Ten

The sun had set and the afternoon had grown quite cold by the time Cherry and Arthur had been deposited on Cherry’s doorstep in Half-Moon Street. Arthur had glumly watched the coach disappear down the street and had sighed, tipped his hat to Cherry and started toward his own equipage when she stopped him. “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea before you start for home?” she asked.

Willing to postpone the depression which he knew would settle on him once he was left alone to review his unsatisfactory conversation with his beloved, Arthur acquiesced. As Cherry led him into the house, took his hat and ordered the tea things, she was aware of a perceptible lightening of her spirits. For the first time that day, she was conscious of a feeling of contentment. She settled herself behind the teapot and permitted herself to wonder why she had been so ill-at-ease all afternoon. Certainly Lord Mainwaring had done or said nothing to discompose her. Yet she had not felt at all happy in his company. On the other hand, here with Arthur, even though he was bound to spend the entire time confiding to her his troubles with Anne, she was almost blissfully content. It was a most curious reaction, one which she would explore at length as soon as she had the opportunity to think. In the meantime, she turned her attention to her unhappy guest, listened to his woes with her wide eyes brimming with commiseration and offered him comforting murmurs of hope whenever he paused for breath.

In the coach, meanwhile, filled with utter disgust, Anne glanced surreptitiously at her companion. Jason was leaning back contentedly against the squabs, his hands behind his head and his legs stretched out comfortably before him. His lips were turned up in a small, reflective smile and his eyes were lit with an abstracted glow, as if he were reliving a fond memory. Anne ground her teeth in irritation. Had that detestable Lexie caught him already?

But she would not surrender without a struggle. “Cherry is quite a lovely girl, is she not?” she asked suddenly, with a falsely cheerful lilt in her voice.

“Mmm,” Jason murmured absently.

“You must certainly agree that she is pleasant and even-tempered.”

“Mmm,” Jason nodded.

“Not a bit stubborn either, is she?”

“Not at all, as far as I could see,” he agreed.

“Sweet-natured, too. As sweet-natured as one could wish.”

“Oh, yes, very sweet-natured.”

“And adequately tall, I would say, wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose so,” he assented uninterestedly.

“And … er … quite full in the chest, too, don’t you think?”

Jason shifted around, took his hands from his head and sat up at attention. “What was that you said?” he asked, his eyes taking on their mocking gleam.

“I was talking about Cherry’s … er … form. It seems perfectly to suit your … specifications,” Anne suggested boldly.

“My specifications? Are you suggestin’ that you find Miss Laverstoke a likely candidate to be my wife?”

“But of course! I think she’d make a perfect—”

“You’re way off course, girl. I’m not the man for your friend Cherry. She’s a lovely young woman, I’ll admit, but she’s the sort who’d like to mother a man. I’m not lookin’ for a mother.”

“Of all the unkind—! Really, Jason—”

“My lord,” he corrected promptly.

“Very well, my lord. I just wish to point out, my lord, that motherly women make the very best wives, even, my lord, to such obnoxious husbands as you, my lord, are likely to be.”

“That may be, but I have quite another sort of wife in mind.”

“You don’t say. And what sort is that?”

“The sort like that Miss de Guis. Now, there’s a female worth considerin’!”

Anne fumed. “I don’t see that Miss Alexandra de Guis fits your specifications at all!” she snapped.

“Don’t you? Come now, girl, be honest. She’s very pleasant, taller even than you, you know, and her form is … well, it’s nothin’ short of spectacular.”

“Men!” Anne sneered. “You are all fools! But if you can sit there and say that Lexie is sweet-natured and even-tempered, you’re a greater dunderhead than even I took you for!”

Jason grinned down into her indignant, flashing eyes. “As long as the girl is as sweet-natured and even-tempered as you are, my dear, she will be good enough for me. And now, may I suggest that we get out of the carriage? We came to a stop several minutes ago, and the coachman is starin’ at us through the window as if we’re a couple of loonies.”

