The Nonesuch (8 page)

‘That sounds like fustian,’ he remarked.

‘Well, it isn’t! It – it is a matter of social usage. It will be thought most unbecoming in me to put myself forward. I can see that already Mrs Banningham is wondering what can possess you to stand talking to me like this! Just the thing to set people in a bustle!
You
may stand on too high a form to care for the world’s opinion, but I can assure you
I
don’t!’

‘Oh, I’m not nearly as arrogant as you think!’ he assured her. ‘Setting people in a bustle is the last thing I wish to do! But I find it hard to believe that even the most deplorably top-lofty matron could think it remarkable that I should engage in conversation the niece of one of my acquaintances. I should rather suppose that she would think it abominably uncivil of me
not
to do so!’

‘
Are
you
acquainted with my uncle?’ she demanded.

‘Of course I am: we are members of the same club! I don’t mean to boast, however! He is an older and by far more distinguished man than I am, and
acquaintance
is
all I claim.’

She smiled, but looked rather searchingly at him. ‘Are you also acquainted with his son, sir? My cousin, Mr Bernard Trent?’

‘Not to my knowledge. Ought I to be?’

‘Oh, no! He is very young. But he has a number of friends amongst the Corinthian set. I thought perhaps you might have encountered him.’

He shook his head; and as Sir Ralph Colebatch came up at that moment she excused herself, and moved away to find Charlotte. She soon saw her, going down the dance with Arthur Mickleby; and realized ruefully, but with a little amusement, that while she had been engaged with the Nonesuch her enterprising pupil had contrived to induce Arthur to lead her into the set. Some mothers, she reflected, would have censured her pretty severely for not having kept a stricter chaperonage over a schoolgirl admitted to the drawing-room merely to watch the dancing for an hour, before going demurely upstairs to bed; but she was not surprised to find Mrs Underhill complacently eyeing her daughter’s performance, or to learn that she had given Charlotte leave to dance.

‘Well, I daresay I ought to have said no,’ she admitted, ‘but I like to see young people enjoying themselves, which it’s plain she is, bless her! I’m sure there’s no harm in her taking her place in a country-dance or two, for it’s not as if there was to be any waltzing,
that
you may depend on! Nor it isn’t a formal ball, which would be a very different matter, of course.’ She withdrew her gaze from Charlotte, and said kindly: ‘And if any gentleman was to ask you to stand up with him, my dear, I hope you’ll do so! There’s no one will wonder at it, not after seeing Sir Waldo going smash up to you, the way he did, and stand talking to you as though you was old friends!’

‘He was speaking to me of my uncle, ma’am!’ said Miss Trent, snatching at the excuse offered her by the Nonesuch, but flushing a little. ‘They are acquainted, you see.’

‘Ay, that’s just what I said to Mrs Banningham!’ nodded Mrs Underhill. ‘“Oh,” I said, “you may depend upon it Sir Waldo is acquainted with the General, and they are chatting away about him, and all their London friends! I’m sure nothing could be more natural,” I said, “for Miss Trent is very well-connected,” I said. That made her look yellow, I can tell you! Well, I hope I’m not one to take an affront into my head where none’s intended, but I’ve had a score to settle with Mrs B. ever since she behaved so uppish to me at the Lord-Lieutenant’s party!’ A cloud descended on her brow; she said: ‘However, there’s always something to spoil one’s pleasure, and I don’t scruple to own to
you
,
Miss Trent, that the way his lordship looks at Tiffany
has put me in a regular fidget! Mark me if we don’t have him sitting in her pocket now, for anyone can see he’s nutty upon her!’

This was undeniable. Miss Trent thought it would have been wonderful if he had not been looking at Tiffany
with that glow of admiration in his eyes; for Tiffany, always responsive to flattery, was at her most radiant: a delicate flush in her cheeks, her eyes sparkling like sapphires, and a lovely, provocative smile on her lips. Half-a-dozen young gentlemen had begged for the honour of leading her into the first set; she had scattered promises amongst them, and had bestowed her hand on Lord Lindeth, taking her place with him while three less fortunate damsels were still unprovided with partners. But that was a circumstance she was unlikely to notice.

