21
The Neighbourhood Pays Calls
Mrs Maddern had said brightly: “Now, are we all ready to drive out?” But as it was only too horridly evident that they were not, had basely retreated to the front hall, leaving her eldest daughter to persuade the recalcitrant Hildegarde.
“I think Lady Lavinia might expect to see us all with Mamma,” Christabel offered in a very weak voice.
Hildy gave her a scornful look.
“Dearest,” said Miss Maddern on a desperate note: “I know Sir Julian has been at the Place for nigh on a month now without the least sign, but has it not occurred to you that this may be because of your—your treatment of him during the last week we were in town?”
“‘Treatment’!” replied Hildy scornfully.
“Er—yes,” she said, taken aback. “Well, your lack of response to his pretty flowers.”
“Christa, I do not wish to encourage Sir Julian,” said Hildy between her teeth.
“But— Well, if you do not feel you could care for him… But he is such a very pleasant gentleman,” she said weakly, aware that this was the wrong choice of phrase entirely.
Hildy sprang up, tears starting to her eyes. “PLEASANT! You would not claim to feel that Paul is merely pleasant, I suppose?” she cried bitterly.
Miss Maddern went very red. “No, but—”
“Pleasant is not enough! He is boring, and not intelligent, and I cannot talk to him, and we have nothing in common!” shouted Hildy.
“Dearest, you have scarcely had time to form an opinion of his true charact—”
“I WON’T!” screamed Hildy, bursting into violent tears and running out of the room.
Miss Maddern bit her lip.
... “Well, Christa?” said Mrs Maddern without hope, drawing on her new lilac kid gloves.
“No, Mamma,” she said in a low voice.
“I dare swear you did your best, my love,” she said tiredly. “And if I cannot manage her, why should I expect that you may? We shall be just ourselves with Mrs Parkinson and Dorothea, then.”
“Yes. I could not persuade Gaetana,” Amabel admitted sadly to her sister.
“No,” agreed Mrs Maddern. “And as for your brothers—!”
There was a short silence.
“Come along, my dear girls,” she said with a sigh: “Paul and Luís are waiting for us with the barouche. We shall have the hood up if it becomes too windy, of course. The weather has been so tiresome, but it is not so cold today and it does not look like rain. –At least they know how to behave in a manner befitting their station in life,” she added grimly.
“Yes; at times I could wish they were my own brothers. Though dear Paul soon will be!” said Amabel, smiling at her sister.
“Indeed. And Luís is so very amiable, is he not?” said Mrs Maddern.
“Yes. Although he is little more than a boy, of course,” said Christabel uneasily.
“A boy? Why, he is turned twenty, he told us himself of the birthday celebrations they had for him in Spain, my dear!” she reminded her with a laugh.
“That is little more than a boy, Mamma,” said Christabel firmly.
“Yes,” agreed Amabel faintly.
Mrs Maddern gave a robust laugh. “Nonsense! Why, he is so tall and has such a grown-up way with him—!” She went ahead, as Deering had now opened the front door.
The two young women exchanged resigned glances, and followed her silently.
Both Lady Lavinia and Lady Desdemona were at home that day to receive the party from the Manor, and so, indeed, was Sir Lionel. He greeted Miss Amabel with especial warmth, and told her all about his visit to the Dean of Ditterminster with Giles: whilst Giles and the Dean had consulted over some boring stuff to do with the cathedral tower, or some such, he had ferreted out the choirmaster, and they had had a good talk, and although the organ was not much he fancied he had been able to give him some excellent advice about the choir’s repertoire, and indeed it was not a bad little choir at all, and if Miss Amabel would care for it he would be pleased to drive her in to hear sung Evensong this coming Sunday!
There was a short silence.
“Lionel, my dear, I think you forget: we are due at the Cowards’ for the twelfth,” said his wife.
“Lord, the grouse won’t miss me for a day or two, my dear! Besides, I never told Coward I would come on any exact day, y’know! No, no, must get the choir sorted out, can’t leave poor old Giles with no decent music in the neighbourhood!” He laughed cheerfully. “And Miss Amabel would very much like to hear ’em, would you not, my dear?” he said, patting her hand.
Amabel smiled, and blushed, and said she owned she loved to hear the dear little choirboys sing, and although they had of course driven in to Ditterminster they had never yet been to a service in the Cathedral.
