Arabella

Mr Beaumaris’s sudden realisation that the little Tallant was no fool underwent no modification during the following days. It began to be borne in upon him that charm he never so wisely she was never within danger of losing her head over him. She treated him in the friendliest fashion, accepted his homage, and – he suspected – was bent upon making the fullest use of him. If he paid her compliments, she listened to them with the most innocent air in the world, but with a look in her candid gaze which gave him pause. The little Tallant valued his compliments not at all. Instead of being thrown into a flutter by the attentions of the biggest matrimonial prize in London, she plainly considered herself to be taking part in an agreeable game. If he flirted with her, she would generally respond in kind, but with so much the manner of one willing to indulge him that the hunter woke in him, and he was quite as much piqued as amused. He began to toy with the notion of making her fall in love with him in good earnest, just to teach her that the Nonpareil was not to be so treated with impunity. Once, when she was apparently not in the humour for gallantry, she actually had the effrontery to cut him short, saying: ‘Oh, never mind that! Who was that odd-looking man who waved to you just now? Why does he walk in that ridiculous way, and screw up his mouth so? Is he in pain?’

He was taken aback, for really he had paid her a compliment calculated to cast her into exquisite confusion. His lips twitched, for he had as few illusions about himself as had, to all appearances the lady beside him. ‘That,’ he replied, ‘is Golden Ball, Miss Tallant, one of our dandies, as no doubt you have been told. He is not in pain. That walk denotes his consequence.’

‘Good gracious! He looks as though he went upon stilts! Why does he think himself of such consequence?’

‘He has never accustomed himself to the thought that he is worth not a penny less than forty thousand pounds a year,’ replied Mr Beaumaris gravely.

‘What an odious person he must be!’ she said scornfully. ‘To be consequential for such a reason as that is what I have no patience with!’

‘Naturally you have not,’ he agreed smoothly.

Her colour rushed up. She said quickly: ‘Fortune cannot make the man: I am persuaded you agree with me, for they tell me you are even more wealthy, Mr Beaumaris, and I will say this! – you do not give yourself such airs as that!’

‘Thank you,’ said Mr Beaumaris meekly. ‘I scarcely dared to hope to earn so great an encomium from you, ma’am.’

‘Was it rude of me to say it? I beg your pardon!’

‘Not at all.’ He glanced down at her. ‘Tell me, Miss Tallant! – Just why do you grant me the pleasure of driving you out in my curricle?’

She responded with perfect composure, but with that sparkle in her eye which he had encountered several times before: ‘You must know that it does me a great deal of good socially to be seen in your company, sir!’

He was so much surprised that momentarily he let his hands drop. The grays broke into a canter, and Miss Tallant kindly advised him to mind his horses. The most notable whip in the country thanked her for her reminder, and steadied his pair. Miss Tallant consoled him for the chagrin he might have been supposed to feel by saying that she thought he drove very well. After a stunned moment, laughter welled up within him. His voice shook perceptibly as he answered: ‘You are too good, Miss Tallant!’

‘Oh, no!’ she said politely. ‘Shall you be at the masquerade at the Argyll Rooms tonight?’

‘I never attend such affairs, ma’am!’ he retorted, putting her in her place.

‘Oh, then I shall not see you there!’ remarked Miss Tallant, with unimpaired cheerfulness.

She did not see him there, but, little though she might have known it, he was obliged to exercise considerable restraint not to cast to the four winds his famed fastidiousness, and to minister to her vanity by appearing at the ball. He did not do it, and hoped that she had missed him. She had, but this was something she would not acknowledge even to herself. Arabella, who had liked the Nonpareil on sight, was setting a strong guard over her sensibilities. He had seemed to her, when first her eyes had alighted on his handsome person, to be almost the embodiment of a dream. Then he had uttered such words to his friend as must shatter for ever her esteem, and had wickedly led her into vulgar prevarication. Now it pleased his fancy to single her out from all the beauties in town, for reasons better known to himself than to her, but which she darkly suspected to be mischievous. No fool, the little Tallant! Not for one moment would she permit herself to indulge the absurd fancy that his court was serious. He might intrude into her meditations, but whenever she was aware of his having done so she was resolute in banishing his image. Sometimes she was strongly of the opinion that he had not believed a word of her boasts on that never to be sufficiently regretted evening in Leicestershire; at others, it seemed as though she had deceived him as completely as she had deceived Lord Fleetwood. It was impossible to fathom the intricacies of his mind, but one thing was certain: the great Mr Beaumaris and the Vicar of Heythram’s daughter could have nothing to do with one another, so that the less the Vicar’s daughter thought about him the better it would be for her. One could not deny his address, or his handsome face, but one could – and one did – dwell on the many imperfections of his character. He was demonstrably indolent, a spoilt darling of society, with no thought for anything but his fleeting pleasure: a heartless, heedless leader of fashion, given over to selfishness, and every other vice which Papa’s daughter had been taught to think reprehensible.

