The Nonesuch (25 page)

She walked up the avenue, keeping to the carriageway by instinct rather than by sight, her eyes looking blindly ahead; and the empty basket weighing heavily on her arm. Her thoughts were chaotic; before she could attempt to marshal them into even the semblance of order some period of quiet and solitude would be necessary to enable her to recover from the shock of Lindeth’s artless disclosure.

Mercifully, it was granted to her. When she entered the house, it was wrapped in an unusual silence. Tiffany and Courtenay had not returned from their ride; and the servants, all sweeping and dusting finished, were in their own quarters. No one observed her return, and no one disturbed her when she reached the refuge of her bedchamber. She untied the strings of her bonnet, and mechanically smoothed them, before restoring the bonnet to the shelf in her wardrobe. As she turned away she became aware of the trembling of her limbs, and sat down limply, resting her elbows on the dressing-table before her, and sinking her head between her hands. She had not known that shock could affect one in a manner unpleasantly reminiscent of a feverish illness she had suffered years before.

It was long before she could compel her brain to consider rather than to remember. It might be useless to recall everything the Nonesuch had said to her, everything he had done, but there was no helping it. So many of his words had assumed a new significance! He had had a
certain proposition
to lay before her; and
every intention of making a clean breast of the matter
to her; he had known that he would fall under the displeasure of his neighbours, but had fancied that her voice would not swell the chorus of disapproval, because she had
too liberal a mind.
She wondered, in the detachment of despair, what she could have said or done to imbue him, and Lindeth too, with so false an estimate of her character.

The first impulse of her mind had been to reject as incredible the disclosure that Sir Waldo was a hardened libertine; and even when she grew calmer, and was able to think rather than to feel, there still persisted in her brain, beyond reason, the conviction that it could not be true. Had anyone but Lindeth told her that Sir Waldo had fathered nameless children she would not have lent the tale a moment’s belief. But Lindeth would never slander his cousin, and what he said could not be scornfully dismissed. She had been amazed that he should speak so lightly of the matter, for she could not doubt that he was himself a young man of principle. Then she thought of what Mrs Chartley had said to her, and realized what strong support her warning gave to Lindeth’s words. It was rather dreadful to know that so strict and upright a woman could condone what she had called ‘adventures’. She knew the truth, but she plainly thought little the worse of Sir Waldo. She had uttered her warning not to prevent a marriage, but in the fear that no offer of marriage would be made. She might, like Mrs Mickleby, be scandalized by the arrival in the neighbourhood of Sir Waldo’s bastards, but she did not consider them a bar to his marriage with a young woman who was far removed from the wantons with whom he had enjoyed his
adventures.
This attitude of mind would have seemed as incredible to Ancilla as all the rest if she had come to Staples straight from her home, where loose conduct was regarded with abhorrence; but Ancilla had spent some months in London, and she had learnt that in fashionable circles promiscuous conduct was regarded by many with amusement, not with horror. The most surprising people talked openly of the latest
crim. cons.
,
and still more surprising were the several haughty ladies of high position who were known to have foisted other men’s children on to their husbands. Provided one was discreet in that exclusive world, one might take as many lovers as one chose, and still maintain an accepted respectability. The only unforgiveable crime was to cause a scandal. As for the gentlemen, few people thought the worse of them for rakishness. Even Lady Trent, quite as virtuous as Mrs Chartley, could survey, critically, but without disgust, some Drury Lane vestal well-known to be the latest mistress of a gentleman whom she would entertain in her house that very evening with the greatest cordiality.

But Miss Trent had not been reared in this accommodating morality. She was as much revolted by a libertine as by a prostitute, and she would as soon have contemplated becoming such a man’s mistress as his wife.

By the time Tiffany returned to Staples, Miss Trent had regained sufficient command over herself to be able to meet her with at least the semblance of composure. There was a stricken look in her eyes, but Tiffany, very full of her own concerns, did not notice it. She was in sparkling good-humour, for on their way home she and Courtenay had met Lady Colebatch and Lizzie, tooling along the road to the village in a dowdy landaulette. ‘And Lady Colebatch asked us if we cared to dine at Colby Place this evening – just Courtenay and me! It is not a party – only the Mickleby girls and Arthur, and Jack Banningham! So I may, Ancilla, mayn’t I? Oh, she said she would be glad to see you, if you liked to go with us! But I daresay you won’t, for all we mean to do is to play games, and there won’t be any
strangers
there, so there
can’t
be any objection to my going without you! Now, can there?’

