The Country Gentleman (32 page)

She was rather surprised, late on the evening of the twenty-ninth, when Maria peeped into her sitting-room and announced her intention of travelling to Northwich alone on the following day. “I shan’t be long,” she went on. “The coach passes through Faulding Chase early in the morning and returns me there before five. Well, good night, dear. I only wished to let you know.”

“But why are you going?” asked Anne, sitting up. She had been stretched out rather luxuriously on a chaise-longue reading Pope.

Airily, “Oh, merely a little business,” Maria told her, and again started to close the door.

“Come in here properly,” Anne instructed, straightening fully and setting her book down on a small cherrywood table. “What business have you, little sparrow?” she demanded suspiciously.

Maria darkened and waved a vague hand. “Some affairs to do with the Army,” she feebly murmured. Reluctantly, she edged in from the doorway, still leaving the door ajar behind her.

“Indeed? I shall go with you,” Anne declared.

“No, no! That is— You would not like it. I shall need
to wake up at seven to be ready. That would not suit you.”

“Hm. That’s true enough. But what is this talk of ‘business’? You are not looking at lodgings to let, I hope? Northwich would be much too far away.”

Maria raised her right hand. “I swear I will never take lodgings in Northwich,” she said.

“Solemnly?”

“Very solemnly.”

Anne considered. “Well then,” she replied, relenting, “if you really feel you must go…”

“I do.”

“Then be off with you. But mind you be careful. And—what do you mean by travelling alone? Take Lizzie with you, at least.”

Mrs. Insel laughed. “I am hardly ‘travelling’!” she exclaimed, smiling. “Only to Northwich and home.” She backed out of the door, still smiling. “Next you will send a footman with me when I drive over to see Mrs. Ross. Good night.” Gently and firmly she shut the door.

Early the next morning—not quite so early as she had led Anne to believe, but still early—Mr. Highet drove Mrs. Insel to Faulding Chase and handed her into a coach standing before the Red Lion.

“You are quite sure you don’t mind going?” he asked her scrupulously, for perhaps the fourth time.

“Not at all,” said Mrs. Insel, who would have been very happy (in view of his kindness to her) to undertake any thing Mr. Highet wanted, but was particularly so since he had asked her to carry out such a cheerful mission as this.

“Never mind about the cost,” he told her.

“I understand.”

“Anything you think— Well, you know,” he finished; and this was certainly true, since he had given her his instructions some half-dozen times already.

Maria smiled and suggested he go home, since the coach would not leave for some twenty minutes and he could be of no use to her here.

“If you don’t mind,” he answered with unexpected alacrity, “I believe I will. One of my cows…”

He did not complete the sentence but rather, apologetically but hastily, backed away and climbed up into his curricle, thanking her all the while and wishing her luck. His uncharacteristic abruptness startled Maria. It made her wonder whether the drive into Faulding Chase had inconvenienced him after all, though he had sworn it would not. She speculated idly upon this mildly interesting idea, and others, for some minutes, while she was joined in the coach by a man she believed to be Lord Crombie’s estate steward, and while the wife of one of Mr. Highet’s farmers climbed up to ride on the roof. But she quite forgot the matter a few moments later, for a blond head and a pair of thin shoulders thrust themselves into the coach. The last passenger had appeared to claim his seat.

That passenger was Mr. Mallinger.

Like a trapped hare, Maria shrank back as far as the worn squabs of the carriage would allow. What must be Mr. Mallinger’s opinion of a woman who first forbade him to come near her, then showered smiles upon him? This was the question that made her long to disappear, to bolt from the carriage through the opposite door, or sink through the floorboards. The schoolmaster too checked the instant he caught sight of her, and was (she thought)
on the point of withdrawing when the stout coachman came suddenly up behind him to collect his shillings and sent Mr. Mallinger tumbling to the seat opposite her own. The coins produced, the man noisily shut the doors. An instant later the carriage swayed as the man sprang to his box; a moment more and they were on their way.

The late arrival nodded tremblingly to the gentleman seated next him, wished him a good morning, and asked how my Lord Crombie did. He was wished a civil good morning in his turn and informed that his lordship did pretty well before he had the courage to look again at Mrs. Insel. When he did, it would be hard to imagine a more nerve-ridden good morning than the one he received for his pains. Chagrined even in his extremity at the thought that he—he!—should cause her uneasinesss, he returned an equally shaken salutation and waited many minutes before he dared ask what her destination was today.