There was nothing Anne could do but gnash her teeth and follow his suggestion.

Despite her exasperation with him, Anne continued to prepare Jason for the forthcoming ball. The dancing was still a failure—it seemed to Anne that the fellow was growing more clumsy with practice—but his speech was steadily improving. Although an occasional “shucks” still passed his lips, he had learned to substitute “perhaps” for the dreadful “maybe” that Americans used, and he had given up saying “I guess” or “I reckon” every time he expressed an opinion. In particular, however, Anne instructed him in the proper demeanor before royalty, for it was rumored that the Prince might put in an appearance at the festivities. It was less than two months since “Prinny” had been made Regent, and his presence at a ball would be accompanied by a great deal of pomp and ceremony. It was vital that Jason not bring unfavorable notice upon himself by committing a social gaffe before the Regent.

Jason, however, demanded that he be excused from his lessons for at least a couple of hours in the afternoons. These he usually spent in Peter’s company. The two would closet themselves in the library to play chess, discuss Peter’s studies or (if they were sure that the ladies were out of earshot) drill Peter in various boxing exercises. Peter thrived under Jason’s attention. His appetite improved, his moods became more cheerful, his pallor lessened and his confidence increased. Jason rapidly filled the void that the absence of a father or brother had created.

One afternoon, their chess game was interrupted by a disturbance in the corridor outside their door. Peter opened the door to find Coyne engaged in verbal dispute with a lanky, gaunt-cheeked personage whose black, long-tailed coat had seen better days, whose gray-streaked mustaches drooped forlornly at the corners and who carried a much-handled newspaper in his hand. “Is there some difficulty, Coyne?” Peter inquired.

“No, Master Peter, it’s nothing at all,” Coyne said in contradiction of the quite obvious tension in the hallway. “I’m sorry you were disturbed. I shall see this person to the door immediately.”

“Oh, y’will, will yer?” the ‘person’ sneered. “I can tell yer y’ won’t—not till I’ve ’ad some satisfaction.”

Coyne clenched his fists. “That’s enough now, my man. You are not qualified for the position, and that’s that. So let’s get along,” he said, and tried to move the fellow on down the hall by grasping the lapel of his coat and pushing him backward.

The man resisted stubbornly. “Le’ go!” he shouted. “I demand to see ’is lordship.”

“You will not see his lordship,” Coyne said between clenched teeth, “so you may just as well take yourself off.”

“Le’ go o’ me! Why did y’ put the advertisemint in the paper, if y’r not wantin’ to ’ire no one?”

Jason, listening to the commotion from his seat at the chessboard, found his interest caught. “Don’t make a ruckus out there in the hallway, Coyne,” he called out. “Bring the fellow in here and close the door.”

Without releasing his grip on the man’s lapel, the butler pulled the man into the library. Peter followed, shut the door and leaned against it in order to observe in unobtrusive comfort the unfolding of what promised to be an amusing scene. The intruder, before even glancing round the room, thrust Coyne’s hand from his coat, smoothed the injured lapel carefully, favored Jason with a measuring stare and bowed deeply. “Are you ’is lordship?” he asked.

“I am. The question is, who are you, and what do you want with me?”

“Me name’s Orkle, me lord. Benjamin Orkle. An’ I’d be ’appy to acquaint yer lordship wi’ all the fac’s, if y’ gi’ me a chance to tell yer …”

“I’m giving you the chance, Mr. Orkle, so get on with it,” Jason said impatiently.

“Yes, me lord, I will.” Mr. Orkle cleared his throat in the manner of a musician tuning up his instrument and began. “Y’see, me lord, I’m in the employ o’ a fine gentleman, a Mr. Tylerman by name, but in matters o’ dress, ’e ain’t no Pink o’ the Ton, I can tell yer. ’E’s too clutch-fisted by ’alf, an’ ’e don’t know nesh from dash—”

“Nesh from dash?” Jason asked, looking bewilderedly from Coyne to Peter. Peter, equally puzzled, shrugged, grinned and shook his head. Coyne, frowning in distaste, explained. “I believe he means that his employer is overnice in his taste—that he doesn’t know the timid from the stylish.”