“Well, it ain’t much!” he said with another laugh. “Not compared to the Abbey, y’know! Though there’s an apse that is said to be fine, and the foundations are Norman. But you will enjoy the choir, my dear!”
“I am sure,” said Amabel weakly.
There appeared to be little help for it: Sir Lionel had the bit between his teeth.
... “Fatuous!” said his wife witheringly when the party from the Manor had departed.
“Oy!” he cried indignantly, what time Dezzie, who had been holding herself in for some time, dissolved in sniggers.
Carolyn, Susan and Anna looked on in some dismay.
“That is the only word for your conduct, Lionel. Really! You embarrassed the poor girl unspeakably!”
“Pooh,” he said uneasily.
“I think—” Susan broke off.
“Well?” said her mother.
“It seemed to me that although Amabel was a little embarrassed, she was not very much so: she is very used to older gentlemen admiring her, Mamma.”
Promptly Dezzie had a fresh paroxysm.
“Control yourself, Desdemona!” snapped her aunt.
Carolyn and Anna looked on in dismay.
“Er—there is a Sir James Something...,” pursued Susan unwisely. “I have forgot the name, but an elderly gentleman in their neighbourhood who much admires her; and then Mrs O’Flynn’s uncle also very much— Well, he is not so old as Papa, but— And in town, also, do you not remember, Mamma, old Lord Fenster very much admired her.”
“Fenster?” gasped her father.
“Um—yes, Papa.”
“Lord Fenster is at least eighty: quite,” noted Lady Lavinia. “Well, you have asked for it, and you have got it, Lionel.”
“Doating!” gasped Dezzie ecstatically.
“Exactly,” said Lady Lavinia grimly.
“Papa, I’m sorry,” faltered Susan.
Carolyn and Anna were astounded when Sir Lionel, making sure he was well turned away from his wife, winked at his daughter.
Carolyn was alone in the salon when Rockingham came in with Miss Tabby Naseby on his shoulder, the both of them looking somewhat windblown.
“You missed the party from the Manor, Giles. We had a very pleasant time.”
“Oh, aye? Pretty fellow, Luís Ainsley, ain’t he?” he returned drily.
She went very red. “You have not even met him, how can you possibly know what he looks like?”
“Well, that’s where you’re out, Miss, see! Saw the lot of ’em, as we came across the lawn—eh, Tabby?”
“Yes, an’ we galloped an’ galloped, Car’lyn!”
“See? We galloped and galloped,” he said.
“Giles, you don’t mean that you galloped on the lawn in front of Mrs Maddern and Mrs Parkinson?” she faltered.
“Why not?” he said airily, swinging Tabby down.
“Uncle Giles galloped an’ galloped! He’s better ’n Potter Pony!” she cried.
“He’s exhausted, you mean!” said the Marquis, collapsing into a large chair. “S’pose there’s no tea left?”
“What? Oh! No, but you may ring for some, after all it is your house,” said Carolyn with dignity.
The Marquis rang the bell, but looked at her mockingly.
“What must they have thought of you?” she said, swallowing.
“Pooh: they are both women with families of their own! And I have it on the best authority that when I was laid up, Miss Maddern and Tabby galloped and jumped—eh, Miss?”
“Miss Maddern gallop’ on a HORSE!” she shouted.
“Yes: that’s enough, calm down,” he said, lifting her onto his knee.
“An’ I jumped too, and Potter Pony, he jumped the BEST!” she shouted.
“Yes. –Is there deafness in the Naseby family?” he wondered.
“Don’t be absurd: she is just a little girl, and you’ve got her over-excited,” said Carolyn crossly.
“I’m NOT LITTLE! I’m NEARLY SEVEN!” she shouted.
“Yes, and if you do not stop that shouting this instant, you may go straight upstairs to the nursery, Miss Nearly Seven!” said Carolyn smartly.
Rockingham’s shoulders shook, but he managed to bite his tongue.
Tabby pouted. “I can stay, can’t I, Uncle Giles?”
“OOH!” gasped Carolyn, outraged.
“Not if you’re going to try it on like that, Miss, and not if you shout in the sitting-room. You had better tell Carolyn you’re sorry for shouting,” he said calmly.
