The Nonesuch (6 page)

‘I suppose we all gossip about him,’ Mrs Chartley replied, shaking hands with Ancilla. ‘How do you do, Miss Trent? Yes, I must own that I was very pleasantly surprised in Sir Waldo. After the tales we have heard about
the Nonesuch
I
had not expected to find that this Tulip of the Ton, instead of being a great coxcomb, is a man who wants neither sense nor feeling. I thought his manners particularly good, too: he has an air of well-bred ease, and no pretension – and as for his leading our sons astray, nonsense! I hope they
may
copy him! Indeed, I find myself regretting that Dick is at school, for he would be all the better for a little polish!’

‘Town bronze, ma’am? Oh, no!’ Ancilla protested.

‘Oh, not à la modality! I meant only that it would do him a great deal of good to perceive that a man may be sporting-mad without advertizing the circumstance.’

She said no more about Sir Waldo, and Ancilla made no attempt to bring the conversation back to him. His name was not mentioned again until Charlotte, seated beside her in the phaeton, uttered in awed accents: ‘Well! To think we should have been the first to meet Sir Waldo, and to talk to him! Oh, Miss Trent, wasn’t it nuts for us?’

Ancilla burst out laughing, but protested as well. ‘Charlotte! Do you wish to see me turned off without a character, you abominable girl?
Nuts for us
,
indeed!’

‘As though Mama would! No, but
wasn’t
it? Tiffany will be as angry as a wasp!’

Knowing that it would be useless to expect Charlotte to refrain from exulting over her cousin, Ancilla held her peace. She was justified by the result: Tiffany received the news with indifference; for while Charlotte had been making the acquaintance of the Nonesuch she had met and dazzled Lord Lindeth.

Whether the encounter had been by accident or by her own design was a point she left undisclosed. She had refused to accompany her cousin and governess that morning, voting the object of the expedition slow work, and declaring that nothing would prevail upon her to sit bodkin in a carriage designed to carry no more than two persons. Instead, she had had her pretty bay mare saddled, and had ridden out alone, declining the escort of the groom expressly hired to attend her. Since there was nothing unusual about this he made no attempt to dissuade her from conduct unbefitting her years and station, merely remarking to Courtenay’s groom that one of these days, mark his words, Miss would be brought home with her neck broke, ramming her horses along the way she did, and thinking herself at home to a peg, which the lord knew she wasn’t.

The latter part of this criticism Tiffany would have much resented; but she would have been rather pleased than annoyed at the accusation of ramming her horses along, which she considered to be exactly the style to be expected of one who took pride in being a hard-goer. Accustomed, as a little girl, to career all over the countryside on her pony, she had not as yet learnt to accept chaperonage; and although she was willing to ride with Courtenay, or with Ancilla, she found the presence of her groom irksome, and dispensed with it whenever she could. On this occasion she had an excellent reason for doing so: the Squire had let fall the information that young Lord Lindeth was going to fish the stream that ran through the grounds of the Manor; and Tiffany, by no means reconciled to her exclusion from Mrs Mickleby’s dinner-party, had every intention of making his acquaintance. Miss Trent might be right in thinking that the party would not suit her; but even less did it suit her to be the last lady of consequence in the neighbourhood to meet the distinguished newcomers. No more than her aunt did she doubt that Mrs Mickleby’s omission of her name from the elegant dinner-card sent to Mrs Underhill sprang from a jealous fear that her own two daughters would be cast into the shade by the appearance on the scene of an accredited beauty. Well! Mrs Mickleby, no doubt hopeful that Mary or Caroline would contrive to attract the interest of a titled gentleman, should discover that one at least of her exalted guests was in no mood to make either of these damsels the object of his gallantry. Lord Lindeth, if the beautiful Miss Wield could contrive it, was going to think the party very flat, when he looked in vain for her amongst the guests.

It was an easy matter to find Lord Lindeth. The stream he was fishing wound through a stretch of open country. Tiffany saw him from a distance, and cantered easily in his direction, neither so close to the stream as to make it apparent that she wished to attract his attention, nor so far from it that he would not hear the thud of the mare’s hooves. It was a little unfortunate that his back should be turned towards her, but she felt sure that he would look round when he heard her approach. She reckoned without her host: Lord Lindeth was casting into a likely pool; he had got a rise; and he gave not the smallest sign of having heard the sound of a ridden horse. For a moment it seemed as though Miss Wield’s careful strategy must be thrown away. She was a resourceful girl, however, and as soon as she realized that he was wholly absorbed in his sport she let her whip fall, and reined in, uttering a distressful exclamation.