Mr. Orkle nodded at Coyne approvingly. “That’s it exac’ly. ’E ’as no sense o’ style at all, which is, I can tell yer, very mortifyin’ to such as meself, who ’as a very remarkable talent for style in gentlemen’s apparel, which is to say a good eye for color an’ a good sense for puttin’ on’y the right things together. Besides which ’e pays me on’y ten pounds per annum, out o’ which I finds me own tea and sugar. So this mornin’ when I takes ’im ’is breakfast, I takes a peep at ’is paper—I always takes a look when I stops on the landin’ for a bit o’ relaxation—”

Jason and Peter were attending to Mr. Orkle’s account with fascination, but Coyne observed it all with an expression of extreme distaste. At this point he could bear it no longer. “Can’t you get on with it, man? I’m sure his lordship is not interested in how you spend your time.”

Mr. Orkle stared coldly at the butler, turned back to face Lord Mainwaring and calmly continued. “As I was sayin’, I takes a peep at the paper and sees this ’ere advertisemint for a gentleman’s gentleman. Soon as I sees it, I makes up me mind to apply, and I axes Mr. Tylerman for the day out. I can tell yer that it ain’t a simple thing to get Mr. Tylerman to agree. But I finally manages it, and then dresses meself up in me best—which as y’ can see ain’t very good, but what can y’ expect on ten pounds per?—an’ I takes meself all the way ’ere on shanks’ mare. An’ what do I get for me pains when I gets ’ere but a snub from that there whopstraw—”

“Now, see here!” Coyne sputtered in exasperation.

“I’ll say it again—whopstraw! Tellin’ me I ain’t qualified! I axes yer, me lord, when I been a gentleman’s gentleman since the eighties, ’ow can ’e say I ain’t qualified? What I say is that this is all a ’oax!”

“A what?” Jason asked, looking with strangled amusement at Peter.

Peter fought back a grin and merely shrugged again.

“A ’oax,” Mr. Orkle repeated. “If a man comes to yer door ’ere and says to yer butler—in ’is engagin’est manner, mind!—that ’e’s been a valet for more ’n twen’y years, and the butler don’t ax ’im nothin’ but tells ’im to take hisself off ’cause ’e’s not qualified, well, I axes yer, wouldn’t you think it was a ’oax?”

Coyne drew himself up in proud disdain. “I am not obliged to ask you anything. I could tell immediately that you were not qualified, no matter how long you’ve been in service. The advertisement, my good man, is no hoax!”

“It sounds like a ’oax to me,” Orkle declared stubbornly, “else how could y’ tell so ‘immediately’ that I ain’t qualified?”

“From the way you speak,” Coyne answered promptly, taking great pleasure in playing his trump card. “My instructions are to hire someone who looks and talks like a gentleman.”

Momentarily daunted, Mr. Orkle blinked. But it took no longer than a moment before he recovered. He waved his newspaper in Coyne’s face. “Then where, can y’ tell me, does it say so in the advertisemint, eh? Does it say anywheres that I’d ’ave to talk like a gentleman? No, it don’t. Not anywheres in this advertisement. I axes you, me lord, is it fair to expec’ me to know that? If I’d a’ know’d, would I ‘ave come all this way for nothin’?”

“I … suppose not,” Jason admitted in spellbound amusement.

“O’ course not!” Mr. Orkle said vigorously. “So, as far as I’m concerned, this is as good as a ’oax!”

“I reckon it is,” Jason agreed.

“Then what ’ave yer to say for yersel’s, eh? What, I axes yer?”

Jason, his eyes brimming with suppressed mirth, looked up at the butler. “Well, Coyne, have we anything to say for ourselves?”