Tabby pouted. “Sorry for shoutin’,” she muttered.
“Very well, but you must not do it again,” said Carolyn severely.
Rockingham’s shoulders shook again. “Uh—yes, William,” he said as a footman came in: “I’ll have some tea in me own house, thanks. With cakes and things. Stuff that Miss Tabby can eat. And Miss Rommie and Miss Ermy will be in any minute, they have popped upstairs. Bring enough for the lot of ’em.
“Certainly, my Lord,” said William, bowing, and withdrawing.
“I like tea,” said Tabby definitely.
“You are a prevaricator, Miss,” responded his Lordship.
“I LIKE TEA!”
“Yes, yes, very well, you may drink tea,” he said hurriedly. “—Where’s the rest of ‘em? Knocked up with excitement after the visit?”
“With— No! You are being silly!”
“Well, I thought you younger ladies might have been overcome at the sight of young Luís Ainsley, but I’m surprized to see Lavinia and Dezzie have had to retire on the strength of it,” he drawled.
Carolyn glared at him.
“Where—are—they?” he said clearly.
“Oh! Well, Aunt Lavinia has taken Dezzie upstairs to—to— Well, I think she means to find her a suitable dress to wear to Evensong.”
“Eh?”
“At the Cathedral, Giles!”
“Oh, yes! To hear Lionel’s blasted choir! Last time I was there the decani side was singing in a totally different key from the cantoris, and before you ask, no, it was not written like that!”
“Very funny,” said Carolyn uncertainly.
The Marquis sniffed slightly. “Well, where’s Susan?”
“I have no idea,” she said with dignity.
“Don’t tell me she’s fallen for young Master Luís’s big black eyes, as well!” he choked.
“NO!” she shouted. “You are insufferable!”
“Lawks,” said the Marquis as she ran out of the room. “If I mistake not, that makes her and Anna both we shall have moonin’ round the house after Master Luís’s black eyes.”
“I seen the moon!”
“Mm. –Well, at least he ain’t a damned fortune-hunter like that Lavalle fellow,” he muttered.
Miss Tabby responded to this utterance with the declaration: “I can have cake.”
“Yes,” he said groaning. “I can gratify that wish, at least.”
“Lots of cake!”
“Have cake till you’re sick of it, see if I care,” he muttered.
“And tea.”
“YES!” he shouted.
Tabby looked at him uncertainly.
“Sorry, Tabby,” he said, hugging her. “At least your wants are uncomplicated. You can—um, I mean may—you may have as much tea and cake as you desire.”
“In a big cup!”
“Er—mm,” said the Marquis weakly, thinking of his Spode. “A big cup, mm.”
“Rommie and Ermy may not have cake!” she announced triumphantly.
“Eh? Now listen, we’re all having cake,” he said firmly. “You, and me, and Rommie, and Ermy, see? Either we all have cake or none of us does! Now which is it to be?”
Tabby thought this over. “All have cake,” she announced.
“Aye,” he said, sighing. “All have cake. –Ain’t it easy, when you are but six years of age?”
“I am NEARLY SEVEN!”
Rockingham shut his eyes, and groaned.
“Well!” Mrs Parkinson had said, sitting back in the barouche with a laugh, as the galloping Marquis retreated across the velvety lawn with the little girl on his shoulders.
“Are they not sweet?” cried Amabel.
“I believe he is very fond of Sir Julian’s little girls,” said Miss Maddern, smiling.
“It is most unexpected,” murmured Mrs O’Flynn. “Though entirely charming!” she added with a smile.
“Yes,” agreed Amabel, nodding pleasedly. “How very sad that he has no children of his own!”
“Indeed,” agreed her sister kindly.
Immediately Amabel added: “What a pity that dear Gaetana would not come.”
Miss Maddern had to swallow. “Mm.”
“Little Miss Hobbs seems a pleasant little girl,” said Mrs Maddern placidly.
“Yes, indeed, Mamma,” agreed Christabel with some relief.
“She and Miss Girardon must be the same age; I wonder that his Lordship did not invite her earlier to keep Miss Girardon company,” added Mrs Maddern.
“Oh, indeed,” agreed Paul smoothly.
Miss Maddern had to swallow again.
... “Well?” said Gaetana to her older brother very drily, having got him alone after the great expedition.