That did make him look round, not so much interested as vexed. It was on the tip of his tongue to request the intruder to make less noise when he perceived that the rude interruption had come from a lady.

‘Oh, I beg your pardon!’ Tiffany called. ‘But would you be so very obliging, sir, as to give me my whip again? I can’t think how I came to be so stupid, but I’ve dropped it!’

He reeled in his line, saying: ‘Yes, of course – with pleasure, ma’am!’

She sat still, serenely awaiting his approach. He laid his rod down, and came towards her. There was a slight look of impatience on his face, but this speedily vanished when he was near enough to see what a vision of beauty had accosted him. Instead of picking up the whip he stood staring up at Tiffany, frank admiration in his gaze.

She was dressed in a flowing habit of sapphire-blue velvet, a lace cravat round her neck, and a curled ostrich plume caressing her cheek. It did not occur to Julian that this undeniably becoming costume was scarcely the established country-mode; he thought only that never in his life had he beheld a more staggeringly lovely girl.

An enchanting smile made him blink; Tiffany said contritely: ‘I
am
so
sorry! I interrupted you – but I can’t mount without a block, so you see…!’

He found his tongue, saying quickly: ‘No, no, you didn’t, I assure you!’

A gleam shone in her eyes. ‘But I know very well I did!’

He laughed, flushing a little: ‘Well, yes! But you needn’t be sorry:
I’m
not!’

‘Oh, and you looked so vexed!’

‘That was before I saw who had interrupted me,’ he retorted audaciously.

‘But you don’t know who I am!’

‘Oh, yes, I do. Diana!’

‘No, I’m not!’ she said innocently. ‘I’m Tiffany Wield!’

‘Tiffany! How pretty! But you make me remember an old poem:
Queen and huntress
,
chaste and fair
– though I rather fancy it was about the moon, not the goddess. But I know the title is
To Diana
,
and the refrain, or whatever it’s called, is
Goddess
,
excellently bright
! So – !’

‘I don’t think I ought to listen to you,’ she said demurely. ‘After all, sir, we haven’t been regularly introduced yet!’

‘There’s no one to perform that office for us,’ he pointed out. ‘Do you care for such stuff?’

‘No, not a scrap, but my aunt thinks I should! And also that I should
never
converse with strange gentlemen!’

‘Very true!’ he answered promptly. ‘May I present Lord Lindeth to you, Miss Wield? – he is most anxious to make your acquaintance!’

She gave a trill of laughter. ‘How do you do? How absurd you are!’

‘I know – but what else was to be done in such a case? I was afraid you would gallop away!’

‘So I shall – if you will be so very obliging as to pick up my whip for me, sir!’

He did so, but stood holding it. ‘I’m tempted to keep it from you!’

She held out her hand. ‘No, please!’

He gave it to her. ‘Only funning!’ It struck him that it was strange that so young and lovely a girl should be quite unattended, and he said, glancing about him in a puzzled way: ‘Is no one with you, Miss Wield? Your groom, or – or –’

‘No one! It’s so
stuffy
to have a groom at one’s heels! Do you think it very improper?’

‘No, indeed! But if anything were to happen – some accident –’

‘I’m not afraid of that!’ She shortened the bridle. ‘I must go now. Thank you for coming to my rescue!’

‘Oh, wait!’ he begged. ‘You haven’t told me where you live, or when I shall see you again!’

‘I live at Staples – and who knows when you will see me again?’ she replied, her eyes glinting down into his. ‘I’m sure I don’t!’

‘Staples,’ he said, committing it to memory. ‘I think I know – oh, I should have told you that I’m at Broom Hall, with my cousin, Waldo Hawkridge! Yes, and we are to dine at the Manor the day after tomorrow – some sort of a party, I believe! Shall I see you there?’

‘Perhaps – perhaps not!’ she said mischievously, and was off before he could demand a more positive answer.