‘No, none, if Courtenay goes with you.’

‘
Dear
Ancilla!’ Tiffany said, embracing her. ‘Shall you accompany us? You
need
not, you know!’

‘Then I won’t,’ said Miss Trent, faintly smiling.

Courtenay, who had entered the room in Tiffany’s wake, cried out at this. Miss Trent pleaded a headache; which made Tiffany say instantly: ‘I thought you were not looking quite the thing!
Poor
Ancilla! You will be glad of a quiet evening, I daresay: you should go to bed, and I’ll bring some lemon peel to put on your temples!’

Miss Trent declined this; so Tiffany, all eager solicitude, offered to find the pastilles her aunt burned whenever she too had the headache; or to mix a glass of hartshorn and water for her to drink.

‘Thank you, Tiffany, no!’ said Miss Trent firmly. ‘And I don’t want a cataplasm to my feet either! You know I never quack myself!’

Tiffany was rather daunted by this; but after searching her memory for a moment, her brow puckered, she pronounced triumphantly: ‘Camphorated spirits of lavender!’ and ran out of the room, calling to old Nurse.

Miss Trent raised her brows enquiringly at Courtenay. ‘Why is she so anxious to render me bedfast? If you know of any reason, pray don’t keep it from me!’

He grinned. ‘Well, I don’t – except that Lady Colebatch said that she was going to invite Lindeth as well, and I rather fancy Tiffany means to lift her finger. So, of course, she don’t want a chaperon!’

‘Means to do
what
?’
demanded Miss Trent.

His grin broadened. ‘Lift her finger! That’s what she told me she’d do when she wanted to bring Lindeth back to heel; but for my part I think she’s mistaken her man!
She
thinks he must be in flat despair because she’s been flirting with that court card of a cousin of his, and turning a cold shoulder on him, but
I
think he don’t care a rush! In fact, – but mum for that!’

‘Mum indeed for that!’ said Miss Trent, roused to speak with unusual earnestness. ‘I do
beg
of you, –’

‘Oh, no need for that!’ declared Courtenay virtuously. ‘I told Mama I wouldn’t stir the coals, and no more I will. Unless, of course,
she
comes the ugly,’ he added, after a thoughtful pause.

Miss Trent could only hope that her charge would refrain. Her humour at the moment seemed sunny, but there was no depending upon its continuance; and although she and her cousin rarely quarrelled when they rode together, each favouring much the same neck-or-nothing style, and Courtenay admitting that with all her faults Tiffany was pluck to the backbone, at all other times they took a delight in vexing one another.

However, they presently set off together in perfect amity, in Courtenay’s phaeton, each agreeing that since the party was no dress affair this conveyance was preferable to the rather outdated carriage drawn by a pair of horses kept largely for farmwork which was the only other closed vehicle available during Mrs Underhill’s absence from home. Miss Trent, whose opinion of young Mr Underhill’s ability to drive a team was not high, noted with relief that he had only a pair harnessed to his phaeton, reflected that the moon was at the full, thus rendering it unlikely that he would drive into a ditch, and retired to grapple with her own melancholy problem.

Not the least perplexing feature of this, as she soon discovered, was her inability to think of the rake whose love-children were to be foisted cynically on to an unsuspecting society and of the delightful man whose smile haunted her dreams as one and the same person. It was in vain that she reminded herself that charm of manner must necessarily form the major part of a rake’s stock-in-trade; equally in vain that she lashed herself for having been so stupidly taken in. From this arose the horrifying realization that however tarnished in her eyes might be Sir Waldo’s image her love had not withered, as it ought to have done, but persisted strongly enough to make her feel more miserable than ever in her life before.