“If you are speaking of the advertisement, my lord, all I can say is that it is not necessary to list all the qualifications. If Mr. Orkle has been inconvenienced, I’m sure I’m very sorry, but—”

“Sorry! What good’s sorry?” the valet cried. “That don’t pay be back for me trouble and me day’s pay. I oughta summons yer!”

“Summons?” Jason asked. “Do you mean sue us?”

“Yes, me lord. I oughta take meself to a lawyer and see if I can’t summons yer. But I won’t.”

Jason, who had been ready to offer the valet a guinea (which would be the equivalent of more than a month’s wages) in appreciation of the fellow’s histrionic talents, looked at him with some surprise. “You won’t?” he asked. “Why not?”

“Because,” Mr. Orkle said proudly, “I am a man o’ dignity. A man o’ dignity don’t stoop so low. An’ I don’t blame you, me lord, ’cause you ’ad no thin’ to do wi’ this. But as for yer man ’ere, that’s another tale.”

“Oh?” Jason asked. “Do you intend to … er … summons him?”

“No, me lord. I on’y intends to turn me back on ’im, like this, an’ take me leave like the man o’ dignity which I am, me message to ’im bein’ expressed by me posture.” And he put his nose in the air, brushed by the butler with a marked sniff and marched to the door.

Peter bit his lip and choked. Jason, laughter brimming in his eyes, nevertheless managed to keep his countenance. “What message is expressed by your posture, Mr. Orkle?” he asked, enthralled.

“Couldn’t y’ tell, me lord? That was silent contempt!”

With the natural sense of timing of a comedic actor, Mr. Orkle closed the door behind him just as he completed his last words. The effect was devastating on both Peter and Jason, who promptly succumbed to their long-suppressed urge to roar with laughter. Coyne, who saw nothing funny in the entire scene, headed for the door wrapped in his own sense of dignity, but he was arrested by the sight of Lord Mainwaring making peculiar hand signals. Jason, doubled over with laughter, was unable to speak, but he was evidently trying to convey to Coyne by hand signals that the butler was to remain.

With the air of superiority which the unamused adopt when observing people made helpless by untrammeled merriment, Coyne shook his head. “Did you want something, my lord?” he asked disdainfully.

Lord Mainwaring nodded and tried to catch his breath. But a renewed paroxysm from Peter sent him off again, and it was some time before he was able to convey his wishes to the disapproving butler. “Catch him!” Jason said breathlessly. “Catch him, quickly. I want you to hire him.”

Coyne gasped. “Orkle, your lordship? You can’t mean it! You want him as your valet?”

“Jason, you’re a great gun!” Peter exclaimed.

But Coyne would not budge. “Miss Anne will not approve, my lord,” he cautioned. “Her instructions on the qualities of the man I was to engage were quite specific.”

“Don’t worry about Miss Hartley, Coyne. Just hurry and catch Mr. Orkle before he gets away!”

Coyne had no choice but to do as he was bid, even though he found the task utterly repugnant. Not only had he taken Orkle in extreme dislike, but he knew that Miss Anne would take him to task for permitting his lordship to so much as glimpse the fellow. But, the milk being spilt, there was nothing he could do but go after Orkle as Lord Mainwaring had ordered. When he peered out-of-doors, there was no sign of the fellow on the street. Coyne had to run a considerable distance to catch up with the volatile valet. Placing his hand restrainingly on Orkle’s arm, Coyne stood puffing and heaving until he could catch his breath. Then he informed the valet coldly that Lord Mainwaring had decided to make use of his services.

Orkle’s delight was boundless. He hooted, gave a little dancing step, turned himself around, jumped up and down and clapped his hands in delight. His exuberance was so infectious that even Coyne felt a surprising softening toward the fellow. In untrammeled enthusiasm, Orkle offered to run all the way back to his present abode, promptly resign from his position, find a replacement and return to the Mainwarings all within the next two hours. “No need to run, Mr. Orkle,” Coyne informed him magisterially. “You are now in the employ of a nobleman. A carriage will be provided to convey you.”

“A carriage? For me?” The full realization of his rise in the world seemed suddenly to burst upon him. “Blimey!” he breathed, awed at last.

