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  He had come armed with gifts for the whole family, too. At least there he had shown a little more discretion. The brooch for herself, the charming fan for Dorothea, would obviously be unsuitable for a girl in Harriet’s position, yet it would seem unkind to leave her out. Mr Warhurst had found what seemed at first sight to be an unexceptionable present for the girl, since it was of no pecuniary value and was just the kind of thing that one might give to a child. It was a small water-colour sketch of the puppy, Mandy, mounted but unframed. It was not until she gave rather more thought to the matter that she realised that the gift was infinitely more personal than any of the costly trifles that had been bestowed upon the rest of them. In only this one instance had time and effort been spent upon the gift. To judge by the glow on the recipient’s face she would not have exchanged it for the treasures of the Indies, thought the indignant Mrs Pauncefoot. So she was unnaturally severe when her brother began to debate the various forms of entertainment with which he might amuse his young relations. Dorothea was not yet out, so there could be no question of permitting a proposed visit to Ranelagh. In any case she believed that the gardens were sadly run down nowadays. Astley’s circus might be permissible, she conceded reluctantly. The twins would enjoy it of all things and so would Julian and Laurence, while if the two girls thought it a little beneath their dignity it would do them no harm to come down from their high ropes. In fact, both girls thoroughly enjoyed the treat, Harriet, who had never been so privileged before, being speechless with admiration for the ponies and their fairy-like riders, while the boys preferred the antics of Grimaldi.

  Much encouraged by this success, Mr Warhurst took tickets for Sadler’s Wells, where Moustache and thirteen other talented dogs recruited from the fairs of Leipzig and Dresden were playing to crowded houses in Dibdin’s The Deserter. The clever little animals played the parts of soldiers storming a fort, until one of them ran away, was apprehended and made to face a firing squad. This affecting piece reduced Mr Warhurst’s feminine guests – this time the twins were not included – to subdued sniffs. Upon mature consideration, over coffee and sweet cakes, everyone agreed that they had enjoyed the performance prodigiously, only Harriet adding the rider that, while filled with admiration for the performers, she preferred her dogs to behave naturally.

  “Mandy and Meg,” she tried to explain, “are intelligent and wise rather than clever. They have been taught obedience and good manners and then they teach themselves the engaging little ways that endear them to their owners. I should not like Mandy to be drilled like those performing dogs,” she concluded firmly.

  The twins were less squeamish. They raised such riot and rumpus over being left out of the Sadler’s Wells visit that their uncle very handsomely made amends by engaging the Punch and Judy man to come to their very own house. Even so they exacted their pound of flesh, insisting on seeing the whole piece twice through and clapping gleefully when Punch was arrested by the constable, magnificent in his tricorne hat, and an officer in a cocked hat with a cockade and a long pigtail. The boys, with Dorothea and Harriet, counted themselves too grown up to condescend to such a juvenile form of entertainment, but it was to be noticed that they did not make this discovery until the man had packed away the puppets and taken his departure.

  All good things, even school holidays, come to an end. The halls of learning reclaimed Julian and Laurence, both vowing that it had been the best holiday ever and that Uncle Simon was a regular trump, an opinion confirmed by the guineas surreptitiously slipped into each ready palm at the moment of departure. Uncle Simon himself was obliged to made his adieux, since the next meet was to be at Furzedown and he must be there to play host. Life in Arlington Street settled down into its customary routine. A certain water-colour sketch graced the mantelshelf in Harriet’s bedroom, and it is to be regretted that when, at bedtime, she studied it with loving concentration, her gaze was apt to focus on the corner where the artist had scribbled his initials rather than on the liquid brown eyes that looked out at her so soulfully.

  The only person who was not entirely satisfied was that regular trump and generous benefactor, Mr Simon Warhurst. He did not know quite what he had expected. Everything had gone splendidly. His nephews and nieces were a pleasant set of young people and he had enjoyed their enjoyment, but something had been lacking. Perhaps the visit had been too short. He wondered how soon he could persuade Louisa to bring the girls to Furzedown for a visit.

  Chapter Ten

  Since Mrs Pauncefoot had no intention of doing anything so ill-judged, he was destined to become increasingly frustrated. He learned that it was not desirable for Dorothea’s studies to be interrupted again so soon after Christmas, and that in any event the weather was too inclement to favour a sojourn in the country. When the fine days of April rendered this excuse ineligible, the situation was saved by the twins, who developed chicken-pox. Their harassed Mama, realising that she would shortly be pressed to take them down to Furzedown for a period of convalescence, could only be thankful for the intervention of Lady Preston.

  Lady Preston was a firm friend, one of Mrs Pauncefoot’s charitably minded associates. She had been absent from the London scene for more than a year, visiting old acquaintances and more particularly her two sons who were both stationed in India. Mrs Pauncefoot welcomed her joyfully and the two ladies enjoyed a comfortable gossip during which Lady Preston enquired affectionately after her friends the twins. They must, she suggested, have grown out of all recognition. Their mother described their indisposition – actually a very slight one – and went on to outline her plans for Dorothea’s come-out next year, mentioning incidentally the young companion who had exerted such a beneficial influence on the girl.