Lord Lindeth, who had greeted with disapprobation the news that he was to be dragged out to a dinner-party, returned to Broom Hall after his encounter with Miss Wield in quite a different frame of mind. The first thing he did was to run through the various visiting-cards which had been bestowed upon his cousin; the next was to burst into the library, where Sir Waldo was frowning over his deceased cousin’s rent-books, demanding: ‘Waldo, are you acquainted with anyone called Wield?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ replied Sir Waldo, rather absently.

‘Do pay attention!’ begged Julian. ‘From Staples! Isn’t that the place with the wrought-iron gates, beyond the village? They
must
have called, but I can’t find any card!’

‘Presumably they haven’t called, then.’

‘No, but – Of course, the name might not be Wield: she spoke of her
aunt
,
and I suppose – But there’s no card bearing that direction that I can find!’

Sir Waldo looked up at this, a laugh in his eye. ‘Oho!
She
?’

‘Oh, Waldo, I’ve met the most
ravishing
girl!’ disclosed his lordship. ‘Now, think! Who lives at Staples?’

‘Miss Wield, I collect.’

‘Yes, but – Oh, don’t be so provoking! Surely you must know who
owns
the place.’

‘I can see not the smallest reason why I must know – and I don’t.’

‘I wish you may not have lost the card! You would suppose her uncle must have called, wouldn’t you?’

‘Well, I haven’t so far given the matter any consideration,’ said Sir Waldo apologetically. ‘Perhaps he doesn’t approve of me?’

Julian stared at him. ‘Nonsense! Why shouldn’t he?’

‘I can’t imagine.’

‘No, nor anyone else! Do stop talking slum, and try to be serious!’

‘I am serious!’ protested Sir Waldo. ‘Quite perturbed, in fact! I have sustained an introduction to someone who, unless I am much mistaken,
does
disapprove of me.’

‘Who?’ demanded Julian.

‘A female whose name I can’t recall. A remarkably good-looking one, too,’ he added reflectively. ‘And not just in the common style, either.’

‘She sounds a maggoty creature to me!’ said Julian frankly. ‘Not but what I think you’re shamming it! Why should she disapprove of you?’

‘I rather fear, my fatal addiction to sport.’

‘What a ninnyhammer! No, but, Waldo, do think! Are you perfectly sure no one from Staples has been here?’

‘Not to my knowledge. Which leaves us quite at a stand, doesn’t it?’

‘Well, it does – except that she may be at the party. She didn’t precisely say so, but – Lord, what a fortunate thing it was that we stayed with the Arkendales on our way here! I might not else have brought my evening rig with me!’

This ingenuous observation made Sir Waldo’s lips twitch, for Julian’s reception of the news that his journey north was to be broken by a visit to the home of one of the highest sticklers in the country would not have led anyone to foresee that he would presently think himself fortunate to have undergone a stay which he had stigmatized as an intolerable bore. Similarly, when he knew that he had been included in Mrs Mickleby’s invitation to Waldo he had denied any expectation of enjoyment, saying that if he had guessed that he had fled from the London scene only to be plunged into a succession of country dinner-parties he would not have accompanied his cousin.

But all such unsociable ideas were now at an end; it was not he but Sir Waldo who deplored the necessity of attending a dinner-party on a wet evening: Julian had no doubt of its being a delightful party; and as for the ancient vehicle brought round from the coach-house for their conveyance, he told his cousin, who was eyeing it with fastidious dislike, that he was a great deal too nice, and would find it perfectly comfortable.

Miss Wield would have been pleased, though not at all surprised, to have known how eagerly his lordship looked forward to meeting her at the Manor, and how disappointed he was not to see her there; but if she had been an invisible spectator she would not have guessed from his demeanour that he was at all disappointed. He was far too polite to betray himself; and of too cheerful and friendly a disposition to show the least want of cordiality. It was a great shame that his ravishing girl was absent; but he had discovered her aunt’s name, and had formed various plans for putting himself in this lady’s way. Meanwhile, there were several pretty girls to be seen, and he was perfectly ready to make himself agreeable to them.

A quick survey of the drawing-room was enough to inform Sir Waldo that the beautiful Miss Wield was not present. Miss Chartley and Miss Colebatch were the best-looking ladies, the one angelically fair, the other a handsome redhead, but neither corresponded to the lyrical description Julian had given him of Miss Wield’s surpassing beauty. He glanced towards Julian, and was amused to see that he was being very well entertained amongst the younger members of the party. He was not surprised, for he had not taken Julian’s raptures very seriously: Julian had begun to develop an interest in the fair sex, but he was still at the experimental stage, and during the past year had discovered at least half-a-dozen goddesses worthy of his enthusiastic admiration. His cousin saw no need to feel any apprehension: Julian was enjoying the flirtations proper to his calf-time, and was some way yet from forming a lasting passion.