‘Miss Trent, if he thinks to stand up with her more than twice that’s something I won’t allow!’ said Mrs Underhill suddenly. ‘You must tell her she’s not to do so, for she’ll pay no heed to me, and it’s you her uncle looked to, after all!’

Ancilla smiled, but said: ‘She wouldn’t flout you publicly, ma’am. I’ll take care, of course – but I fancy Lord Lindeth won’t ask her for a third dance.’

‘Lord, my dear, what he’d like to do is to stand up with her for
every
dance!’

‘Yes, but he knows he can’t do so, and has too much propriety of taste, I’m persuaded, to make the attempt. And, to own the truth, ma’am, I think Tiffany wouldn’t grant him more than two dances in any event.’

‘Tiffany?’ exclaimed Mrs Underhill incredulously. ‘Why, she’s got no more notion of propriety than the kitchen cat!’

‘No, alas! But she is a most accomplished flirt, ma’am!’ She could not help laughing at Mrs Underhill’s face of horror. ‘I beg your pardon! Of course it is very wrong – shockingly precocious, too! – but you will own that a mere flirtation with Lindeth need not throw you into a quake.’

‘Yes, but he’s a lord!’ objected Mrs Underhill. ‘You know how she says she means to marry one!’

‘We must convince her that she would be throwing herself away on anyone under the rank of a Viscount!’ said Ancilla lightly.

The dance came to an end, and she soon had the satisfaction of seeing that she had prophesied correctly: Tiffany stood up for the next one with Arthur Mickleby, and went on to dance the boulanger with Jack Banningham. Lord Lindeth, meanwhile, did his duty by Miss Colebatch and Miss Chartley; and Miss Trent extricated Charlotte from a group of slightly noisy young people, and inexorably bore her off to bed. Charlotte thought herself abominably ill-used to be compelled to withdraw before supper: she had been looking forward to drinking her very first glass of champagne. Miss Trent, barely repressing a shudder, handed her over to her old nurse, and returned to the drawing-room.

She entered it to find that the musicians were enjoying a respite. She could not see Mrs Underhill, and guessed that she had gone into the adjoining saloon, where some of the more elderly guests were playing whist. Nor could she see Tiffany: a circumstance which filled her with foreboding. Just as she had realized that Lindeth was another absentee, and was wondering where first to search for them, a voice spoke at her elbow.

‘Looking for your other charge, Miss Trent?’

She turned her head quickly, to find that Sir Waldo was somewhat quizzically regarding her. He flicked open his snuff-box with one deft finger, and helped himself to a delicate pinch. ‘On the terrace,’ he said.

‘Oh, no!’ she said involuntarily.

‘Well, of course, they may have been tempted to take a stroll about the gardens,’ he conceded. ‘The terrace, however, was the declared objective.’

‘I collect it was Lord Lindeth who took her on to the terrace!’

‘Do you?
My
reading of the matter was that it was rather Miss Wield who took Lindeth on to it!’

She bit her lip. ‘She is very young – hardly out of the schoolroom!’

‘A reflection which must cause her relations to feel grave concern,’ he said, in a tone of affable agreement.

She found herself to be so much in accord with him that it was difficult to think of anything to say in extenuation of Tiffany’s conduct. ‘She – she is inclined to be headstrong, and quite ignorant of – of – And since it was your cousin who
most
improperly escorted her I think you should have prevented him!’

‘My dear Miss Trent, I’m not Lindeth’s keeper! I’m not Miss Wield’s keeper either, I thank God!’

‘You may well!’ she said, with considerable asperity. Then, as she saw the amusement in his face, she added: ‘Yes, you may laugh, sir, but I
am
Miss Wield’s keeper – or, at any rate, I am responsible for her! – and it’s no laughing matter to me! I must
do
something!’