If she missed him at the masquerade, no one would have guessed it. She danced indefatigably the whole night through, refused an offer of marriage from a slightly intoxicated Mr Epworth, tumbled into bed at an advanced hour in the morning, and dropped instantly into untroubled sleep.

She was awakened at a most unseasonable hour by the sudden clatter of fire-irons in the cold hearth. Since the menial who crept into her chamber each morning to sweep the grate, and kindle a new fire there, performed her task with trained stealth, this noise was unusual enough to rouse Arabella with a start. A gasp and a whimper, proceeding from the direction of the fireplace, made her sit up with a jerk, blinking at the unexpected vision of a small, dirty, and tearstained little boy, almost cowering on the hearth-rug, and regarding her out of scared, dilating eyes.

‘Good gracious!’ gasped Arabella, staring at him. ‘Who are you?’

The child cringed at the sound of her voice, and returned no answer. The mists of sleep curled away from Arabella’s brain; her eyes took in the soot lying on the floor, the grimed appearance of her strange visitant, and enlightenment dawned on her. ‘You must be a climbing-boy!’ she exclaimed. ‘But what are you doing in my room?’ Then she perceived the terror in the pinched and grimed small face, and she said quickly: ‘Don’t be afraid! Did you lose your way in those horrid chimneys?’

The urchin nodded, knuckling his eyes. He further volunteered the information that ole Grimsby would bash him for it. Arabella, who had had leisure to observe that one side of his face was swollen and discoloured, demanded: ‘Is that your master? Does he beat you?’

The urchin nodded again, and shivered.

‘Well, he shan’t beat you for this!’ said Arabella, stretching out her hand for the dressing-gown that was chastely disposed across the chair beside her bed. ‘Wait! I am going to get up!’

The urchin looked very much alarmed by this intelligence, and shrank back against the wall, watching her defensively. She slid out of bed, thrust her feet into her slippers, fastened her dressing-gown and advanced kindly upon her visitor. He flung up an instinctive arm, cringing before her. He was clad in disgraceful rags, and Arabella now saw that the ends of his frieze nether-garments were much charred, and that his skinny legs and his bare feet were badly burnt. She dropped to her knees, crying out pitifully: ‘Oh, poor little fellow! You have burnt yourself so dreadfully!’

He slightly lowered his protective arm, looking suspiciously at her over it. ‘Ole Grimsby done it,’ he said.

She caught her breath. ‘What!’

‘I’m afeard of going up the chimbley,’ explained the urchin. ‘Sometimes there’s rats – big, fierce ’uns!’

She shuddered. ‘And he forces you to do so – like that?’

‘They most of ’em does,’ said the urchin, accepting life as he found it.

She held out her hand. ‘Let me see! I will not hurt you.’

He looked wary, but after a moment appeared to consider that she might be speaking the truth, for he allowed her to take one of his feet in her hand. He was surprised when he saw that tears stood in her eyes, for in his experience the gentler sex was more apt to beat one with a broom-handle than to weep over one.

‘Poor child, poor child!’ Arabella said, a break in her voice. ‘You are so thin, too! I am sure you are half-starved! Are you hungry?’

‘I’m allus hungry,’ he replied simply.

‘And cold too!’ she said. ‘No wonder, in those rags! It is wicked, wicked!’ She jumped up, and, grasping the bell pull that hung beside the fireplace, tugged it violently.