“Northwich,” she replied, greatly relieved to be asked, for it meant she could inquire in her turn, “And you, sir?”

“Northwich also,” said he, and went a little pale.

This paltry interchange—barely a conversation at all, by most standards—was all these two well-educated people could manage before the coach stopped in Tedding Minor. Here, to their several horrors, Lord Crombie’s steward Mr. Booth made his adieux and descended. This unlucky turn of events was followed by one even more appalling: No one else got in. Maria, realizing this, was on the point of suggesting they invite the farmer’s wife on the roof to join them inside when the coach again lurched forward and it was too late.

Alone in a coach with Mr. Mallinger! What must she do? Northwich was two hours off if not more, and there were no other stops before it. Finally,

“Would you like me to rap for the driver, Mrs. Insel?” Mr. Mallinger offered. “I can travel outside, or perhaps even upon the box.”

“No, no!” What an idea—Mr. Mallinger out in the cold for her sake!

“It is nothing to me,” he pursued. “Indeed, I generally do travel outside. It is only because I am on an errand for Mr. Highet that I have a seat within.”

To his surprise, “On an errand for Mr. Highet?” she echoed. “How curious. I also am on such a commission.”

“For Mr. Highet, do you mean?”

“Exactly.”

“Goodness me!”

Much struck, both parties sat back in the jolting carriage and contemplated this coincidence in silence some while. Then,

“May I ask—” Mrs. Insel commenced, and stopped. She resumed presently, “Has your errand any thing to do with jewellery, I wonder?”

“Not at all. I am to inspect the books in a certain shop there, with an eye to getting hold of several new ones Mr. Highet hopes to buy.”

“Indeed? I wonder— That is, it does seem odd he did not buy them himself, since he was so lately in London. Does not it?”

“Rather odd. And also that he did not mention…” Mr. Mallinger paused musingly before going on, “But I dareswear he did not know exactly which day you would be going?”

“To Northwich, do you mean? On the contrary, he bought my ticket.”

“He bought mine!” Mr. Mallinger exclaimed.

“Then it does seem very curious indeed—”

“One would certainly imagine he would have mentioned—”

Neither found it necessary to complete these sentences. Mr. Highet was not a garrulous man, but the circumstance of his having asked two different people to perform two different errands for him on the same day in Northwich, and bought their tickets for the purpose—yet never mentioned to either that the other would be on the coach—certainly had a highly suspicious appearance. Presently,

“I gather from your question that your business does have to do with jewellery?” Mr. Mallinger suggested, then hastened to add, “Of course, if it is confidential—”

“No, not at all. I am sure you can keep a secret from Mrs. Highet. I am to buy her a pair of ear-drops, the nicest pair I see. It is a New Year’s gift.”

“Indeed? When you say Mrs. Highet, you mean Mrs. Highet—”

“The younger. Anne Highet.”

Mr. Mallinger nodded. His intelligent blue eyes, at first barely flickering over her, dared to rest on his beloved longer and longer as this discussion progressed. Now he looked at her quite steadily and asked, “I wonder, then, when he formed this intention? For unless it is of a very recent date, one would have thought that purchase, too, could have been better made in London.”

“Yes.” Slowly, “To be frank,” Maria said, “I thought about that when he asked me. Only—he has been so extremely kind to me, in—in many ways.” She hurried on, for though it was easy—so easy—to confide in Mr. Mallinger, he must never know of Mr. Highet’s principal act of kindness to her. And yet, what a pleasure it was, how natural, to share with him even these few words. “Had he
asked me a much more peculiar favour, I would still not have questioned him,” she finished.

“He is a kind man.”

“Oh, very! I do think Anne—Mrs. Highet—is so fortunate in her husband.”

“Yes, very,” Mr. Mallinger agreed, rather wistfully, and fell silent. He had wished—he had hoped—he would gladly have made Mrs. Insel just as fortunate, perhaps…He fell into a brown study.