She looked round the room as she spoke, a furrow between her brows. It was a warm June night, and the drawing-room was hot and airless. More than one unbecomingly flushed young lady was fanning herself, and several shirt-points were beginning to wilt. Miss Trent’s brow cleared; she went up to a little group which included Miss Chartley, the dashing Miss Colebatch, and the younger of the Squire’s daughters, with their attendant swains, and said, with her charming smile: ‘Dreadfully hot, isn’t it? I dare not open the windows: you know what an outcry there would be! Would you like to come out for a little while? It is such a beautiful moonlight night, with not a breeze stirring, that I have ventured to direct the servants to bring some lemonade on to the terrace. But you must put on your shawls, mind!’

The suggestion was thankfully acclaimed by the gentlemen, and by the Squire’s jolly daughter, who clapped her hands together, exclaiming: ‘Oh, famous fun! Do let us go!’ Miss Chartley, wondering what Mama would say, looked a little doubtful, but decided that if Miss Trent was sponsoring this interlude it must be unexceptionable; and in a very few minutes that resourceful lady had assembled some four or five couples, dropped an urgent word in Totton’s astonished ear, and had informed several matrons, with smiling assurance, that she had yielded to the persuasions of their various offspring, and was permitting them (under her chaperonage) to take a turn on the terrace, before resuming their exertions on the floor. She would take good care that none of the young ladies caught chills; and, indeed, must hurry away to be sure that they had put on their shawls.

Sir Waldo was an appreciative spectator of this talented performance; and when Miss Trent, having shepherded her flock on to the terrace, was about to follow them, she found him once more at her elbow, smiling at her in a way which was oddly disturbing. ‘Well done!’ he said, holding back the heavy curtain that hung beside the long window of the saloon that gave on to the terrace.

‘Thank you! I hope it may answer, but I’m afraid it will be thought very odd conduct in a respectable governess,’ she replied, passing out into the moonlight.

‘Not at all: you carried it off to admiration,’ he said, following her. He raised his quizzing-glass, and through it scanned the scene. ‘I realize, of course, that if the truants have gone farther afield it will be my unenviable task to discover them, and – No, they have not been so imprudent. How fortunate! Now we may both be easy!’

‘Yes, indeed!’ she responded, with the utmost cordiality. ‘I was shocked to see you in
such
a worry, sir!’

He laughed, but before he could answer her she had stepped away from him to put a scarf round Tiffany’s shoulders. Courtenay, who had been awaiting his moment, seized the opportunity afforded by the Nonesuch’s being alone for the first time during the evening to approach him, asking very respectfully if he might procure a glass of champagne for him. He then added, in case the great man should snub him for presuming to address him: ‘I’m Underhill, you know, sir!’

Sir Waldo declined the champagne, but in a friendly manner which gave the lie to Mr Jack Banningham, who had prophesied that any attempt on Courtenay’s part to engage him in conversation would be met with a severe setdown. He said: ‘We met at the Manor, didn’t we? I rather fancy
I
saw you on the Harrogate road the other day, driving a well ribbed-up bay.’

No more encouragement was needed. Within a very few minutes Courtenay was subjecting him to a stringent cross-examination on his real and imagined exploits. He bore it very well, but interrupted at last to say: ‘But must you throw
all
my youthful follies in my face? I thought I had lived them down!’

Courtenay was shocked; but Miss Trent, standing within ear-shot, felt that her first favourable impression of the Nonesuch had not been entirely erroneous.