The urchin uttered another of his frightened whimpers, and said: ‘Ole Grimsby’ll beat the daylights out of me! Lemme go!’

‘He shan’t lay a finger on you!’ promised Arabella, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes sparkling through the tears they held.

The urchin came to the conclusion that she was soft in her head. ‘Ho!’ he remarked bitterly, ‘you don’ know old Grimsby! Nor you don’ know his ole woman! Broke one of me ribs he did, onct!’

‘He shall never do so again, my dear,’ Arabella said, turning aside to pull open a drawer in one of the chests. She dragged out the soft shawl which had not so long since been swathed round the head of the sufferer from toothache, and put it round the boy, saying coaxingly: ‘There, let me wrap you up till we have had a fire lit! Is that more comfortable, my little man? Now sit down in this chair, and you shall have something to eat directly!’

He allowed himself to be lifted into the armchair, but his expression was so eloquent of suspicion and terror that it wrung Arabella’s tender heart. She smoothed his cropped, sandy hair with one gentle hand, and said soothingly: ‘You must not be afraid of me: I promise you I will not hurt you, nor let your master either. What is your name, my dear?’

‘Jemmy,’ he replied, clutching the shawl about him, and fixing her with a frightened stare.

‘And how old are you?’

This he was unable to answer, being uninstructed in the matter. She judged him to be perhaps seven or eight years old, but he was so undernourished that he might have been older. While she waited for the summons of the bell to bring her maid to the room, she put more questions to the child. He seemed to have no knowledge of the existence of any parents, volunteering that he was an orphing, on the Parish. When he saw that this seemed to distress her, he tried to comfort her by stating that one Mrs Balham said he was love-begotten. It appeared that this lady had brought him up until the moment when he had passed into the hands of his present owner. An enquiry into Mrs Balham’s disposition elicited the information that she was a rare one for jackey, and could half-murder anyone when under the influence of this stimulant. Arabella had no idea what jackey might be, but she gathered that Jemmy’s foster-mother was much addicted to strong drink. She questioned Jemmy more closely, and he, gaining confidence, imparted to her, in the most matter-of-fact way, some details of a climbing-boy’s life which drove the blood from her cheeks. He told her, with a certain distorted pride, of the violence of one of ole Grimsby’s associates, Mr Molys, a master-sweep, who, only a year before, had been sentenced to two years’ imprisonment for causing the death of his six-year-old slave.

‘Two years!’ cried Arabella, sickened by the tale of cruelty so casually unfolded. ‘If he had stolen a yard of silk from a mercer’s factory they would have deported him!’

Jemmy was not in a position to deny or to corroborate this statement, and preserved a wary silence. He saw that the young lady was very angry, and although her wrath did not seem to be directed against himself his experience had taught him to run no unnecessary risks of being suddenly knocked flying against the wall. He shrank into the corner of the chair therefore, and clutched the shawl more tightly round his person.

A discreet knock fell on the door, and a slightly flustered and considerably startled housemaid entered the room. ‘Was it you rang, miss?’ she asked, in astonished accents. Then her eye alighted on Arabella’s visitor, and she uttered a genteel shriek. ‘Oh, miss! What a turn it gave me! The young varmint to give you such a fright! It’s the chimney-sweep’s boy, miss, and him looking for him all over! You come with me this instant, you wicked boy, you!’

Jemmy, recognising a language he understood, whined that he had not meant to do it.

‘Hush!’ Arabella said, dropping her hand on one bony little shoulder. ‘I know very well it is the sweep’s boy, Maria, and if you look at him you will see how he has been used! Go downstairs, if you please, and fetch me some food for him directly – and send someone up to kindle the fire here!’

Maria stared at her as though she thought she had taken leave of her senses. ‘Miss!’ she managed to ejaculate. ‘A dirty little climbing-boy?’

‘When he has been bathed,’ said Arabella quietly, ‘he will not be dirty. I shall need plenty of warm water, and the bath, if you please. But first a fire, and some milk and food for the poor child!’

The affronted handmaid bridled. ‘I hope, miss, you do not expect me to wash that nasty little creature! I’m sure I don’t know what her ladyship would say to such goings-on!’

