IT WAS NOT, OF COURSE, TO BE EXPECTED THAT this was the only tiff which disturbed the peace of the house in Half Moon Street. A young lady, reared in the heart of Kent and uninstructed in the niceties of social etiquette, was to be depended on to make mistakes, and to get into all the minor scrapes which lurked in the path of any high-spirited damsel bent on cutting a dash in the world. The Viscount had been aware when he married his Hero that she knew nothing of the ways of the Polite World, but partly through a misplaced confidence in his mother’s willingness to take Hero under her wing and partly through an airy belief that Hero would soon learn the ropes, he had not anticipated that he would be required to play a large role in her debut. The fashionable ladies of his acquaintance were seldom dependent upon their husbands for their amusements, nor had they to be extricated from the consequences of ignorance. The Viscount had, in fact, plunged into matrimony with the lighthearted intention of squiring his wife to a few parties and assemblies, driving her out occasionally in the Park, and being pleasant to her over the breakfast cups. Such concessions as these to convention would scarcely interfere with the pursuit of his usual amusements. As for Hero, the Viscount was not an ill-natured or an unreasonable young man, and he meant to make no objection to her forming her own court, with its attendant cicisbeos, and even (if discreetly conducted) its amorous intrigues. He supposed that she would hold her card parties, and possibly fritter her pin-money away at silver-loo; buy herself her favourite number in the lotteries at Richardson’s; air all her most expensive toilets in the Park; and generally conduct herself like any other female of birth and fortune. It had never occurred to him that he would return from a shooting match at Epping to be met by the intelligence that her ladyship would not be at home to dine with him, as she had gone with a party of friends to Margate on the steamboat; nor that he would stroll into the Royal Saloon, in Piccadilly, in search of such amusement as this Turkish kiosk of a building offered, only to be brought up short by the spectacle of his wife partaking of supper in one of the booths, in company with a very fast young widow, and two of the wildest blades of his acquaintance. The fact that it was just such a party as he himself was in the habit of frequenting in no way mitigated his shocked wrath. The widow, with whom he was well acquainted, hailed him with arch good humour, and received for her pains a frosty glance, and the very stiffest of bows; the two young blades, recognizing from experience the unmistakable signs of an enraged spouse, suddenly became painstakingly discreet in their dealings with my Lady Sheringham; and only the erring wife herself remained unaffected by his lordship’s joining the party. This he did, and those who were used to look upon him as a regular out-and-outer who might be depended on to become the life and soul of a gathering of this order would have been hard put to it to recognize him in the punctilious young gentleman who took his seat at the rustic table, and proceeded to cast a damper over the evening. He removed Hero at the earliest possible moment, and lectured her all the way home on the impropriety of her appearing at such places, and in such company. She was at once contrite, but said that Mrs Chester, the smart widow, had claimed friendship with him, so that she had supposed that she must be unexceptionable. The Viscount was confounded by this, and ended the discussion by saying hastily that that was neither here nor there, and she was on no account to go to the Royal Saloon again. She promised that she would not, and the affair blew over. But a week later, the Viscount, having been made aware by the veriest accident of his wife’s fell intent, was only just in time to prevent her visiting a haunt known as the Peerless Pool. She was perfectly docile as soon as she was assured that no lady of quality would visit the Pool, and made so little lament at having her projected party of pleasure spoilt, that his lordship was touched, and voluntarily sacrificed his own plans to take his unsophisticated bride to Astley’s Amphitheatre, where they saw a spectacular piece entitled Make Way for Liberty, or The Flight of the Saracens. This was an unqualified success, and Sherry, who had thought himself above being pleased by such an artless entertainment, enjoyed himself amazingly, deriving even more amusement from Hero’s naïve wonder than from the marvels exhibited on the stage. At her request, he made a list for Hero of the fashionable places it would not be consonant with her dignity for her to be seen at. She conned it carefully, but it proved to be incomplete. The Viscount walked into his house early one afternoon to find a twisted note from his wife awaiting him on the table in the hall.