Peter and Jason had returned to the chess table, but before they resumed their game, Peter felt obliged to add his warning to the dire prediction Coyne had made before he left. “Anne won’t like your man a bit, Jason. If you really intend to make that fellow your valet, you’d better prepare yourself to face her wrath.”

“And how do I do that,” Jason asked wryly, “your sister’s tempers bein’ what they are?” He looked across at Peter with a mock-suspicious scowl. “Or, you slyboots, have you brought the matter up just to put me off my game? You know that the prospect of your sister’s temper has me quaking like a rabbit.”

Peter laughed. “Yes, you’re in a terrible fright, I can see. Really, Jason, you’re the most complete hand. Stop pulling my leg and pay attention to my move. I’m about to castle.”

They turned their attention to the chessboard. Since chess strategy requires single-minded, serious concentration, they soon forgot the entire matter of the valet. By the time they neared the completion of their second game, a couple of hours later, they were taken by complete surprise when a furious Anne burst in on them. “Have you lost your mind, my lord?” she demanded curtly.

Jason blinked up at her innocently. “Not that I know of. Why?”

“Then how, sir, do you account for the presence in this house of that mustachioed creature who claims to be your valet?”

“Oh, is Orkle here already? Good. I’m glad you’ve seen him. I knew you wanted me to have someone—”

“Stop playing the innocent! You know perfectly well that I wanted you to have someone of taste, of refinement, someone appropriate to a gentleman of your rank, not a … a poor parody of a gentleman’s—”

“Come now, Anne,” Peter put in fairly, “the fellow’s not so bad. In fact, he has a remarkable talent for style in gentlemen’s apparel.”

The mischievous glint sparkled in Jason’s eyes. “A good eye for color, I think he said, didn’t he, Peter?”

Peter, trying to suppress his laughter, gurgled. “And a good sense for putting the right coat and waistcoat together, too.”

“Now, what more could one want from one’s valet?” Jason asked her reasonably.

Anne glared at her brother and Jason in turn. “I can see that you refuse to take this matter seriously. I wonder, Lord Mainwaring, why you sought my advice on these matters in the first place, since you seem to take a perverse delight in scorning whatever counsel I offer. Very well, sir, have your own way, if you must. If you insist on taking as a valet a person who would be more fittingly employed in a Soho tavern, dispensing quips and grog to the regulars, you will pay the consequences, not I!”

“But at least I will not be more nesh than dash,” Jason offered placatingly.

Anne had turned on her heel and started out, but this stopped her. “What?” she asked, completely bemused.

“True,” Peter agreed, nodding his head thoughtfully at his sister, “and Jason won’t be ‘summonsed’ either.”

She glowered. “I don’t know what you two are talking about!”

Jason and Peter exchanged laughing glances. “No, Peter, you’re out there. Orkle said he wouldn’t summons me in any case,” Jason reminded Peter.

“Right,” Peter said. “Too much dignity.”

The two men nodded knowingly and, ignoring Anne, turned back to the chessboard.

“How delightful that you two are thick as thieves,” Anne said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, and she turned back to the door.

“I hope your sister doesn’t say anything to offend Mr. Orkle,” Jason remarked to Peter, making sure she could overhear.

Peter followed his lead. “I know. It would be too bad.”

“Yes,” Jason said, ostentatiously moving a pawn up a square, “he might find it necessary to deal with her as he did with Coyne.”

“Mmmm,” Peter nodded, studying the board carefully. “He might certainly do so.”

After a moment’s struggle, during which she made to step out the door, Anne capitulated to curiosity and turned back. “How did he deal with Coyne?” she asked, elaborately casual.

“He said it was the only way for a man of his dignity to handle opposition,” Jason explained, looking up at her.

“What way?” Anne asked impatiently.

“With silent contempt, of course,” Peter said. Then, both men grinning, they bent their heads over the chessboard again, leaving Anne to stand in the doorway agape.