Free A Strange Likeness by Paula Marshall Page A

Alan later learned, Eleanor’s aunt by marriage, having been the wife of her father’s younger brother John, who had died in a drunken prank involving a curricle, two ladies of easy virtue and half a dozen equally overset friends. As if this was not bad enough he had done so on the day his wife was giving birth to their only child, known to all and sundry as Beastly Beverley.
    He had been taken up dead after trying to manoeuvre through the gateway of Hatton House, off Piccadilly, when he could barely stand, never mind drive.
    Henrietta had mourned her faithless husband as though he had been the most sober and loving of men. She had transferred her unthinking love to their son, with the result that the child, naturally headstrong, was rapidly transformed into something of a monster.
    Although only eleven years old, he was already obese through self-indulgence, and had been informed by Almeria Stanton that he would not be allowed to sit down to dinner as he could not be trusted to behave himself. She had given way, regretfully, to his fond mother’s insistence that he might be allowed in the drawing room before it was served, so that he could meet the guests.
    Beastly Beverley, living up to his name, walked up to Alan and thrust his scarlet face at him. Before he could speak Alan forestalled him by putting out his hand, taking Beverley’s flaccid one, and saying gravely as he shook it, ‘Hello, old chap. I’m Alan Dilhorne. Pray who are you?’
    Beverley wrenched his hand away. ‘So you’re Ned’s convict look-alike. Where are your funny clothes? Ned said that you had funny clothes.’
    He began to laugh loudly, pointing at Ned and choking out, ‘Got it wrong again, Ned, didn’t you? No funny clothes.’
    Charles, sitting quiet and obedient by Mr Dudley, plainly did not know whether to laugh or to cry at this exhibition. Almeria Stanton shuddered. His mother said weakly, ‘Oh, Beverley, do try to be more polite.’
    Beverley, who made a point of never listening to a word his mother said, opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could do so Alan said gravely, ‘Ned kindly introduced me to his tailor. Sorry to disappoint you.’
    For once his already famous charm did not work. Beverley gave a shriek of laughter in order to demonstrate that nothing would be allowed to put him down.
    â€˜Oh, I’m not disappointed. I never expect anything from convicts.’
    At this Almeria Stanton said in her most severe voice, ‘Behave yourself, Master Beverley Hatton.’
    Beverley’s response was to put his tongue out at her and shout, ‘Shan’t,’ before retreating behind his mother.
    She said nervously, ‘Beverley always behaves well—unless, of course, someone provokes him.’
    Presumably I provoked him when I came in fashionable clothing, thought Alan wryly.
    Rational conversation proved impossible in Beverley’spresence, until Almeria said to Mrs Hatton in her coolest voice, ‘I think that, after all, it would be best, Henrietta dear, if you took Beverley to his room before our other guests arrive.’
    This was only accomplished after a great deal of screaming and crying, and some reproaches from Mrs Hatton to her aunt concerning her disregard for poor Beverley’s feelings.
    The sense of relief at his departure was immense. The only sad thing was that in response to Hetta Hatton’s demands for fairness, Charles and his tutor were asked to leave also. This was particularly hard on poor Mr Dudley, who had been looking forward to a good dinner and would now be reduced to dining on schoolroom fare again.
    Sanity ruled at last. The Loring party and Sir Richard and his wife arrived to find a composed family ready to introduce them to the young Australian who was the subject of society’s latest gossip.
    â€˜Yes,’ Sir Richard said, shaking Alan’s hand, ‘you are like Ned—but there is an odd