Dearest Sherry, [ran this missive] only fancy! Gussie Yarford, Lady Appleby, I mean, came to visit me, and she has a famous scheme for such a frolic! We are to go in our plainest gowns to Bartholomew Fair, and she says there can be not the least objection, for Wilfred Yarford and Sir Matthew Brockenhurst are to go along with us, so I know you will not mind if I am not back in time for dinner.
The Viscount let a strangled groan, and so far forgot himself as to clutch at his fair locks. His friend, Mr Ringwood, who had accompanied him to his home, regarded him with anxious solicitude.
“She’s gone off to Bartholomew Fair!” said Sherry, in despairing accents.
Mr Ringwood thought this over and shook his head. “Can’t do that, Sherry. Not the thing at all. Shouldn’t allow it.”
“How the deuce was I to guess such a notion would ever enter her head? Wild to a fault! Let me but get my hands on Gussie Yarford, that’s all! Gussie Yarford! The maddest romp in town! Why, not all her connections can get her a voucher for Almack’s, since she started to set the world by the ears! What I have ever done to deserve — However, it ain’t her fault: she’s no more notion of how to go on that — dash it, than a kitten!”
Mr Ringwood unravelled this painstakingly, and asked if he was to understand that Hero had gone to Bartholomew Fair with the notorious Lady Appleby?
“Yes, I tell you!” said Sherry impatiently. “Dare say she thinks it’s all right and tight, for you must know that the Yarfords live down in Kent. She has known Gussie any time these nine years — more’s the pity!”
Mr Ringwood looked very serious. “Very bad ton, Lady Appleby, Sherry. Appleby, too. Hope he hasn’t gone to the Fair with them. Can’t be trusted to keep the line at all.”
“Oh no!” said Sherry bitterly. “Not Appleby! Kitten knows I can have no objection to this expedition, because, if you please, they are taking Wilfred Yarford and Brockenhurst along with them!”
Mr Ringwood’s jaw dropped, for he had some acquaintance with Lady Appleby’s enterprising brother Wilfred, and still more with Sir Matthew Brockenhurst. After a stunned moment, he said with great earnestness: “Sherry, dear old boy! No wish to put you in a pucker, but that fellow Yarford — no, really, Sherry, he’s a devilish ugly customer!”
“Lord, don’t I know it?” Sherry retorted. “And as for Brockenhurst — Dash it, I suppose I ought never to have had him to dine here! Ten to one Kitten thinks all’s right because of it! Well, there’s only one thing for it: I must go after them! I’m curst sorry, Gill, but you’ll have to find someone to take my place in our little jaunt. Try Ferdy! You see how it is: can’t help myself!”
“But, Sherry!” protested Mr Ringwood. “Can’t have considered! Won’t find ’em! Not in that vast rout!”
“Well, I can make a devilish good attempt, can’t I?” retorted Sherry. He added with some shrewdness: “If I know anything of Kitten, she’ll be sitting in Richardson’s Great Booth, watching some shocking bad play, or staring her eyes out at a Learned Pig, or some such stuff!”
Upon reflection, Mr Ringwood was forced to own that this was very likely. Perceiving the frown on his friend’s face, he gave a cough, and ventured to say: “Y’know, dear old boy — not my business — but she don’t mean an ounce of harm! Only saying to George last night: dear little soul! Not up to snuff at all!”
“No, my God!” agreed the Viscount feelingly.
“Tell you what, Sherry: if I had a wife, which I’m deuced glad I haven’t, I’d rather have one like your Kitten than all the Incomparables put together.”
“You would?” said Sherry, staring at him.
“I would,” said Mr Ringwood firmly.
“Well, I don’t know but what I wouldn’t too,” said Sherry, cheerfully unconscious of having, by these simple words, bereft his friend of all power of coherent speech.