For himself, Sir Waldo was resigned to an evening’s boredom, denied even the amusement of pursuing his acquaintance with the lady who disapproved of him. He had looked in vain for her, and was conscious of disappointment. He could not recall her name, but he did remember that he had been attracted by her air of cool distinction, and the smile which leaped so suddenly into her eyes. She was intelligent, too, and had a sense of humour: a rare thing, he thought, amongst females. He would have liked to have known her better, and had looked forward to meeting her again. But she was not present, and he was provided instead with a number of middle-aged persons, as dull as they were worthy, and with a sprinkling of boys and girls. Amongst the girls, he awarded the palm to Miss Chartley, with whom he exchanged a few words. He liked, as much as the sweetness of her expression, the unaffected manners which, in spite of a not unbecoming shyness, enabled her to respond to his greeting without blushing, nervously giggling, or assuming a worldly air to impress him. As for the boys, he would have had to be extremely dull-witted not to have realized, within a very few moments of entering the room, that most of them were taking in every detail of his dress, and, while too bashful to put themselves forward, were hoping that before the evening was out they would be able to boast of having talked to the Nonesuch. He was well-accustomed to being the object of any aspiring young sportsman’s hero-worship, but he neither sought nor valued such adulation. Mr Underhill, Mr Arthur Mickleby, Mr Jack Banningham, and Mr Gregory Ash, bowing deeply, and uttering reverently
Sir!
and
Honoured!
would have been stunned to know that the only young gentleman to engage Sir Waldo’s amused interest was Humphrey Colebatch, a redheaded youth (like his sister), afflicted with an appalling stutter. Presented by his fond father somewhat dauntingly as
this silly chub of mine
,
and further stigmatized by the rider:
not of your cut
,
I’m sorry to say!
he had disclosed, in the explosive manner of those suffering an impediment of speech, that he was not interested in sport.

‘He’s bookish,’ explained Sir Ralph, torn between pride in his son’s scholastic attainments and the horrid fear that he had fathered a miscreature. ‘Worst seat in the county! But there! No accounting for tastes, eh? Take my daughter, Lizzie! Never opened a book in her life, but rides with a light hand and an easy bit, and handles the reins in form.’

‘Does she?’ Sir Waldo said politely. He smiled encouragingly at Humphrey. ‘Oxford?’

‘Cam-Cam-Cambridge!’ He added, after a brief struggle: ‘M-Magdalene. J-just d-down. Th-third year.’

‘Magdalene! So was I – Magdalen, Oxford, though. What do you mean to do next?’

‘G-go up for a fourth year!’ replied Humphrey doggedly, and with a challenging look at his father.

‘Fellowship?’

‘Yes, sir. I
hope
!’

But at this point Sir Ralph intervened, testily adjuring him not to keep boring on about his affairs; so he bowed awkwardly to Sir Waldo, and walked away. Upon which Sir Ralph said that scholarship was all very well in its way, but that if he had guessed that his heir was going to run mad after it he would never have let him go up to Cambridge at all. He showed a disposition to become even more confidential, asking to be told what Sir Waldo would do in such a case; but as Sir Waldo did not feel himself to be qualified to advise harassed parents, and was too little interested to bend his mind to the problem, he speedily extricated himself from this tête-à-tête. It spoke volumes for his social address that he contrived to do it without in any way offending Sir Ralph.

Meanwhile, those of Humphrey’s contemporaries who had jealously observed his encounter with the Nonesuch pounced upon him, demanding to be told what Sir Waldo had said to him.

‘W-wouldn’t interest you!’ responded Humphrey, with odious loftiness. ‘N-nothing about sport! We talked ab-about Cam-Cambridge.’

This disclosure stunned his audience. Mr Banningham was the first to recover his power of speech; he expressed the sentiments of his boon companions by saying: ‘He
must
have thought you a slow-top!’

‘N-not at all!’ retorted Humphrey, curling his lip. ‘W-what’s m-more, he’s not such a c-c-cod’s head as you l-led me to think him!’