  Lady Preston pricked up her ears. “Did you say Pendeniston?” she demanded. “Colonel Pendeniston’s granddaughter? Let me see now. What did they call the child? Mary named her for her father, I know. Henrietta, was it?”

  “Harriet. Do you know her?”

  “No, but I knew her mother, and held her in considerable affection. When Robert died and I came home to England I tried to get in touch with her, only to discover that she had died some time previously and that the farm where she had lived had changed hands. No one seemed to know what had become of Mary’s daughter. Her brother had left the district and I assumed that he had taken the child with him. If it is the same girl I would dearly like to make her acquaintance. Her mother was with me in India when the boys were small. A tower of strength. I would gladly do her daughter a kindness for her sake. Is she entirely dependent on her own efforts? It seems to me quite incredible that even Colonel Pendeniston could be such a monster as to cast her off.”

  “Harriet says that he did provide for her schooling. And there seems to be some suspicion that her uncle made off with funds that were rightfully hers, but she is an independent little thing and will not hear of appealing to her grandfather for further assistance.”

  Lady Preston nodded thoughtfully. “In that respect at least she resembles her mother,” she commented. “I think that it was Mary’s sturdy independence as much as her lovely face and pretty ways that appealed to Henry Pendeniston. He needed someone to support him against his old curmudgeon of a father. Mary might have managed to have put some spirit into him if he had lived. I shall look forward to meeting her daughter.”

  Under these auspicious circumstances the acquaintance flourished. Lady Preston, intelligent and widely travelled, knew better than to force the pace. She studied the girl carefully, assessing her quality before broaching the subject of her mother. She was pleased with what she found. Harriet had a gentle dignity that was very becoming. She was eager to please, but content to remain quietly in the background until her services were needed or her attention claimed by one of her companions. A nice-looking child, too, though not so pretty as her mother.

  When she claimed Harriet’s notice and spoke to her of her mother, this good impression was endorsed. Harriet forgot her carefully acquired composure, flushing and
stammering as she answered the gentle questions, her love for her mother very evident in the eager pride with which she spoke of her. To the suggestion that they must have a really long talk together, she returned a delighted assent.

  “If Mrs Pauncefoot can spare me, I would dearly love to hear all that you can tell me about my mother. You are very kind.”

  It was arranged that she should spend an afternoon at Lady Preston’s house and take tea with her. She was a little shy at first. The house was luxuriously furnished with many oriental touches that gave it distinction. In Arlington Street the schoolroom wing was shabbily comfortable, the drawing room elegant but severe. Here there was a touch of opulence, a richness of colour that Harriet found attractive but strange. Her hostess was well accustomed to meeting all sorts and conditions of people and very soon put her at her ease and had her talking quite frankly and freely of her situation. She even told this kindly creature who had known her mother the whole sordid story of the Dorset episode and of how she had run away and been rescued. And Lady Preston listened and asked the occasional question, studied the changing expressions in the unguarded face that was raised so confidingly, and read a good deal between the lines, understanding better now the slight reserve with which her friend had spoken of Harriet’s difficulties. It was obviously desirable to set a distance between the girl and her rescuer. Louisa could not be blamed for setting her face against that sort of entanglement. Much the best thing that could be arranged for Harriet was a suitable marriage. If she could be brought out – in a modest sort of way, of course – it might be possible to find her a husband. The alternative was a lifetime spent in other people’s homes, serving them in whatever capacity they demanded. And they might not all be so kind and considerate as Louisa Pauncefoot. What the girl needed was a sponsor. Someone who would take her about and put her in the way of meeting some eligible young men. To be sure she had no money, but her birth was respectable and Lady Preston suspected that with proper dressing and a little encouragement she might well turn into something of a honey-pot. There was a good deal of personality behind the quiet exterior, and a good deal of intelligence, too. And if – admittedly it was a big if – a creditable marriage could be contrived for her, surely the colonel would furnish some sort of a marriage portion, if only for his pride’s sake. When Harriet had been patted and kissed and dismissed in her ladyship’s own carriage to Arlington Street, Lady Preston began to consider ways and means.

  By the following day her decision was made. She herself would sponsor Harriet. She did not anticipate any difficulty in persuading Louisa to resign the girl to her care. In fact, if she had read the situation aright, her friend would regard the offer as an excellent solution to a delicate problem. The only slight difficulty might lie in persuading the girl herself to acceptance. Lady Preston trusted to the strength of her old acquaintance with Harriet’s mother. If she could convince her that her Mama would have fully approved the course she suggested, the battle would be won. And she could truthfully add that there was nothing she would enjoy more than having a temporary daughter to take about with her, to dress and to cosset.

  It would be well to put the scheme into being as quickly as possible, she decided, and set out at once to pay a morning call in Arlington Street. Here, as she had confidently expected, her suggestion was greeted with enthusiasm.