They left the house together and parted in Piccadilly, Mr Ringwood wending his steps back to his lodging, and trying all the way to puzzle out what kind of a marriage it was that he had assisted at; and the Viscount going off in a hackney to Smithfield.
The market, which was extremely large, was so crowded with people and booths that the task of discovering one small lady in the seething mob might have daunted a more dogged man than Sherry. He paid off the hackney, and was just wondering whether to repair immediately to the Great Booth or to make a tour of the tents advertising such attractions as a Living Skeleton, a Fireproof Lady, or Mr Simon Paap, the Celebrated Dutch Dwarf, when, by the most astounding stroke of good fortune, he perceived his wife, making her way through the crowd in his direction, and escorted, not by Mr Yarford, or Sir Matthew Brockenhurst, but by a perfectly unknown citizen, dressed in his Sunday best, and having all the appearance of being a respectable tradesman. The Viscount stood transfixed in amazement, and while he was still staring at the unexpected and quite inexplicable vision of his wife of his bosom tripping along with her hand resting on the arm of an obvious Cit, Hero caught sight of him and gave a squeak of joy. She came hurrying up to him, dragging her cavalier with her, and almost cast herself on his chest, crying: “Oh, Sherry, I am so very glad to see you! Don’t scold me! Indeed, I did not know how it would be! As soon as I saw what kind of a place it was, I told Gussie I was sure you would not like me to be here, but she said I was a little goose, and I should be safe with that odious Wilfred; and then she went off with Sir Matthew, and I tried — indeed I did, Sherry! — to make Wilfred take me home, but he was quite abominable, and I ran away from him, and he pursued me, and Mr Tooting — oh, this is Mr Tooting, Sherry, and he has been so very obliging! — Mr Tooting knocked him down, and there was such a dreadful rout, you can’t conceive! — but all passed off in the end, and Mr Tooting said he would convey me home in a hackney, and then suddenly I saw you, so he need not be put to so much trouble after all!”
Sherry, detaching the grasp on his coat lapels, firmly tucked his wife’s hand in his arm and turned to express the sense of his obligation to the crimson-faced Mr Tooting. This young gentleman, recognizing at a glance a regular top-sawyer in his protégée’s husband, was quite overcome, and stuttered out a few disjointed sentences to the effect that he was happy to have been of service. Sherry, who was always very easy with his fellow-men, grasped his reluctant hand and shook it, said that he was very much obliged to him, and that if he should ever be in a position to serve him in any way, he should be glad to do it. He then inquired after Mr Yarford, and upon learning precisely how he had been floored, approved heartily of a blow which must, he opined, have been a wisty castor. He said that he himself was considered to be handy with his fives, and took lessons from Jackson, in New Bond Street. This naturally led to one or two boxing reminiscences, with a few reflections on the leading prize-fighters of the day, at the end of which both gentlemen were very pleased with each other. They parted with mutual expressions of esteem, the Viscount bestowing his card on Mr Tooting, and Mr Tooting going off with his head in a whirl at the thought that he had rescued a real live peeress from annoyance, and chatted on the friendliest of terms with her young blood of a husband.
No sooner had he vanished into the crowd than the Viscount turned his attention to his troublesome wife. “First it’s one thing, and then it’s another!” he said austerely. “I’m damned if ever I met such a tiresome chit as you, Hero!”
“Don’t scold me, Sherry! Indeed, I am very sorry to be in another scrape!” Hero said disarmingly. She raised her worshipful eyes to his face, and said, with a small sigh: “I quite see that it is not the style of thing you would approve of, and I haven’t been into any of the booths, though I did watch the droll puppet show.”
“I should think not indeed!” said his lordship severely. He then ruined his whole effect by abandoning his role of outraged spouse, and saying boyishly: “Well, since we are here we may as well take a look at the sights. Damme, if I choose to take my wife to Bartholomew Fair, who the devil’s to stop me? Besides, we shan’t see a soul we know!”