At any other time so insufferable a speech must have goaded his childhood’s playmates into punitive action. A sense of propriety, however, restrained them, and enabled Humphrey to saunter away, not only unmolested, but filled with the comfort-able conviction of having, in a few heaven-sent moments, paid off all the scores of a short lifetime.

Since Mrs Mickleby seated the Nonesuch between herself and Lady Colebatch at her extended dining-table, it was not until much later in the evening that he made the acquaintance of Mrs Underhill. In the welter of introductions he had scarcely distinguished her amongst so many matrons; but Lord Lindeth had not been so careless. Undismayed by a gown of puce satin, lavishly adorned with lace and diamonds, and by a headdress supporting a plume of curled feathers clasped by a glittering brooch of opulent dimensions, he had seized the first opportunity that offered of approaching Mrs Underhill, when the gentlemen joined the ladies after dinner; and it was he who made Sir Waldo known to her. Obedient to the summons telegraphed to him by his young cousin, Sir Waldo came across the room, and was immediately made aware of his duty.

‘Oh, here is my cousin!’ said his lordship artlessly. ‘Waldo, I fancy you have already been presented to Mrs Underhill!’

‘Yes, indeed!’ responded Sir Waldo, rising nobly to the occasion.

‘Well, we were introduced,’ conceded Mrs Underhill, ‘but it wouldn’t surprise me if you didn’t happen to catch my name. I’m sure there’s nothing more confusing than to be introduced to a score of strangers. Many’s the time I’ve been in a regular hobble, trying to set the right names to the right faces!’

‘But in this instance, ma’am, I have something to assist my memory!’ said Sir Waldo, with admirable aplomb. ‘Did I not have the pleasure of meeting your daughter not so many days since? Miss – Miss Charlotte Underhill? She was helping another lady – a tall lady, older than herself – to deck the Church with flowers.’

‘That’s right!’ said Mrs Underhill, pleased with him. ‘And mightily puffed-up she’s been ever since, you talking to her so kindly, as she tells me you did! As for the tall lady, that would be Miss Trent: her governess. Well, properly speaking, she’s my niece’s companion, and a very superior young female. Her uncle is General Sir Mordaunt Trent!’

‘Indeed!’ murmured Sir Waldo.

‘Waldo!’ interrupted Julian, ‘Mrs Underhill has been so kind as to invite us to attend the party she is holding on Wednesday next! I believe we have no other engagement?’

‘None that I know of. How delightful! We are very much obliged to you, ma’am!’ said Sir Waldo, with the courtesy for which he was renowned.

But afterwards, jolting back to Broom Hall in the late Mr Calver’s ill-sprung carriage, he expressed the acid hope that his cousin was properly grateful to him for accepting the invitation.

‘Yes, very grateful!’ replied Julian blithely. ‘Not but what I knew you would!’

‘Having thrust me into an impossible position I imagine you might!’

Julian chuckled. ‘I know, but – She’s that glorious creature’s aunt, Waldo!’

‘I am aware! It remains only for you to discover that your glorious creature is engaged to one of the local blades, and you will have come by your deserts.’

‘Oh, no! I’m tolerably sure she’s not!’ said Julian confidently. ‘Her cousin must have mentioned the circumstance, if – Besides, –’

‘Do you mean Charlotte? Was she there tonight?’

‘Charlotte? No – who’s she? Courtenay Underhill!’

‘Oh, a male cousin! What is
he
like?’

‘Oh – oh, very agreeable!’ said Julian. He hesitated, and then said: ‘Yes, I know what you’re thinking, and I suppose he is inclined to be what you’d call a coxcomb, but he’s very young: hardly more than a schoolboy!’

‘Quoth the graybeard!’ said Sir Waldo lazily.

‘Now, Waldo – ! I only meant that I shouldn’t think he could be twenty yet, and I’m
three
-and-twenty, after all!’

‘No, are you? I’ll say this for you then: you’re wearing
very
well!’

The infectious chuckle broke from Julian again. He retorted: ‘I’m too old, at all events, to ape
your
modes!’

‘Is that what Master Underhill does?’

‘Corinthian fashions, anyway. He was looking you over so closely that I wouldn’t bet a groat on the chance that he won’t turn out in your sort of rig within the week. He asked me all manner of questions about you, too.’