‘No,’ said Arabella, ‘I expect nothing from you that I might expect from a girl with a more feeling heart than yours! Go and do what I have asked you to do, and desire Becky to come upstairs to me!’

‘Becky?’ gasped Maria.

‘Yes, the girl who had the toothache. And when you have brought up food – some bread-and-butter, and some meat will do very well, but do not forget the milk! – you may send someone to tell Lord Bridlington that I wish to see him at once.’

Maria gulped, and stammered: ‘But, miss, his lordship is abed and asleep!’

‘Well, let him be wakened!’ said Arabella impatiently.

‘Miss, I dare not for my life! His orders were no one wasn’t to disturb him till nine o’clock, and he won’t come, not till he has shaved himself, and dressed, not his lordship!’

Arabella considered the question, and finally came to the conclusion that it might be wiser to dispense with his lordship’s assistance for the time being. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I will dress immediately, then, and see the sweep myself. Tell him to wait!’

‘See the sweep – dress – Miss, you won’t never! With that boy watching you!’ exclaimed the scandalised Maria.

‘Don’t be such a fool, girl!’ snapped Arabella, stamping her foot. ‘He’s scarcely older than my little brother at home! Go away before you put me out of all patience with you!’

This, however, Maria could not be persuaded to do until she had arranged a prim screen between the wondering Jemmy and his hostess. She then tottered away to spread the news through the house that Miss was raving mad, and likely to be taken off to Bedlam that very day. But since she did not dare to thwart a guest so much petted by her mistress, she delivered Arabella’s message to Becky, and condescended to carry up a tray of food to her room.

Jemmy, still huddled in the big chair, was bewildered by the unprecedented turn of events, and understood nothing of what was intended towards him. But he perfectly understood the significance of a plate of cold beef, and half a loaf of bread, and his sharp eyes glistened. Arabella, who had flung on her clothes at random, and done up her hair in a careless knot, settled him down to the enjoyment of his meal, and sallied forth to do battle with the redoubtable Mr Grimsby, uneasily awaiting her in the front hall.

The scene, conducted under the open-mouthed stare of a footman in his shirt-sleeves, two astonished and giggling maids, and the kitchen-boy, was worthy of a better audience. Mr Beaumaris, for instance, would have enjoyed it immensely. Mr Grimsby, knowing that the sympathies of those members of the household he had so far encountered were with him, and seeing that his assailant was only a chit of a girl, tried at the outset to take a high line, rapidly cataloguing Jemmy’s many vices, and adjuring Arabella not to believe a word the varmint uttered. He soon discovered that what Arabella lacked in inches she more than made up for in spirit. She tore his character to shreds and warned him of his ultimate fate; she flung Jemmy’s burns and bruises in his face, and bade him answer her if he dared. He did not dare. She assured him that never would she permit Jemmy to go back to him, and when he tried to point out his undoubted rights over the boy she looked so fierce that he backed before her. She said that if he wished to talk of his rights he might do so before a magistrate, and at these ominous words all vestige of fight went out of him. The misfortune which had overtaken his friend, Mr Molys, was still fresh in his mind, and he desired to have no dealings with an unjust Law. There was no doubt that a young lady living in a house of this style would have those at her back who could, if she urged them to it, make things very unpleasant for a poor chimney-sweep. The course for a prudent man to follow was retreat: climbing-boys were easily come by, and Jemmy had never been a success. Mr Grimsby, his back bent nearly double, edged himself out of the house, trying to assure Arabella in one breath that she might keep Jemmy and welcome, and that, whatever the ungrateful brat might say, he had been like a father to him.

Flushed with her triumph, Arabella returned to her room, where she found Jemmy, the plate of meat long since disposed of, eyeing with a good deal of apprehension the preparations for his ablutions. A capacious hip-bath stood before the fire, into which Becky was emptying the last of three large brass cans of hot water. Whatever Becky might think of climbing-boys, she had conceived a slavish adoration of Arabella, and she declared her willingness to do anything Miss might require of her.

‘First,’ said Arabella briskly, ‘I must wash him, and put basilicum ointment on his poor little feet and legs. Then I must get him some clothes to wear. Becky, do you know where to procure suitable clothes for a child in London?’