Paul looked prim. “Miss Hobbs is even littler and plumper than Mlle Girardon.”
“Then it will be her that Luís will have fallen for,” she noted.
“Oh, I would not by any means say that, for her littleness and plumpness is counterbalanced by Mlle Girardon’s big blue eyes and yaller curls.”
“Well, which?” said Gaetana.
He continued to look impossibly prim. “At this stage, I will offer you evens.”
“This could get very boring indeed,” she noted. “Did they say how much longer they will be at the Place?”
“No, but they will definitely both be there for the dinner party, so we shall have the opportunity to observe him narrowly in their company,” he said, eyes twinkling.
“That will be vastly entertaining,” noted Gaetana heavily.
Paul gave in, and laughed. “¡Querida, of course it will! You should have seen him: his eyes started from his head, and he did not know which of them to flatter first!”
Gaetana bit her lip. “I suppose it must have been quite amusing,” she allowed.
“It was hilarious!” he choked ecstatically. “And recollect,” he added: “he has not yet met Muzzie Charleson! He will be embarrassed for choice!”
“Help, do you think she will be at this dinner?”
“I hope so!” he gasped.
Gaetana bit her lip. “Three,” she gulped.
“¡Sí, sí!” choked Paul.
He was glad to see his sister at this give in and giggle helplessly. He refrained, very kindly, from regaling her with a word-picture of the Marquis of Rockingham giving little Tabby Naseby a ride on his shoulders. Which did not mean that he believed for an instant that others of the party would so refrain.
“Er—I had thought I might pay a call at the Manor, today,” said Lord Lucas, a trifle awkwardly, in answer to his hostess’s kind enquiry.
“The very thing!” she said, nodding terrifically. “We shall all go, acos Jo has not even met Hildy and Gaetana, yet!”
Johanna repressed a sigh: she was sure she would not like Miss Hildegarde Maddern or Miss Ainsley: it was always the way, when well-intentioned persons assured you that you would like so-and-so.
“Splendid idea!” said Sir Ned heartily. “They’re very bright girls, Jo, you’ll like ’em—nothing namby-pamby about ’em!” He laughed cheerfully.
“Yes, Papa,” said Miss Jubb glumly.
“Only I’m afraid I can’t accompany you, Betsy: I have urgent letters to write,” he added casually.
Their eyes met. “Out of course,” said Mrs Urqhart graciously. “I won’t press you, then. But you shall come, Noël—and Major, you has not called at the Manor, yet, at all: they will be a-wondering what you is at, if you does not call pretty soon!”
“Very well, Mrs Urqhart, I shall be happy to accompany you,” said Major Grey politely.
“Run along, Noël, you had best change out of them breeches,” she added briskly.
“Er—I was going to ride, Aunt Betsy,” he said meekly.
“You is coming with me and Jo in the carriage, and that’s that!” she said firmly.
“Er—very well. –Lucas, what are you standing there for? Go and get out of those breeches!” he added.
Lord Lucas bit his lip and glanced uncertainly at his hostess, but Mrs Urqhart merely grinned and said: “Aye, that is it, you is all a-coming in the barouche: me and Jo is not a-going to be settin’ there like two bumps on a log while you young gents ride!”
... “Oh, Lawks!” she cried as the barouche bowled up to the front entrance of Ainsley Manor to find two other carriages standing there.
“Whose are they?” asked Johanna.
“Well, the cream thing picked out in blue is the Charlesons’ pony-cart: there ain’t another like it in the country! And I dunno whose that other carriage is, but it has ‘stuffy’ written all over it.”
“I can’t see anything, not even a crest,” said Major Grey with a grin.
“No, but you is only a man,” said his hostess tolerantly. “Stuffy, is what it is.” She took another look. “And Ditterminster, I’ll be bound: acos it don’t belong to no-one from these here parts!”
“Perhaps we should not go in, after all,” said Sir Noël.
“Rubbish: I have not got meself into me stays and me best blackberry silk to turn round and go home!” said Mrs Urqhart firmly. “Well, jump down, lad, and give me your arm!”
Mrs Urqhart’s prediction was perfectly correct and the sitting-room revealed two very stuffy-looking lady visitors, one in black and one in black with touches of purple: Mrs Llewellyn-Jones, the wife of the Dean of Ditterminster, and incidentally Mrs Purdue’s sister, and—alas and alack—Mrs Purdue herself.