Mrs. Insel meanwhile plunged into a fury of swift, strenuous thought. It was clear to her by now that Mr. Highet had deliberately contrived for her to meet Mr. Mallinger in this coach. Why should he have done this? Because he guessed—who knew how?—an attachment existed between them. Because he knew (she blushed even to think it) John Insel had impeded that attachment—and John Insel was no more. Tacitly, then, Mr. Highet countenanced a
rapprochement
between herself and Mr. Mallinger! Encouraged, even arranged it!

Maria drew a deep breath. If the honourable, admirable Mr. Highet saw no shame in it, surely there was none? And surely (even the modest Mrs. Insel could see this) Mr. Mallinger’s wishes had not changed? Yet…after all she had said to him, how could she let him know hers had?

She would need to be very bold indeed. Reminding herself her happiness—their happiness—hung in the balance, Mrs. Insel plucked up all her courage (not so inconsiderable, as witness her flight alone from Canada) and squeaked, barely audibly,

“Mr. Mallinger?”

Mr. Mallinger looked up. A painful shyness showed in
the little face opposite to his, and a great effort sounded in her voice as she said, almost unbelievably,

“If you mean to lunch in Northwich…That is, I hope to visit the jeweller and conclude my business fairly quickly.” “Bold, bold, bold!” Maria reminded herself, swallowing hard. She went on, “Then I shall take a nuncheon at the posting house before coming home. If you care to join me…” Her temerity exhausted, she left the sentence as it was and devoted her energies to clenching her hands in her lap.

Scarcely able to credit his ears, “I should be delighted,” the schoolmaster answered, his long cheeks going pink with pleasure. “Extremely.”

She smiled up at him, then turned at once to stare intently out the window (thinking jubilantly, “I did it!”) while Mr. Mallinger studied her chiselled profile and wondered how long he could bear to wait before asking her to marry him again.

As it happened, the answer was about four hours. He soon interrupted her scrutiny of the landscape to initiate some easy conversation. By the time they reached Northwich, relations between the two were so cordial as to be almost what they were before he offered for her the first time. He could hardly bear to part with her long enough to visit the book-seller (and even as it was did such a hasty job there that he returned with a book called
Some Principles of Hydrophobia
instead of the desired
Principles of Hydrostatics
). The moment he could, he returned to the posting house, where he ordered wine and orgeat and an extraordinarily lavish collation to be set out. When Mrs. Insel returned, the two of them applied themselves to it; but with so little real interest and to so little effect that it
later furnished the boots and the two upstairs maids with one of the nicest dinners they could remember. After this he admired the chosen ear-drops (the books were tied in a parcel and so could not be examined) and commended her upon her elegant taste.

“Indeed,” he went on (they were alone in the coffee-room), “if Mrs. Highet is fortunate in her husband, she is at least so much so in her friend.”

Mrs. Insel blushed and looked down.

“But you already know my opinion on that head,” he continued, with a heart that beat like the tail of a happy spaniel.

Mrs. Insel glanced up and away in just such a manner as to suggest that, while it was perhaps true that she already knew his opinion, she was not averse to hearing it again.

“To me—” Mr. Mallinger paused and fortified himself with a sip of wine. “To me you far outshine the other members of your gender,” he managed to declare.

She did not interrupt him.

“To me—” Another pause, another swallow of the strengthening liquor. “To me, a person who can count you his friend—or hers—is the most fortunate mortal on earth.”

Still no interruption! Then it was true, her feelings had changed? Spurring himself with the last ounce in the glass, Mr. Mallinger set out to know for certain.

“Mrs. Insel, some time ago you strictly adjured me…” His voice failed. He wet his lips, ran his long fingers through his lank blond hair and began again. “Some months ago you flatly forbade me to think—to visit—to renew—” He floundered and was saved from his helpless sputtering only by her suddenly coming to life
(for she had been frozen in an attitude half terrified, half hopeful) with the words, uttered very low,

“Dear sir, I beg you will forget what I said that day.” Her pulses pounded, but she reminded herself that if she ever wished to be happy, she must profit by this moment. “You will think me mad, I fear, but at least…I had a reason then; and yet…Pray believe I was mad then, not now.” She relapsed into trembling silence, once more at the end of her courage.

This speech, this unlooked for balm, this—virtual—promise had the effect of driving Mr. Mallinger even further into sputtering confusion. Still, after he had brought forth a certain number of “Then I may hope—?”s and “Do I understand you to say—?”s, he did succeed (inelegantly but coherently) in asking her once more for her hand in marriage.