Becky nodded vigorously, twisting her apron between her fingers. She ventured to say that she had sent home a suit for her brother Ben which Mother had been ever so pleased with.

‘Have you little brothers? Then you will know just what to buy for this child!’ Arabella said. ‘A warm jacket, and some smalls, and a shirt – oh, and some shoes and stockings! Wait! I will give you the money, and you shall go and procure the things immediately!’

‘If you please, miss,’ said Becky firmly, ‘I think I ought to help you wash him first.’ She added sapiently: ‘Likely he’ll struggle, miss – not being used to it.’

She was quite right. Jemmy fought like a tiger to defend his person from the intended rape, and was deaf alike to coaxings and to reassurances. But the two damsels before him had not helped to bring up their respective young brothers for nothing. They stripped Jemmy of his rags, heedless of his sobs and his protests, and they dumped him, wildly kicking, in the bath, and ruthlessly washed every inch of his emaciated small person.

It was not to be expected that Jemmy’s howls would not be heard beyond the confines of the room. They were lusty, and they penetrated to Lady Bridlington’s ears. It was inconceivable to the good lady that they could really be emanating from within her house, as they seemed to be, and she was just about to ring her bell, and desire Clara Crowle to send away whatever child it was who was screaming in the street, when the howls ceased (Jemmy had been lifted out of the bath, and wrapped in a warm towel), and she sank back again in her bed. Not long after this, Miss Crowle came softly in with her breakfast-tray, and the pleasing intelligence that Miss Arabella was out of her mind, and had got a dirty little boy in her room, and wouldn’t let him go, not whatever anyone said. Hardly had her ladyship grasped the essential points of the story poured into her bemused ears than Arabella herself came in. Her visit made it necessary for Miss Crowle to revive her mistress with hartshorn-and-water, and to burn pastilles, for it brought on a nervous spasm of alarming intensity. Lady Bridlington now understood that she was expected not only to house a boy picked out of the gutter, but to pursue his late master by every means in her power. Arabella talked of the Law, and of magistrates; of cruelties which made it almost impossible for Lady Bridlington even to swallow her coffee; and of what Papa would say must be done in so shocking a case. Lady Bridlington moaned, and said faintly: ‘But you cannot! The boy must be given back to his master! You don’t understand these things!’

‘Cannot?’ cried Arabella, her eyes flashing. ‘Cannot, ma’am? I beg your pardon, but it is you who have not understood! When you have seen the dreadful marks on the poor little soul’s back – and his ribs almost breaking through his skin! – you will not talk so!’

‘No, no, Arabella, for heaven’s sake – !’ begged her godmother. ‘I won’t have you bring him in here! Where is Frederick? My dear, of course it is all very dreadful, and we will see what can be done, but do, pray, wait until I am dressed! Clara, where is his lordship?’

‘His lordship, my lady,’ responded Clara with relish, ‘having partaken of his breakfast, has gone riding in the Park, as is his custom. His lordship’s gentleman happening to mention that Miss had a climbing-boy in her room, his lordship said as how he must be sent off at once.’

‘Well, he will not be!’ said Arabella, not mincing matters.

Lady Bridlington, reflecting that it was just like Frederick to issue orders in this foolish style, and leave others to see them carried out, decided to postpone any further discussion until he should be present to lend her his support. She persuaded Arabella to go away, looked with distaste at her breakfast-tray, and begged Clara, in a failing voice, to give her her smelling-salts.

When Lord Bridlington returned from his morning exercise, he was displeased to learn that nothing had so far been done about the climbing-boy, except that Miss had sent one of the under-servants out to buy him a suit of clothes. He was still frowning over this when his Mama came downstairs, and almost fell upon his neck. ‘Thank heaven you are come at last!’ she uttered. ‘What can have induced you to go out with the house in this uproar? I am driven nearly distracted! She wants me to employ the boy as a page!’

Frederick led her firmly into the saloon on the ground-floor, and shut the door upon the interested butler. He then demanded an explanation of an affair which he said he was at a loss to understand. His mother was in the middle of giving him one when Arabella came into the room, leading the washed and clothed Jemmy by the hand.