For on one point her resolution was fixed: there could be no question of marriage with him, even if marriage was what he had in mind, which, in the light of Lindeth’s revelations, now seemed doubtful. But when she thought it over she could not believe that he meant to offer
her a less honourable affiance. A libertine he might be, but he was no fool, and
he must be well aware that she was no female of easy virtue. She wondered why he should wish to marry her; and came to the dreary conclusion that he had probably decided that the time had come for him to marry, and hoped that by choosing a penniless nobody to be his wife he would be at liberty to continue to pursue his present way of life, while she, thankful to be so richly established, turned a blind eye to his
crim. cons.
and herself behaved with all the propriety which he would no doubt demand of the lady who bore his name.

By the time Tiffany and Courtenay returned from Colby Place her headache was no longer feigned. Only a sense of duty kept her from retiring to bed hours earlier; and she could only feel relief when Tiffany, instead of prattling about the party, yawned, shrugged up her shoulders, said that it had been abominably insipid, and that she was fagged to death. An expressive grimace from Courtenay informed Miss Trent that he had a tale to disclose; but as she felt herself to be quite incapable of dealing with Tiffany’s problems at that moment she did not stay to hear what the tale was, but went upstairs with her wayward charge.

Tiffany put in no appearance in the breakfast-parlour next morning. Her maid told Miss Trent that she was suffering from a headache: a statement interpreted by Nurse as ‘in one of her dratted miffs.’ So Courtenay, cheerfully discussing an enormous breakfast, was able to regale Miss Trent with the history of the previous night’s entertainment.

‘Lindeth wasn’t there,’ he said, cracking his second egg. ‘Told Lady Colebatch he was already engaged. Deepest regrets: all that sort of flummery!
But
,
ma’am, Patience wasn’t there either!
She
had a previous engagement too, and if you can
tell me what it could have been but Lindeth’s being invited to the Rectory, it’s more than anyone else can! Because Arthur Mickleby and his sisters were at Colby Place, and Sophy and Jack Banningham,
and
the Ashes, so where did Lindeth go if it wasn’t to the Rectory? Plain as a pikestaff! But what must Mary Mickleby do but – no, it wasn’t Mary! it was Jane Mickleby, and just the sort of thing she
would
do! – well, she said, with that silly titter of hers, that she was sure
no one
could give the least guess as to why Patience and Lindeth were both engaged on the same evening. And, if you ask
me
,
ma’am,’ concluded Courtenay, in a very fairminded spirit, ‘she didn’t say it
only
to pay off a score with Tiffany, but because she’s as cross as crabs herself that Lindeth never showed the least preference for
her
!
But, however it may have been, you should have seen Tiffany’s face!’

‘I am thankful I did not!’ responded Miss Trent.

He chuckled. ‘Ay, so you may be! Lord, what a ninnyhammer she is! It’s my belief she’d never had the least suspicion that Lindeth had a tendre for Patience – and, I must say, I felt quite
sorry
for her!’

‘That was kind of you,’ said Miss Trent politely.

‘Well, I think it was,’ owned Courtenay. ‘For I don’t like her, and never did! But she’s my cousin, after all, and I’m dashed if I wouldn’t as lief have her for a cousin as an antidote like Jane Mickleby!’ He paused, his fork spearing a vast quantity of ham, halfway to his mouth and said, in portentous accents: ‘But that wasn’t the whole!’

Miss Trent waited with a sinking heart while he masticated this Gargantuan mouthful. ‘Well?’

‘Arthur!’ he pronounced, a trifle thickly. He washed down the ham with a gulp of coffee, and handed her his cup to be replenished. ‘Mighty cool to her!’

‘Very likely. She didn’t speak of his sisters as she ought.’

‘I know that, but I’ve got a notion there was more to it than that. Seemed to me – Well, you know what cakes he, and Jack, and Greg have been making of themselves over that chit, ma’am?’

‘Yes?’

‘Seemed to me they weren’t. Don’t know why, but I daresay Jack will tell me, even if Greg don’t. Not that they were uncivil, or – or – Dashed if I know what it was! Just struck me that they weren’t any of ’em so particular in their attentions. Good thing! For,’ said Courtenay, about to dig his teeth into a muffin, ‘they were getting to be dead bores!’

