Mr American. George Fraser MacDonald

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СКАЧАТЬ a weight of gloom which caused Mrs Keppel to raise her eyebrows; to Mr Franklin’s surprise she offered her arm to him, and he found himself pacing behind the King with the King’s mistress for his escort, while she enthused again about his gift of spurs. She had, in fact, been rather sorry for Mr Franklin, cut off and presumably out of his depth during the royal sulk, and exerted herself to put him at his ease – and the effect of Alice Keppel, when she set herself to charm, was such that Mr Franklin took his seat at dinner feeling quite ashamed at himself for allowing old Davis’s lewd thoughts to run through his mind.

      Dinner, to his relief, was far less of an ordeal than he had expected. It was served at an enormous round table in what even Mr Franklin recognized as being a rather shabby dining-room; with frontier insight he guessed that the silver and crockery had probably been hired from Norwich or even London for the occasion; it was rather too splendid for its surroundings. He was seated about halfway round from the King, who was flanked by Mrs Keppel and another lady; Peggy, as hostess, sat approximately opposite the royal chair, next to Mr Franklin. To his surprise, she exhibited none of the nervousness that he would have expected; her slight disorder immediately before dinner, she explained to him sotto voce over the soup, had been the result of what she described as a flaming row with that bloody cook, and the bitch could pack her traps in the morning. Mr Franklin considered this gravely, and remarked that the soup was extremely good.

      “D’you think so? Well, I’m glad someone’s pleased. Frankly, I don’t give a damn if the whole meal’s inedible.” Peggy sipped at her spoon and leaned forward, smiling brightly, to answer Lord Arlesdon, seated farther round the table. “I mean, it’s all just too horrid-ino for words, isn’t it?” she went on to Mr Franklin. “Why did he have to come here for the night, when he could have stayed with the Albemarles, or at Elveden? It would have been bad enough, even if Mummy had still been alive, but as it is … well, I’m not up to playing mother-hen, and I don’t care who knows it.” She laid down her spoon and pulled a face. “Poor old Daddy – how he’s suffering!”

      Sir Charles was certainly showing signs of strain, Mr Franklin reflected. He was sitting beside Mrs Keppel, smiling mechanically as she talked, but every few seconds his eye would stray towards the King, who had finished his soup and was studying the empty plate with deep melancholy, crumbling a roll. Sir Charles bit his lip and turned back to Mrs Keppel, but by now she was talking to a slight, vacant-looking man across the table.

      “That’s Jinks Smith, the royal whipping-boy,” murmured Peggy in answer to Mr Franklin’s inquiry. “And beside father is Lady Topping, and then Lord Arlesdon, who’ll be a duke some day and is supposed to be a prize catch, and then that distinguished American – what’s his name? Franklin, of course – and then Miss Peggy Clayton, who is going mad trying to catch the butler’s eye – oh thank goodness he’s noticed, so with any luck we’ll get the pâté before midnight. Then the Marquis de Soveral you know, and Halford, who’s the King’s equerry, and Mrs Jensen, and Ponsonby, and Smith and Viscountess Dalston. Cosy, isn’t it? The seating is all wrong – that’ll be another fault, no doubt – far too few ladies, and several distinguished gentlemen are not dining – do you know why? Simply because there isn’t room – so the Honourable George Keppel for one isn’t here, nor Lord Dalston, and if it weren’t for Daddy’s sake I wouldn’t be either. It … it makes one feel so small – knowing that things aren’t up to scratch, and that Halford and Ponsonby will be looking at each other later and sighing ever so wearily.” Peggy stabbed moodily at her pâté as though it, too, had sighed. “Arthur’s well out of it – lucky dog. He and the others will be having a jolly good time in the nursery.” She sighed. “Oh, who cares?”

      Mr Franklin was not certain whether to take these confidences as a compliment or not; he guessed she would have gone to the stake rather than make them to one of her English acquaintances, but presumably he, not being of that charmed circle, and therefore unimportant, was a suitable recipient. But he could guess that for all her pretended indifference, the strain of preparing for the King’s visit, of minor crises about ginger biscuits and ptarmigan, of anxiety about being thought “not up to scratch”, of imagining arch looks and raised eyebrows, must be considerable even on this self-confident young beauty; it all mattered, in her world.

      “I’m sorry your brother isn’t here,” he said. “Perhaps I’ll see him later on, though?”

      Peggy giggled. “He’ll probably want to fight you again, if you do. I think he was awfully disappointed that you wouldn’t square up to him this afternoon.”

      “I can imagine. And I’d guess he’s a pretty useful scrapper, too.”

      “Oh, he was Universities Heavy-weight Champion – before he went to Sandhurst.” She smiled mischievously. “So perhaps it’s just as well you didn’t take him on.”

      But Mr Franklin was not to be drawn. “Yes, just as well, I guess. For one thing, he seems like a nice fellow. And I make it a rule never to fight a nice fellow in front of his sister.”

      “Why ever not?”

      “Well, if he beats you, she won’t admire you – and if you beat him, she won’t like you.”

      But Peggy was not to be drawn either. She smiled and sipped her white wine. “I take it your rule applies only with brothers and sisters. If it had been Frank Lacy?”

      “Who? Oh, ‘milord”, the polite one. No, I guess I wouldn’t have minded too much if he’d become violent – for a moment this afternoon I thought he was going to.”

      “You mean you hoped he was going to. I was watching, remember – do you know, Jarvie said you looked ready to do murder?” She laughed cheerfully. “Were you?”

      “Not quite.” He glanced round the table. “Where is he, by the way? – he looked like the kind who would get fitted in somehow.”

      “Oh, he was – until the King invited you to dinner. You’re occupying his place, you know.” She eyed him with amusement. “He wasn’t very pleased, I can tell you.”

      Mr Franklin studied her thoughtfully. “No, he wouldn’t be. Would this be … his usual place?”

      “He thinks it ought to be,” said Peggy carelessly. “And what Frank thinks ought to be – well, ought to be, you know.” She shrugged. “I don’t mind in the least, I may say. Do him good to have his nose out of joint for a change – Frank thinks he owns the earth, as well as half the county.”

      “I see.” Mr Franklin nodded pensively, and found himself glancing across at Sir Charles. “Not two beans to rub together,” Thornhill had said, and it was confirmed by what he had seen. Good-looking daughter, wealthy young landowner showing interest – uh-huh. No wonder Sir Charles’s enforced invitation had been chilly. But his daughter didn’t seem to mind; Mr Franklin imagined that she was not the kind to be a dutiful child unless it suited her, or that she would find a nature like Lord Lacy’s to be entirely to her taste. He turned to look at her; she was catching the butler’s eye, and fish was coming to replace the pâté. She met Mr Franklin’s look and sighed.

      “Let us pray for the success of poached salmon,” she said solemnly. “Cook wanted trout, but I overruled her, and it would be just like her to ruin it. Oh, well, if Kingie doesn’t like it, he doesn’t like it, and that’s that.”

      Mr Franklin considered his fish, and took a sip of his wine. “You don’t care for entertaining too much?”

      “Not this sort – well, who would? It’s like having a particularly bad-tempered baby on one’s hands. Oh, I know he can be jolly enough, but he sulks so much, and shows how bored he is, СКАЧАТЬ