“Sherry!” gasped Hero, clinging ecstatically to his arm. “Do you mean it? May I see the Fireproof Woman washing her hands in boiling oil? And, oh, Sherry, there is a theatre here, and there is to be a piece acted called The Hall of Death, or Who’s the Murderer? Sherry, could we — ?”
Sherry gave a shout of laughter. “Of all the nonsensical brats! The Hall of Death! Come along, then, but I warn you, I won’t have you clutching me every time you take fright at the mummery, as you did at Astley’s!”
Hero promised to comport herself with the utmost propriety, and they went off together, bought themselves a two-shilling box for the forthcoming performance at the Great Booth, and filled in the time until the curtain should rise on this promising melodrama in wandering about the market, inspecting all the freaks, and buying one another several perfectly useless fairings. The Hall of Death was so bloodcurdling that Hero held Sherry’s hand tightly from start to finish, responding to his inquiry as to whether she was enjoying it with an eloquent shudder which he correctly interpreted as signifying contentment of no mean order.
On their way home he warned her that on no account must she divulge where she had been, and most strictly forbade her to frequent Lady Appleby’s company. Close questioning on the subject of Mr Yarford’s advances made him reject, not without regret, his first intention to send his cartel to this callow young gentleman. The Viscount, finding for the first time in his life that he had to be wise for two people, realized that to call Mr Yarford to account would be to plunge his Hero into the very scandal he wished to avoid. Much as it went against the grain with him, he had sense enough to perceive that his best course would be to remain in official ignorance of his wife’s escapade. Since Mr Yarford had been made to appear ridiculous at the hands of a sturdy Cit, it was safe to assume that he would certainly preserve the most discreet silence concerning the day’s doings.
“None of the Yarfords are at all the thing, Kitten,” he said abruptly. “Brockenhurst ain’t either. Yes, I know I’m pretty well-acquainted with him, but that don’t signify. A fellow may know any number of bloods he don’t choose to present to his wife.” He suddenly recollected that this was precisely what he had done, and added: “Never ought to have invited him to dine with us. The thing is I keep forgetting I’m married.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, Sherry, I did not care for him very much,” confessed Hero. “And I was quite shocked by Gussie’s headstrong manners. You know, she never used to behave in that odd way, when we were children. And although, of course, I know that a great many ladies have lovers I do not think that it is good ton to permit them to treat them with such familiarity as Sir Matthew uses towards her.”
“Who told you that a great many ladies have lovers?” demanded the Viscount. “Don’t say it was me, now! I never told you any such thing, I swear I didn’t!”
“Oh no, but I have been about the world now, and I know hundreds of things I never had the least notion of before!” said Hero, not without pride. She glanced shyly at him. “And that was what you meant, wasn’t it, Sherry, when you said that you would not mind what I did if only I were discreet?”
The Viscount met her eyes full. It was, in fact, exactly what he had meant. He wondered if there were any insanity in his family, and replied shortly: “No, it was not!”
“Oh!” said Hero. She suggested: “I dare say you think me too young for such things?”
“I do. Much too young!” replied his lordship emphatically.
“Oh!” said Hero again, and said no more.
A few nights later he took her to a Grand Gala at Vauxhall Gardens, making up an agreeable party for the expedition. Miss Milborne was amongst their guests, her parent having been persuaded, not without misgiving, to entrust her to Hero’s chaperonage. Nothing could have been more decorous, however, than the party, or more correct than the Viscount’s attentions to his guests; and the only thing that happened to mar the peace and propriety of the evening was the stormy quarrel which took place between Miss Milborne and Lord Wrotham, consequent upon the Duke of Severn’s detaching himself from his own party, on first catching sight of the Incomparable, and joining the Viscount’s for the greater part of the evening. This was of course regrettable, but as Miss Milborne was far too well-bred to permit her annoyance to appear, and everyone was quite accustomed to see Lord Wrotham in a fit of the sullens, the incident was not allowed to spoil the pleasure of the remainder of the guests.