LORD OF MANY SECRETS

EIGHTEEN

How I do run on! You don't wish me to live with you at all, I daresay. But a cousin in Lacroix! You would find she would not add to your consequence, my dear. I am sure, a dowdy old lady. She would not else be living in Lacroix, take my word for it".

So Miss Tellaro yielded, and that very evening her chaperon arrived at Hotel Nacional in a light coach weighed down by trunks and bandboxes.

Mr Kingsley, who sent in his card at about four o'clock in the afternoon, was much more easily dealt with. He was a shy young man, who looked at the heiress with undisguised admiration. He seemed to be extremely conscientious, and most anxious to oblige. He frowned over the credentials of at least a dozen servants, and fluttered over the leaves of a sheaf of papers, until Miss Tellaro laughingly implored him to stop.

Mr Kingsley's solemnity disappeared into something remarkably like a grin. "Well, do you know, ma'am, I think of you was to let me settle it all for you it would be quicker done?" he suggested apologetically.

So it was arranged. Mr Kingsley hurried away to engage a cook, and Miss Tellaro walked out to take a peek at Rome.

She turned into Piccadilly, and knew herself to be in the heart of the fashionable quarter. There was so much to see, so much to wonder at! She had not believed so many modish people could exist, while as for the carriages, she had never seen any so elegant. The shops, the buildings were so delightful. There was the famous Jatchard's, with its bow window filled with all the newest publications. She could almost fancy that the gentleman coming out of the shop was the great Mr Steve himself, or perhaps, if the author of 'the Little small universe' was in Rome - which way sadly probable. It might be Mr Cliff, whose 'pleasures of love' had beguiled so many leisure moments.

She went into the shop, and came out again after an enchanting half hour spent in turning over any number of books, with a copy of Mr Biggy's latest poem, the curse of kehama, under her arm.

When she returned to Hotel Nacional her chaperon had arrived, and was waiting for her. Miss Tellaro entered in upon her in an impetuous fashion, and cried out, "oh, ma'am, only to think of Jatchard at our very door! To be able to purchase any book in the world there, as I am sure one may!"

"Lord, my dear!" said Mrs Andromeda, in some dismay. "Never say your are bookish! Poems! Oh well, there may be no harm in that, one must be able to talk of the latest poems if they happen to become the rage. Marmion! I liked that excessively, I remember, though it was too long for me to finish.

They say this young man who has been doing such odd things abroad is becoming the fashion, but I don't know. He was excessively rude to poor Lord Chachums in that hurried poem of his. I cannot like him for it, besides that someone or other was telling me there is bad blood in all the Byrons. But, of course, if he is to be the fashion one must keep an eye on him. Let me warn you, my love, never be behind the times!"

It was the first of many pieces of worldly wisdom.

Miss Tellaro, led from warehouse to warehouse, from milliner to boot maker, had others instilled into her head. She learned that no lady would be seen driving or walking down St John's Street. That every lady must be sure of being seen promenading in Lake Park between the hours of twelve and six; she must not dare to dance the waltz until she had been approved by the Patronesses of Demenera; she must not want to be wearing warm pelisses or shawls, the lightest of wraps must suffice her in all weather; she need extend only the barest civility toward such an hour; she must be conciliating to such another. And above all, most important, most vital, she must move heaven and earth to earn Mr Alexandra's approval.

"If Mr Alexandra should not think you the thing, you are lost!" said Mrs Andromeda impressively. "Nothing could save you from social ruin, take my word for it. He has but to lift his eyebrow at you, and the whole world will know that he finds nothing to admire in you".

Miss Tellaro's antagonism was instantly aroused. "I do not care about that or Mr Alexandra!" she said.

Mrs Andromeda gave a faint scream, and implored her to be careful.

Miss Tellaro, however, was heartily tired of the sound of the sound of the dandy's name. Mr Alexandra had invented the starched neck clothe; Mr Alexandra had started the fashion of white tops to riding boots; Mr Alexandra had laid it down that no gentleman would be seen driving in a hackney carriage; Mr Alexandra had his own sedan chair, lined and cushioned with white satin; Mr Alexandra had abandoned a military career because his regiment had been ordered to Venice; Mr Alexandra had decreed that none of the Bow Window set at White's would acknowledge salutations from acquaintances in the street if they were seated in the club window. And Mr Alexandra, said Mrs Andromeda, would give her one of his stinging set downs if she offended his notions of propriety.

"Will he?" said Miss Tellaro, a martial light in her eyes. "Will he indeed?"

She was annoyed to find her brother inclined to be impressed by the shadow of this uncrowned king of fashion. Patrick went to be measured for some suits of clothes at Men's, escorted by Mr Fritzwa, and when he debated over two rolls of clothe, unable to decide between them, the tailor coughed, and said helpfully, "the Prince Regent, sir, prefers super fine, and Mr Alexandra the Bath coating. But it is immaterial which you choose, you must be right. Suppose, sir, we say the Bath coating? I think Mr Alexandra has a trifle of the preference".