’t hold a candle to your mother, of course, but I never saw the woman that could, which is why I’ve stayed a bachelor all my life. I could never fancy any other female. Never shall! That’s why you see me now, a lonely man, with no one to care for, and no one to care a straw for me!’
As he presented the appearance of a comfortable hedonist, Kit was bereft of words. Lady Denville, however, was not so tongue-tied. With what her undutiful son subsequently informed her was an entire absence of propriety, she exclaimed: ‘Well, of all the plumpers – ! As though I didn’t know about the – the birds of Paradise you’ve taken under your protection any time these five-and-twenty years! And several of them, as I recall, were dashers of the first water – far more beautiful than I ever was!’
‘No one was ever more beautiful than you, my lovely,’ said Sir Bonamy simply. He heaved a deep sigh, which made the Cumberland corset creak alarmingly; but almost immediately grew more cheerful, as he disclosed to Kit that his object in coming to Hill Street was to beg him to bring his mama to a little dinner-party which he was planning to hold at the Clarendon Hotel, before he retired to Brighton for the summer months. ‘They have a way of cooking semelles of carp which is better than anything my Alphonse can do,’ he said impressively. ‘You cut your carp into large collops, you know, and in a stew-pan you put butter, chopped shallots, thyme, parsley, mushrooms, and pepper and salt, of course – anyone knows that! But at the Clarendon something else is added, and devilish good it is, though I haven’t yet discovered what it may be. It is not sorrel, for I desired Alphonse to try that, and it was not the same thing at all. I wonder if it might be just a touch of chervil, and perhaps one or two tarragon-leaves?’ He slewed round to smile fondly upon Lady Denville. ‘You will know, I daresay, my pretty! I thought I would have it removed with a fillet of veal. We must have quails: that goes without saying – and ducklings; and nothing beside except a few larded sweetbreads, and a raised pie. And for the second course just a green goose, with cauliflowers and French beans and peas, for I know you don’t care for large dinners. So I shall add only a dressed lobster, and some asparagus, and a few jellies and creams, and a basket of pastries for you to nibble at. That,’ he said, beaming upon his prospective guests, ‘is my notion of a neat little dinner.’
‘It sounds delightful, sir,’ agreed Kit. ‘The only thing is –’
‘Yes, yes, I know what you’re going to say, my boy!’ Sir Bonamy interrupted. ‘It wouldn’t do for a large party! But I mean only to invite three other persons, so that we shall sit down no more than six to table. And there will be side-dishes: a haunch of venison, and a braised ham, possibly. Or a dish of lamb cutlets: I must consider what would be most suitable.’ A note of discontent entered his voice. ‘I do not consider this the season for dinners of real excellence,’ he said gravely. ‘To be sure, few things are so good as freshly cut asparagus, to say nothing of a basket of strawberries, which I promise you, my pretty, you shall have! But only think how superior it would be if we could have some plump partridges, and a couple of braised pheasants!’
‘Yes, indeed, but that wasn’t what I was about to say, sir! Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to escort Mama to your party, but it so chances that I am obliged to return to Ravenhurst almost immediately.’
‘Why, whatever will you find to do there?’ asked Sir Bonamy, opening his small round eyes to their widest extent.
‘A great deal, I promise you,’ responded Kit easily. ‘If Miss Stavely does me the honour to marry me, my uncle, as I daresay Mama has told you, means to wind up the Trust. There are arrangements to be made – a quantity of things to be done before I could venture to bring my bride to Ravenhurst!’
‘But don’t you mean to be in Brighton this summer?’ demanded Sir Bonamy, greatly astonished. ‘I thought you had acquired the same house on the Steyne which you rented last year!’
‘Yes, so I have – and it is naturally at my mother’s disposal. I expect I shall be joining her there presently. I don’t know what her plans may be, but I can’t think that she needs my escort to your party, sir! Her poet will be delighted to take my place!’
‘If you mean that silly young chough I sent to the right-about not ten minutes before you came in, Evelyn, I won’t have him at my party!’ said Sir Bonamy, roused to unwonted violence. ‘A fellow that knows no better than to come to visit a lady, dressed all by gue