Sir Philip's Folly (The Poor Relation Series Book 4) Read Online Free PDF

Denby would favour you. First things first. Ah, I have it. Miss Tonks, you were saying the other day that you wished to have your hair arranged by Monsieur André.”
    Miss Tonks nodded.
    “Perhaps if you could wait a little longer. We could summon Monsieur André, making the appointment for mid-afternoon, when Lady Carruthers is out on calls or in the Park. We get him to give Miss Carruthers a fashionable crop—”
    “All that beautiful hair!” exclaimed the colonel. “Why not just get it put up?”
    “Because put-up hair can be taken down again. We explain that Monsieur André made a terrible mistake and should have done Miss Tonks’ hair instead. Lady Carruthers will be furious, but we will ask why she is so angry that her daughter’s hair has received such an expensive crop and at the hotel’s expense. The lady can hardly say it is because she wishes to appear young herself that she keeps her daughter looking as if she had just come out of the schoolroom.”
    “I saw the earl this morning,” said Arabella miserably. “I was chasing a ball which a child had thrown. I ran down the stairs to get it. He picked it up and he… he ruffled my hair.”
    “Oh, dear,” said Lady Fortescue. “I think we will send Jack with an order to Monsieur André, but first, Miss Carruthers, you must make sure he calls—or rather, that we arrange for him to call—when Lady Carruthers is guaranteed to be out of the hotel.”
    “I will look at her cards,” said Arabella eagerly. “I think she is to attend the Pattersons’ ball tomorrow night.”
    “I doubt if such a famous personage as Monsieur André can come at such short notice,” remarked Lady Fortescue, “but we can try.”
    The colonel got to his feet. “I will go to John’s Coffee-House. If I find a suitable actor, I will bring him back here directly.”
    “No, Sir Philip might see him. Arrange for him to call after dinner, when Sir Philip will have retired with his slut.”
    ***
    The colonel walked to Covent Garden, to Drury Lane. Although not a vain man, he could not help stopping to admire his appearance in a looking-glass in a shop window. He looked so different from the shabby individual who had collapsed from hunger at Lady Fortescue’s feet in Hyde Park. His morning dress of corbeau-coloured coat, striped waistcoat, buff breeches and glistening top-boots had restored his outward appearance to that of a gentleman of fashion. But he could not help wishing he were actually a gentleman again instead of a man in trade. He gave a little sigh and went on his way, his cane tucked under his arm at just the right angle, his new beaver hat tipped rakishly over his pomaded white hair.
    When he reached the coffee-house, he hesitated in the doorway, suddenly made timid by the company. Some had come from rehearsals and were highly painted. All appeared to be gesticulating and talking at the tops of their voices. Some brandished tattered scripts.
    His blue eyes ranged from one face to another and at last came to rest on the disconsolate figure of a slight middle-aged man who was sitting alone in a corner. He had a thin, sad face and liquid brown eyes and thick brown hair dusted with grey. His clothes were shabby and his shirt-points were frayed.
    The colonel made his way over to this individual’s table. “May I sit here, sir?” he asked.
    “By all means.” His voice reassured the colonel, who felt it was an actor’s voice, the vowels well-rounded, the tone mellifluous.
    The colonel ordered a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Forgive the liberty, sir,” he said, addressing the actor. “I do not care to drink alone. Will you join me?”
    “Gladly. I am Jason Davy.”
    “Player?”
    “Yes, indeed.”
    “I am Colonel Sandhurst, at your service.”
    “And what is Colonel Sandhurst doing in a players’ coffee-house?”
    “Mr. Davy, I am looking for an out-of-work and hungry actor.”
    Mr. Davy looked at him ruefully. “I am out of work and very hungry.”
    The