It had been Mrs Mickleby who had first had the honour of entertaining the Nonesuch and his cousin; but it was generally acknowledged that the event which started the succession of gaieties which made that summer memorable was Mrs Underhill’s informal ball. Hostesses who had previously vied with one another only in the mildest ways became suddenly imbued with the spirit of fierce competition; and the invitation cards which showered upon the district promised treats which ranged from turtle-dinners to Venetian breakfasts. Assemblies and picnics became everyday occurrences, even Mrs Chartley succumbing to the prevailing rage, and organizing a select party to partake of an al fresco meal by the ruins of Kirkstall Abbey. This unpretentious expedition achieved a greater degree of success than attended many of the more resplendent entertainments which enlivened the month; for not only did the skies smile upon it, but the Nonesuch graced it with his presence. Mrs Banningham, whose daring Cotillion Ball had fallen sadly flat, for many days found it hard to meet the Rector’s wife with even the semblance of cordiality; and it was no consolation to know that she had only herself to blame for the failure of a party designed to out-shine all others. She was imprudent enough to exclude the Staples family from the ball, informing her dear friend, Mrs Syston, (in the strictest confidence) that Tiffany Wield should be given no opportunity to flirt with Lord Lindeth under her roof. Mrs Syston told no one the secret, except Mrs Winkleigh, whom she felt sure she could trust not to repeat it; but in some mysterious way Mrs Underhill got wind of Mrs Banningham’s fell intention, and nipped in with some invitations of her own before ever Mrs Banningham’s gilt-edged cards had been procured from Leeds. One of the under-grooms was sent off with a note to Sir Waldo Hawkridge, inviting him and his cousin to dine at Staples on the fatal day; and no sooner had his acceptance been received than the Chartleys and the Colebatches were also bidden to dine. Not a party, wrote Mrs Underhill to all these persons: just a conversable evening with a few friends.

‘And if that don’t take Mrs B. at fault, you may call me a wet-goose!’ she told Miss Trent. ‘Done to a cow’s thumb, that’s what she’ll be! She and her Cotillion Balls!’

Great was Mrs Banningham’s chagrin when she received Sir Waldo’s polite regrets; and greater still her rage when she discovered that all the absentees had been at Staples, eating dinner on the terrace, and then, when the light began to fail, going indoors, either to chat, or to play such childish games as Cross-questions, and Jackstraws. Her own party had been distinguished by a certain languor. Everyone had been disappointed by the absence of the Nonesuch; and if the ladies were glad to find Tiffany absent, almost all the younger gentlemen, including Mrs Banningham’s son Jack, considered any ball at which she was not present an intolerable bore. Mrs Banningham was even denied the solace of picturing the Nonesuch’s boredom at Staples, for Courtenay told Jack that the party had not broken up till past midnight, and that when it came to playing Jackstraws the Nonesuch had them all beat to flinders, even Miss Trent, who had such deft fingers. It seemed that he had challenged Miss Trent to a match, when he discovered how good she was at the game. Capital sport it had been, too, with Sir Ralph Colebatch offering odds on Miss Trent, and even the Rector wagering a coachwheel on the issue. Mrs Banningham could not delude herself, or anyone else, into thinking that the Nonesuch had been bored.

He had not been at all bored; nor had Julian found it difficult to persuade him to accept Mrs Underhill’s invitation. The Nonesuch, who had meant to spend no more time in Yorkshire than might be necessary for setting in train certain repairs and alterations to Broom Hall, was lingering on, and under conditions of some discomfort, since the builders were already at work in the house. He had his own reasons for remaining; but if he could have placed the slightest dependance on Julian’s going back with him to London he would have subordinated these (temporarily, at all events), for the sake of conveying that besotted young man out of danger. But when he had thrown out a feeler Julian had said, with studied airiness: ‘Do you know, I rather fancy I shall remove to Harrogate for a while, if you mean to go back to London? I like Yorkshire, and I’ve made certain engagements – and more than half promised to go with Edward Banningham to some races next month.’

So he remained at Broom Hall, steering an intricate course between his own interests and Julian’s. His trusting young cousin would have been astonished, and deeply shocked, had he known that Waldo’s lazy complaisance masked a grim determination to thrust a spoke into the wheel of his courtship. His allegiance to Waldo was too strong to be easily shaken; he did not for a moment wish him otherwhere; but he was often troubled by vague discomfort; and although Waldo had not uttered a word in her dispraise he could not rid himself of the suspicion that he regarded Tiffany a little contemptuously, and too often treated her as though she had been an importunate child, to be tolerated but given a few salutory set-downs. And then, having infuriated her, he would relent, charming her out of her sullens with his glinting smile, and a word or two spoken in a voice that held a tantalizing mixture of amusement and admiration. Even Julian could not decide whether he was sincere, or merely mocking; Julian only knew that Tiffany was never at her best when he was present. He thought that perhaps she too felt that Waldo did not like her, which made her nervous and self-conscious. And when you were very young, and shy, and anxious to make a good impression on someone of whom you stood in awe it was fatally easy to behave like a show-off character in your efforts to conceal your shyness. It did not occur to Julian that there was not a particle of shyness in Tiffany’s nature; still less that Waldo was deliberately provoking her to betray the least amiable side of her disposition.

