So Hero nerved herself to remonstrate with the ruler of her kitchen. Such was her trepidation that Mrs Groombridge eyed her with overt contempt, and answered her in a very insolent manner. This was a mistake, for her mistress had a temper. The interview then proceeded on wholly unpremeditated lines, and ended with the abrupt departure of the Groombridges from Half Moon Street. As the master of the house was holding a bachelor dinner-party there that evening, it was small wonder that Bootle, Jason, and the fat pageboy should have looked with as much dismay as respect upon their mistress. But however little Cousin Jane might have taught Hero of the ways of the world, she had unquestionably attended to the domestic side of her education. The pageboy was sent off with a note from my Lady Sheringham to my Lady Kilby, excusing herself, on the score of the headache, from attending a soirée that evening; the superior abigail abovestairs was staggered to learn that she was to assist my lady in the kitchen; Bootle bowed politely to a decree that he was to act as butler; and Hero penetrated the fastnesses of the basement regions, thereby frightening the kitchen maid so much that she dropped a dish on the stone floor, and was of very little use for the rest of the evening. However, this was not felt to signify, since Jason, recommending her to stop napping her bib, offered his services to Hero in her stead, stipulating only that his livery should be protected by a belly-cheat. As soon as the assembled company had grasped that this elegant phrase was a euphemism for an apron, the desired article of clothing was produced; and the Tiger proved himself to be extremely expert amongst the cooking pots.
It was not until dinner was nearly over that the Viscount noticed that he was being waited on by his valet. Since the party consisted of Lord Wrotham, the Honourable Ferdy Fakenham, and Mr Ringwood, he had no hesitation in demanding the reason for this departure from the normal, freely hazarding the guess that Groombridge was lying incapable on the pantry floor. Bootle, who disapproved of such unceremonious behaviour, returned a non-committal answer; but Jason, who was waiting to deliver the next course into his hands, put his head into the room and announced that both Groombridges having piked on the bean the Missus was cooking the dinner, and in bang-up style.
Upon receipt of this amazing information the whole party repaired at once to the kitchen, Sherry having the forethought to take the wine decanter along with him, and Ferdy pausing only to secrete his watch and chain in one of the vases on the dining-room mantelpiece. Hero, delightfully unconscious of dishevelled tresses, flushed cheeks, and a smut on her nose, made them welcome. They drank her health, ate up all the apricot tartlets she had prepared, sampled the contents of the jars on the big dresser, and wondered that they should never before have had the happy thought of invading a kitchen. After that they swept Hero off with them upstairs, leaving the servants to wash up the dishes. Bootle and the superior abigail exchanged speaking glances, the kitchen maid retired to indulge a mild fit of hysterics in the scullery, and Jason, seating himself at his east at the table, requested the pageboy to flick him some panam and cash. This intelligent lad, who had for months been enriching an already varied vocabulary from Jason’s store, at once complied with the request by cutting the Tiger a large slice of bread and cheese.
On the following day, Bootle, whose sense of what was due to himself would not allow of a repetition of the previous night’s performance, volunteered to find and install a respectable couple to fill the Groombridges’ places. He magically produced a cousin of his own, who, with his wife, almost immediately took possession of the kitchen. There was no noticeable diminution in the household bills, but since Mrs Bradgate grilled kidneys just as Sherry liked them, and always agreed smilingly with everything Hero said; and as Bradgate’s depredations on the cellar were too discreet to attract attention, the young couple were able to congratulate themselves on having made a change for the better.
Sherry’s more personal affairs seemed to be on the mend too, his friends Revesby and Brockenhurst having counselled him to alter his habits a little. So instead of pursuing his ill fortune at Watier’s, where they played hazard and macao for stakes varying from ten shillings to two hundred pounds, he began to patronize a snug little establishment in Pall Mall, which was presided over by a charming female of considerable address, and where rouge et noir and roulette were extensively played. Sherry passed several successful evenings in this house, and began to nourish the hope that he would soon find himself up in the stirrups again. His uncle, hearing of this new departure, cast up his eyes, and said he washed his hands of the boy.
Others besides Prosper Verelst and Mr Stoke regarded Sherry’s gaming excesses with disfavour. Ferdy Fakenham, dining at Limmer’s Hotel with his brother and Mr Ringwood, actually said that something ought to be done about it, adding hopefully that he thought it might answer tolerably well if Gil spoke to Sherry. Mr Ringwood declined this office with great firmness, saying that he was not Sherry’s cousin.
“George might drop him a hint,” said Ferdy dubiously. “I wouldn’t set any store by what George said myself, but Sherry might.”
“Where is George?” asked the Honourable Marmaduke. “Thought he was dining with us tonight?”
Ferdy sighed. “No. He’s gone off to the Cowpers’ ball. Poor fellow! Don’t like to tell him, but the odds are shortening at the clubs: the time was when you could get tens anywhere against Severn’s coming up to scratch, but no one’s offering better than evens now, and I shouldn’t be at all surprised if before long it’s odds on.”
“Ah!” said Marmaduke profoundly. “What are the odds against the Milborne’s accepting him, though?”
Ferdy stared at him. “Wouldn’t find a taker, Duke.”
“Wouldn’t I, my tulip?” retorted his sapient brother. “Let me tell you that that fellow, Revesby, is a good deal fancied by the knowing ones. They say he’s been making the running these last few weeks.”
“You don’t mean it!” said Ferdy, thunderstruck.
“I never liked the Incomparable above half myself,” said Mr Ringwood, “but I never heard there was any harm in the girl, and I don’t believe it. She wouldn’t have him.”
“Just the sort of rum customer females take fancies to,” said Marmaduke.
Mr Ringwood considered this, and was obliged to agree that there was much in what his friend said. “Not that I give a button whom she marries,” he said, refilling his glass. “All I say is, it’s a pity Sherry has a fancy for the fellow. Got my reasons for thinking he’s badly dipped. Bad enough when he’s full of frisk; devilish dangerous when he’s aground. Wonder if that’s why he’s throwing his handkerchief towards the Incomparable?”
“You know Mrs Capel’s place in Pall Mall?” asked Ferdy.