  “She is a dear, loveable child,” declared Mrs Pauncefoot, expansive in her relief, “and I shall miss her sorely, but there can be no denying that she has conceived a girlish adoration for Simon – scarcely surprising under the circumstances – and that he is inclined to be amused and flattered by her devotion. No more to it than that, I promise you, but it must be nipped in the bud, and that is so difficult when the conduct of both is quite above reproach. The only thing I could think of was to speak to Simon – ask him not to encourage the child – you know the sort of thing – but I feared to make too much of the whole business. This scheme of yours is so very much better. I am sure she will forget all about her ridiculous tendre for Simon when such a wonderful opportunity is presented to her. And when she meets other gentlemen she will come to see that he is by far too old for her. She is a very fortunate girl to have found so kind and generous a friend.”

  Harriet found herself in a state of bewilderment. She was young enough to feel a lift of the heart at the thought of the treats in store, wise enough to realise that this could only be a temporary arrangement and that it might have to be paid for with a painful return to the workaday world. Not that either Mrs Pauncefoot or Lady Preston was likely to cast her adrift entirely, but no one, however kind, could be expected to support her in idleness for ever. Something of this she tried to explain to them, but it was not easy to make her point clear without being unpleasantly blunt, and this she could not bring herself to do. At the kindly suggestion, intended to allay her fears for the future, that she might contract an eligible alliance if she were given a fair chance, she shrank instinctively, not quite knowing why, and said stiffly that she had no mind to marriage. Lady Preston, remembering the story that the girl had told her, thought that she understood, and the subject was allowed to drop.

  “Then we will find you a pleasant post as companion to a lady – such tasks as you have performed so satisfactorily here. But first you will grant me the indulgence of pretending for a little while that you are the daughter I never had,” she went on persuasively. “I feel sure that your own mother would be willing to lend you to me, do not you?”

  It was a powerful argument, but the real clincher was delivered, quite unintentionally, by Mrs Pauncefoot. One could hardly decline an advantageous and attractive offer and say that one would prefer to remain in one’s present employment, when one’s employer was bubbling over with enthusiasm for the new scheme and busily suggesting new ideas. To be sure she dutifully bewailed her personal loss, vowing that her friend had robbed her of a treasure, but she made it very plain that she expected Harriet to accept without hesitation. Against her better judgement, Harriet yielded.

  Once committed, however, she threw qualms about the future to the winds and gave herself up entirely to enjoyment of the present. She had liked Lady Preston from the first. The terms in which that lady had spoken of her mother had strengthened that liking. It was not long before she realised that all the business of grooming her for social success was of absorbing interest to the older woman. In that respect at least, she comforted herself, she was of some use, for her pride still choked occasionally on the bounty that she was obliged to accept. Lady Preston said, very reasonably, that there could be no point at all in skimping the business and was inclined to be over-generous, while Harriet, with no experience in the needs of a young lady moving in fashionable circles, was shocked at the extent of her indebtedness. It didn’t stop with the provision of a suitable wardrobe. There were dancing lessons and singing lessons, and a horse must be hired from the livery stables so that Miss Pendeniston could ride in the Park. But as the days passed, Harriet became accustomed to her hostess’s impulsive generosity and learned to accept gracefully when some charming trifle was pressed upon her. She drove out with her ladyship to pay numerous calls, during which she was introduced as “Miss Pendeniston, the young friend who is spending the summer with me.” Invitations began to arrive in which her name was included with Lady Preston’s, and she was bidden to practise her dancing assiduously. Dorothea helped her here, coming daily to step out the various figures with her under Monsieur Rambouillet’s careful instructions. She went to the theatre, where she was wholly entranced by the gaiety and vivacity of Mrs Jordan, and to several concerts and an exhibition of paintings. Her manner was still rather subdued. She had a great deal to learn and it would be very easy to make a mistake and bring ridicule not only on herself but upon her sponsor, but her confidence was growing with every fresh hurdle surmounted, and Lady Preston noted with quiet satisfaction the steady improvement in her appearance. If she could have seen the girl that Simon had pulled out of the river, she would have bee
n even better pleased. The months of sheltered living, the good food, and the society of people who had her welfare at heart, had done their work. Harriet’s hair was still only a loose curly crop, but it had regained the sheen of health. Her skin was clear, her colour good, and there was animation in glance and voice. A modest social success, one or two compliments, a few floral tributes and an occasional flirtatious glance, and the thing would be done. The girl would glow into a beauty all the more appealing because it was a subtle thing, a compound of colouring and expression rather than the standard blonde prettiness or a brunette magnificence.

  She began to plan a party for her young guest. Not a set ball, she decided, but a dress party with dancing and cards for the older guests. Nothing too ostentatious. No more than fifty or sixty invited. She wondered if Louisa would permit Dorothea to attend. It would not be a popular suggestion since Louisa was always so insistent that the girl was not yet ‘out’, but her friend’s support would be a great comfort to Harriet on so important an occasion, and surely Louisa owed her something!

  Reluctantly Louisa acknowledged this. Careful enquiry eliciting the facts that all the guests were known to her; that no young gentlemen of the fortune hunting persuasion were included in the list, and that on no account would the waltz be danced, she agreed that Dorothea might attend. She herself would chaperone her daughter and they would leave early to emphasize Dorothea’s schoolgirl status.