But Sir Waldo, with fifteen years’ experience at his back, had taken Tiffany’s measure almost at a glance. It was not his custom to trifle with the affections of fledglings, but within a week of having made Tiffany’s acquaintance he set himself, without compunction, to the task of intriguing her to the point of pursuing him in preference to Julian. He had had too many lures cast out to him not to recognize the signs of a lady desirous of engaging his interest; and he knew that for some reason beyond his understanding he possessed the wholly unwanted gift of inspiring débutantes with romantic but misplaced tendres for him. He had been on his guard ever since he had been (as he had supposed) paternally kind to the niece of an old friend. She had tumbled into love with him; and from this embarrassing situation he had learnt also to recognize the signs of a maiden on the verge of losing her heart to him. Since he had nothing but contempt for the man of the world who amused himself at the expense of a pretty girl’s sensibility, it was his practice to discourage any such tendency. Had he detected in Tiffany the least indication of a romantic disposition he would have adhered to his rule; but he saw nothing in her but a determination to add his name to the roll of her conquests, and strongly doubted that she had a heart to lose. If he was wrong, he thought, cynically, then it would do her no harm to experience some of the pangs of unrequited love with which her numerous suitors were afflicted. He believed her to be as selfish as she was conceited; and, while it was possible that time might improve her, he was persuaded that neither her disposition nor her breeding made her an eligible wife for young Lord Lindeth.

He had told Miss Trent that he was not Lindeth’s keeper, and that, in the strictest sense, was true. Julian’s father had left him to the guardianship of his mother, and had appointed two middle-aged legal gentlemen as his trustees; but Sir Waldo’s shrewd Aunt Sophia had enlisted his aid in rearing the noble orphan at a very early stage in Julian’s career, and he had progressed, by imperceptible degrees, from the splendid cousin who initiated his protégé into every manly form of sport (besides sending him guineas under the seals of his occasional letters, and from time to time descending in a blaze of real dapper-dog magnificence on Eton, driving a team of sixteen-mile-an-hour tits, and treating half-a-dozen of his cousin’s cons to such sock as made them the envy of every Oppidan and Tug in the College) to the social mentor who introduced Julian into select circles, and steered him past the shoals in which many a green navigator had wallowed and foundered. He had come to regard Julian as his especial charge; and although Julian’s years now numbered three-and-twenty he still so regarded him: Lady Lindeth could not blame him more than he would blame himself if he allowed Julian to be trapped into a disastrous marriage without raising a finger to prevent it.

To cut out a young cousin who reposed complete trust in him might go very much against the pluck with him, but it presented few difficulties to a man of his address and experience. Indulged almost from the hour of her birth; endowed not only with beauty but with a considerable independence as well; encouraged to think herself a matrimonial prize of the first stare, Tiffany had come to regard every unattached man’s homage as her due. Sir Waldo had watched her at the Staples ball, playing off her cajolery in an attempt to attach Humphrey Colebatch; and he had not the smallest doubt that she did it only because that scholarly but unprepossessing youth was patently impervious to her charms. He was well aware, too, that while she would look upon his own capture as a resounding triumph he ranked in her eyes amongst the graybeards who had outlived the age of gallantry. There had been speculation, and a hint of doubt, in the swift glance she had first thrown him. She had certainly set her cap at him, but he could have nipped her tentative advances in the bud with the utmost ease. He would have done it had he not seen the glow in Julian’s eyes as they rested on her ravishing countenance, and realized that that guileless young man was wholly dazzled.

