And then two of his uncles and one of his cousins arrived together and greeted him with hearty good humor, slapping his back and pumping his hand, talking and laughing. Not surprisingly, they drew the frowning attention of other occupants of the room, who had been quietly reading their papers until now.
Uncle Quentin and Uncle James had just arrived in town, Flavian understood, with the aunts and all the cousins for whose existence they claimed responsibility. One of the latter, Cousin Desmond, Uncle James’s eldest son and heir, beamed his pleasure at seeing someone roughly his own age. Two of the other cousins, one for each uncle, were female and eighteen years old and ripe for the marriage mart, so there had been all the necessity of descending upon the capital early enough to do a mountain and a half of shopping, all of which was absolutely necessary, according to the aunts, and all of which would beggar them for the next half century or so, according to the uncles.
Flavian shepherded his relatives into the coffee room, where they could talk without drawing upon their heads the censure of the newspaper readers.
They had just heard about Flavian’s marriage, and both uncles professed themselves delighted that he was showing some sense at last, though rumor had it that he had married an unknown, a matter that could be easily remedied, of course, by making herknownwithout further ado, an endeavor in which the aunts would be only too happy to have a hand. The uncles were positively bursting with curiosity. Who was the lucky lady, eh? Eh? Or was it the groom who was the lucky one?
The uncles were twins. They spoke in tandem, the one often beginning a sentence, the other completing it, so that one’s head tended to swivel rhythmically between the two of them.
Hearty guffaws ended their latest series of questions.
Flavian relaxed into the pleasure of seeing some family members again. He explained that Agnes had been a widow living with her unmarried sister in the village close to Middlebury Park, where he had just spent three weeks with friends. He was careful to add that he had met her six months ago, so his courtship and marriage were not quite the whirlwind affair people were undoubtedly thinking.
“I say, though, Flave,” Desmond said, “there may be a spot of trouble brewing around Lady Ponsonby. I suppose you have heard?”
“Eh?” Uncle James said.
“What’s that, Des?” Uncle Quentin asked.
Flavian merely looked his inquiry.
“There was a bit of a party at Lady Merton’s last night,” Desmond said. “Bidulph and Griffin dragged me along there with them. It was a crashing bore, actually. But your wedding seemed to be big news, and a bit of a surprise to some just when the Countess of Hazeltine had come back to town. She was there too last night, though all the gossips were careful not to talk in her hearing. She is looking as fetching as ever, by the way. Have you seen her, Flave?”
“What was the s-spot of trouble?” Flavian asked.
“It seems Lady Ponsonby’s mother was not all she ought to be,” Desmond said. “Ran off with a lover, you know, and her husband—Debbins, was it?—divorced her. You need to be careful, Flave, if it is true, or even if it is not, for that matter. It is awkward enough that your wife is unknown, but if she is also seen to be not quite respectable...”
He did not complete the thought, perhaps because he saw the expression on his cousin’s face.
Who knew? Flavian scoured his mind.Who knew?They had told his mother who she was, and Marianne and Oswald too. They had named her father and her late husband. But they had not made any mention of the old scandal. He had toldno one, and he was sure Agnes had not either. No one else had even been told who her father was.
Except the Fromes. And Velma.
He could almost hear Velma asking him who Agnes was, and himself answering.
She is the daughter of a Mr. Debbins from Lancashire.
His main purpose in coming here this morning suddenly seemed of the greatest urgency. And it struck him that both uncles were of the approximate age to help with answers. Both spent as much time in London or at one of the fashionable spas as they did in their own country homes, and were always a mine of information and news and gossip. And what the uncles did not know, the aunts very well might.
“If anyone w-wishes to know if my w-wife is respectable,” he said, “he m-may address the question to m-me.”
Desmond recoiled and held up both hands, palms out.
“I am merely saying what was being whispered last night, Flave,” he said. “It was nothing much, but you know how gossip can fan the flames of the smallest fire.”
And Velma had been at last night’s party.
“Does either of you remember that divorce?” he asked his uncles. “A Debbins from Lancashire. Twenty years or so ago.”
“Divorce,” Uncle James said. “By act of Parliament, do you mean? A bit drastic, that, on the part of your father-in-law, Flavian. It would have cost a king’s ransom and been horridly public. Nasty for his children too. And she was yourmother-in-law? That’s the devil’s own luck for you, boy. I don’t recall it. Do you, Quent?”
Uncle Quentin had planted one elbow on the table and was drumming his fingernails against his teeth.
“I remember old Sainsley divorcing his wife for adultery when everyone knew it was a trumped-up charge,” he said. “She was starting to cut up nasty about his three mistresses and all the natural children he was supporting. That must have been, oh, ten, fifteen years ago. Remember, James?”
“Was it that long ago?” James asked. “Yes, I suppose it was. I remember....”
Desmond exchanged a long-faced stare with Flavian. The uncles could never be rushed.