Miss Trent could not share his satisfaction. Since she knew no more than he did what had happened to cause Tiffany’s local admirers to grow suddenly cold, she could only hope either that he had been mistaken, or that these ill-used gentlemen were trying a change of tactics in their attempts to attach her.

‘Was Mr Calver present?’ she asked.

‘No, but he wasn’t invited,’ replied Courtenay. ‘Sir Ralph can’t abide him: he told me so. Said he wouldn’t have any man-milliners running tame at Colby Place!’

It was in a mood of considerable foreboding that Miss Trent presently went upstairs to visit Tiffany. Never before had that turbulent beauty sustained a rebuff, and what the repercussions might be Miss Trent could only, shudderingly, guess.

She found Tiffany seated, partially clothed, at her dressing-table, while her maid, who was looking aggrieved, brushed out her lustrous black locks. Tiffany made no mention of the previous night’s party, but complained of a sleepless night, of a headache, and of unutterable boredom. ‘I want to go back to London!’ she said. ‘I hate Yorkshire! I declare I had liefer by far be with the Burfords than at Staples, which is dowdy, and slow, and horrid!’

Miss Trent did not think it worth while to remind her that the Burfords were hardly likely to be in Portland Place in the middle of July, or that they had evinced no desire to have their niece restored to them. Instead, she reminded Tiffany that she had the Ashes’ party to look forward to, and, not so very far ahead, the York Races. Tiffany disclaimed any interest in either event; so, after trying several more gambits with as little success, Miss Trent left her, hoping that one at least of her admirers would present himself at Staples that day, to restore the discontented beauty to good humour.

At the foot of the staircase she encountered Totton, who informed her that Sir Waldo had called, to enquire if any tidings had yet been received from Mrs Underhill.

‘He asked for Miss Tiffany, ma’am, but I told him Miss had the headache,’ disclosed Totton. ‘So he said if you was at home he would like to see you instead. I was just coming to find you, ma’am. Sir Waldo is in the Green Saloon.’

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell the butler to deny her, but she mastered the impulse. The interview must be faced, since she could not run away from Staples, deserting her post, as she longed to be able to do. She had made up her mind that she must be prepared to meet the Nonesuch, and to conduct herself, when she did so, with calm and dignity.

She entered the Green Saloon to find him standing by the table in the middle of the room, and glancing through the latest issue of the
Liverpool Mercury.
He looked up as the door opened, and at once laid the paper down, saying with the smile that made her heart tremble: ‘At last!’

‘I beg your pardon! Have you been waiting for long?’ she returned, determined to maintain an attitude of friendly civility, and desperately hoping that he would understand from this that it would be useless to make her any sort of declaration.

‘More than a sennight! Yes, I know you feel that the delicacy of your position makes it ineligible for you to receive visitors, but I have been very discreet, I promise you! I told the butler that I came to enquire after the travellers – and even went so far as to ask first if Miss Wield was at home.’

‘We have had no news yet.’

‘You could scarcely have done so, could you?
It was the only excuse I could think of.’ He paused, the laughter arrested in his eyes as they searched her face. ‘What is it?’ he asked, in quite another tone.

She answered with forced lightness: ‘Why, nothing!’

‘No, don’t fob me off! Tell me!’ he insisted. ‘Something has happened to distress you: has that spoilt child been plaguing you?’

She had known that it would be a dreadful interview, but not that he would rend her in two by so instantly perceiving the trouble in her face, or by speaking to her in that voice of concern. She managed to summon up a laugh, and to say: ‘Good gracious, no! Indeed, sir, –’

‘Then what?’

How could you ask a man if it was true that he had several love-begotten children? It was wholly impossible: not even the boldest female could do it! Besides, it would be useless: she knew the answer, and her knowledge had not come to her from a doubtful, or a spiteful source: Lindeth had said it, not dreaming of mischief, treating it as only a slightly regrettable commonplace. The thought stiffened her resolution; she said, in a stronger voice: ‘Nothing more serious than a headache. I fancy there’s thunder in the air: it always gives me the headache. Tiffany isn’t feeling quite the thing either. Indeed, I should be with her, not talking to morning-visitors! I hope you may not think it uncivil in me to run away, Sir Waldo, but –’