Sir Waldo was neither dazzled by Tiffany’s beauty, nor so stupid as to suppose that any good purpose would be served by his pointing out to Julian those defects in the lovely creature which were perfectly plain to him, but to which Julian was obviously blind. But Julian, under his compliance, had a sensibility, and a delicacy of principle, to which virtues Sir Waldo judged Tiffany to be a stranger; and nothing could more effectually cool his ardour than the discovery that in their stead she had vanity, and a sublime disregard for the comfort or the susceptibilities of anyone but herself. Julian might ignore, and indignantly resent, warnings uttered by even so revered a mentor as his Top-of-the-Trees cousin, but he would not disbelieve the evidence of his own eyes. So the Nonesuch, instead of damping the beautiful Miss Wield’s pretensions, blew hot and cold on her, encouraging her one day to believe that she had awakened his interest, and the next devoting himself to some other lady. He paid her occasional compliments, but was just as likely to utter a lazy set-down; and
when he engaged her in a little mild flirtation he did it so lightly that she could never be quite sure that he was not merely being playful, in the manner of a man amusing a child. She had not previously encountered his like, for her admirers were all much younger men, quite lacking in subtlety. Either they languished for love of her, or (like Humphrey Colebatch) paid no attention to her at all. But the Nonesuch, by turns fascinating and detestable, was maddeningly elusive; and so far from showing a disposition to languish he laughed at her suitors, and said that they were making great cakes of themselves. Tiffany took that as an insult, and determined to bring him to her feet. He saw the flash of anger in her eyes, and smiled. ‘No, no! You’d be gapped, you know.’

‘I don’t know what you mean!’

‘Why, that you’re wondering whether you might not make
me
a great cake. I shouldn’t attempt it, if I were you: I never dangle – not even after quite pretty girls.’

‘
Quite pretty – ?
’
she gasped. ‘
M-me?
’

‘Oh, decidedly!’ he said, perfectly gravely. ‘Or so I think, but, then, I’ve no prejudice against dark girls. I daresay others might not agree with me.’

‘They do!’ she asserted, pink with indignation. ‘They say –
everyone
says I’m
beautiful
!’

He managed to preserve his countenance, but his lips twitched slightly. ‘Yes, of course,’ he replied. ‘It’s well known that
all heiresses are beautiful
!’

She stared up at him incredulously. ‘But – but don’t you think I’m beautiful?’

‘Very!’

‘Well, I know I am,’ she said candidly. ‘Ancilla thinks I shouldn’t say so – and I meant not to, on account of losing some of my beauty when I do. At least, that’s what Ancilla said, but I don’t see how it could be so, do you?’

‘No, indeed: quite absurd! You do very right to mention the matter.’

She thought this over, darkly suspicious, and finally demanded: ‘Why?’

‘People are so unobservant!’ he answered in dulcet accents.

She broke into a trill of delicious laughter. ‘Oh, abominable! You are the
horridest
creature! I’ll have no more to do with you!’

He waved a careless farewell as she flitted away, but he thought privately that when she forgot her affectations, and laughed out suddenly, acknowledging a hit, she was disastrously engaging.

Miss Trent, who had approached them in time to hear these last sallies, observed in a dispassionate voice: ‘
Quite
abominable!’

He smiled, his eyes dwelling appreciatively on her. She was always very simply attired; but she wore the inexpensive muslins and cambrics which she fashioned for herself with an air of elegance; and never had he seen her, even on the hottest day, presenting anything but a cool and uncrumpled appearance.

Sir Waldo, having cleared up one small misunderstanding, had contrived to get upon excellent terms with Miss Trent. His ear had been quick to catch the note of constraint in her voice when she had asked him if he was acquainted with her cousin; he fancied that she was pleased when he disclaimed any knowledge of Mr Bernard Trent; and he presently sought enlightenment of Julian. ‘Bernard Trent?’ said Julian. ‘No, I don’t think – oh, yes, I do, though! You mean General Trent’s son, don’t you? I’ve only seen him by scraps: the sort of cawker who talks flash, and is buckish about horses!’ He broke off, as a thought occurred to him, and exclaimed: ‘Good God, is he related to Miss Trent?’