‘Good-morning, Lord Bridlington!’ she said calmly. ‘I am glad you are come home, for you will best be able to help me to decide what I ought to do with Jemmy here.’

‘I can certainly do so, Miss Tallant,’ he answered. ‘The boy must of course go back where he belongs. It was most improper of you, if you will permit me to say so, to interfere between him and his master.’

He encountered a look which surprised him. ‘I do not permit anyone, Lord Bridlington, to tell me that in rescuing a helpless child from the brutality of a monster I am doing what is improper!’ said Arabella.

‘No, no, my dear, of course not!’ hastily interposed Lady Bridlington. ‘Frederick did not mean – But, you see, there is nothing one can do in these sad cases! That is – I am sure Frederick will speak to the man – give him a good fright, you know!’

‘Really, Mama –’

‘And Jemmy?’ demanded Arabella. ‘What will you do with him?’

His lordship looked distastefully at the candidate for his protection. Jemmy had been well scrubbed, but not the most thorough application of soap and water could turn him into a well-favoured child. He had a sharp little face, a wide mouth, from which a front tooth was missing, and a very snub nose. His short, ragged hair was perfectly straight, and his ears showed a tendency to stick out from his head.

‘I do not know what you expect me to do!’ said his lordship fretfully. ‘If you had any knowledge of the laws governing apprentices, my dear Miss Tallant, you would know that it is quite impossible to steal this boy away from his master!’

‘When the master of an apprentice misuses a boy as this child has been misused,’ retorted Papa’s daughter, ‘he renders himself liable to prosecution! What is more, this man knows it, and I assure you he does not expect to have Jemmy returned to him!’

‘I suppose you think I should adopt the boy!’ said Frederick, goaded.

‘No, I do not think that,’ replied Arabella, her voice a little unsteady. ‘I only think that you might – show some compassion for one so wretchedly circumstanced!’

Frederick coloured hotly. ‘Well, of course I am excessively sorry, but –’

‘Do you know that his master lights a fire in the grate beneath him, to force him up the chimney?’ interrupted Arabella.

‘Well, I don’t suppose he would go up if – Yes, yes, shocking, I know, but chimneys must be swept, after all, or what would become of us all?’

‘Oh, that Papa were here!’ Arabella cried. ‘I see that it is useless to talk to you, for you are selfish and heartless, and you care for nothing but your own comfort!’

It was at this inopportune moment that the door was opened, and the butler announced two morning-callers. He afterwards explained this lapse, which he felt quite as acutely as his mistress, by saying that he had supposed Miss to be still upstairs with That Boy. Frederick made a hasty gesture indicative of his desire that the visitors should be excluded, but it was too late. Lord Fleetwood and Mr Beaumaris walked into the room.

Their reception was unusual. Lady Bridlington gave vent to an audible moan; her son stood rooted to the floor in the middle of the room, his face flushed, and his whole appearance that of a man who had been stuffed; and Miss Tallant, also very much flushed, bit her lip, and turned on her heel, leading a small urchin over to a chair by the wall, and bidding him gently to sit down on it, and to be a good boy.

Lord Fleetwood blinked upon this scene; Mr Beaumaris’s brows went up, but he gave no other sign of surprise, merely bowing over Lady Bridlington’s nerveless hand, and saying: ‘How do you do? I trust we don’t intrude? I called in the hope of persuading Miss Tallant to drive to the Botanical Gardens with me. They tell me the spring flowers are quite a sight there.’

‘You are very obliging, sir,’ said Arabella curtly, ‘but I have more important affairs to attend to this morning.’

Lady Bridlington pulled herself together. ‘My love, we can discuss all that later! I am sure it would do you good to take the air! Do but send that – that child down to the kitchen, and –’

‘Thank you, ma’am, but I do not stir from the house until I have settled what is to be done with Jemmy.’

Lord Fleetwood, who had been regarding Jemmy with frank curiosity, said: ‘Jemmy, eh? Er – friend of yours, Miss Tallant?’

‘No. He is a climbing-boy who came by mistake down the chimney of my bedchamber,’ Arabella replied. ‘He has been most shamefully used, and he is only a child, as you may see – I daresay not more than seven or eight years old!’

The warmth of her feelings brought a distinct tremor into her voice. Mr Beaumaris looked curiously at her.

‘No, really?’ said Lord Fleetwood, with easy sympathy. ‘Well, that’s a great deal too bad! Shocking brutes, some of these chimney-sweeps! Ought to be sent to gaol!’

She said impulsively: ‘Yes, that is what I have been telling Lord Bridlington, only he seems not to have the least understanding!’

‘Arabella!’ implored Lady Bridlington. ‘Lord Fleetwood can have no interest in such matters!’

‘Oh, I assure you, ma’am!’ said his lordship. ‘I am interested in anything that interests Miss Tallant! Rescued the child, did you? Well, upon my soul, I call it a devilish fine thing to do! Not as though he was a taking brat, either!’

‘What does that signify?’ said Arabella contemptuously. ‘I wonder how taking, my lord, you or I should be had we been brought up from infancy by a drunken foster-mother, sold while still only babies to a brutal master, and forced into a hateful trade!’

Mr Beaumaris moved quietly to a chair a little removed from the group in the centre of the room, and stood leaning his hands on the back of it, his eyes still fixed on Arabella’s face.

‘No, no! Exactly so!’ hastily said Lord Fleetwood.

Lord Bridlington chose, unwisely, to intervene at this point. ‘No doubt it is just as you say, ma’am, but this is hardly a topic for my mother’s sitting-room! Let me beg of you –’

Arabella turned on him like a flash, her eyes bright with tears, her voice unsteady with indignation. ‘I will not be silenced! It is a topic that should be discussed in every Christian lady’s sitting-room! Oh, I mean no disrespect, ma’am! You have not thought – you cannot have thought! Had you seen the wounds on this child’s body you could not refuse to help him! I wish I had made you come into my room when I had him naked in the bath! Your heart must have been touched!’

‘Yes, but, Arabella, my heart is touched!’ protested her afflicted godmother. ‘Only I don’t want a page, and he is much too young, and such an ugly little thing! Besides, the sweep will very likely claim him, because, whatever you may think, if the boy is apprenticed to him, which he must be –’

‘You may make your mind easy on that score, ma’am! His master will never dare to lay claim to him. He knows very well that he is in danger of being taken before a magistrate, for I told him so, and he did not doubt me! Why, he cringed at the very word, and backed himself out of the house as fast as he could!’

Mr Beaumaris spoke at last. ‘Did you confront the sweep, Miss Tallant?’ he asked, an odd little smile flickering on his lips.

‘Certainly I did!’ she replied, her glance resting on him for an indifferent moment.

Lady Bridlington was suddenly inspired. ‘He must go to the Parish, of course! Frederick, you will know how to set about it!’

‘No, no, he must not!’ Arabella declared. ‘That would be worse than anything, for what will they do with him, do you suppose, but set him to the only trade he knows? And he is afraid of those dreadful chimneys! If it were not so far away, I would send him to Papa, but how could such a little boy go all that way alone?’

‘No, certainly not!’ said Lord Fleetwood. ‘Not to be thought of!’

‘Lord Bridlington, surely, surely you would not condemn a child to such a life as he has endured?’ Arabella begged, her hands going out in a pleading gesture. ‘You have so much!’

‘Of course he wouldn’t!’ declared Fleetwood rashly. ‘Now, come, Bridlington!’

‘But why should I?’ demanded Frederick. ‘Besides, what could I do with the brat? It is the greatest piece of nonsense I ever had to listen to!’

‘Lord Fleetwood, will you take Jemmy?’ asked Arabella, turning to him beseechingly.

His lordship was thrown into disorder. ‘Well, I don’t think – You see, ma’am – Fact of the matter is – Dash it, Lady Bridlington’s right! The Parish! That’s the thing!’

‘Unworthy, Charles!’ said Mr Beaumaris.

The much goaded Lord Bridlington rounded on him. ‘Then, if that is what you think, Beaumaris, perhaps you will take the wretched brat!’

Then it was that Mr Beaumaris, looking across the room at Arabella, all flushed cheeks and heaving bosom, astonished the company, and himself as well. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I will.’