Mrs Urqhart noticed immediately that the woman both looked and sounded as sour as a lemon. The more so to see the party from The Towers arrive. She also noticed that little Muzzie Charleson was looking cowed, that Eric Charleson was looking glum, that Paul Ainsley was managing to look both amused and slightly bored, which did not surprize her, that that O’Flynn feller was still makin’ sheep’s eyes at Miss Amabel, and that—thank the Lord!—Lady Charleson was not present.
Johanna Jubb, whose mind was as sharp as her father’s, noticed almost immediately that Mrs Maddern and Mrs Parkinson were about as dear Aunt Betsy had described them; that Paul Ainsley was even more charming than Aunt Betsy had managed to convey; that Miss Maddern was horridly proper and even if she did have a fine figure it was hard to see what Mr Ainsley saw in her; that Miss Amabel, though prettier, was otherwise just as Aunt Betsy had described her; that it was perfectly true that Lord Lucas had fallen for pretty Mrs O’Flynn and that, although Mrs O’Flynn had excellent manners she would not wager a groat that she had not also fallen for him; that Miss Muzzie Charleson of the pony-cart was every bit as silly as Aunt Betsy had said, and her brother every bit as much of a nullity; and that Miss Ainsley was looking almost as bored as she herself would have been, had she been in her place.
Lady Charleson was, as usual in the afternoons, on her chaise longue when her butler came in to announce that Sir Edward Jubb had called, was my Lady at home? As she had not been expecting visitors she had been reading a novel and nibbling sweetmeats. Not reminding the butler that as Eric and Mr O’Flynn had both gone out there was no host to receive the gentleman, she thrust the novel behind a cushion, handed him the box of sweetmeats and, straightening her fair curls and her wisp of a lace cap, hastily agreed that she was at home. And Cook’s best biscuits would be needed with the tea, which should be brought up immediately. And it must be the tea that Mrs Urqhart had given her.
The butler, bowing respectfully, reminded her that her Ladyship had locked that tea in the sideboard. Looking cross, Lady Charleson gave him the key, reflecting as she did so that he might be the model of the polite servant to her face but she would stake her pearls that behind her back he was robbing her blind! For these days there was no saying what sort of servant the agencies might not send you! During the five years of her widowhood she had had six butlers, counting this one. And in between them had had quite long periods of no butler at all. Which certainly saved on household expenses but did not give a very good impression, should anyone chance to call. Only during those years, of course, very few persons had.
When Sir Edward came in she still had her feet up on the chaise longue, but in a most elegant fashion, with a pastel shawl half draped off them onto the floor. Another shawl was allowed to slip off her pretty shoulders; she was pleasantly conscious that the blue, pink and lilac shades in these shawls chimed most harmoniously with the pale lilac of her gown.
“Dear Sir Edward,” she greeted him softly, holding out a drooping hand. “How delightful! You have caught me a trifle at a disadvantage, today,” she added with a self-deprecating smile and a gesture at the shawl on the feet. “But then, I must snatch the opportunity to rest whenever I may, for my dear Dr Warren assures me I am forever prone to overstrain myself in labouring for my dear ones whenever his back is turned!”—A coy tinkle of laughter.—“So, when my children are not here to call on their mamma’s services, I fear I tend to spoil myself a little, you know!” Here she pulled a rueful face and gave another tinkle of laughter.
Sir Ned duly kissed the hand. And, indeed, fully appreciated the artfulness of this speech, which, whilst presenting her Ladyship in an altogether favourable light, immediately made it clear the two of them were alone. He gave the hand a speaking squeeze and said, releasing it: “Indeed, ma’am, I know what you mothers are when your children’s needs are in question. But you must take care not to knock yourself out for them, you know: for, after all, you have a life of your own to lead, as we all do, and when the birds are flown from the nest, well, what shall a poor parent do then, if all her energy has been used in their service?”
Lady Charleson laid a hand on her bosom, sighed, and said wistfully: “Indeed, what? I often think on that, for both my little ones are grown, you know—amazing though it often seems to me; but then, I was married so shockingly young, a mere child who scarce knew what she was doing! But when they are gone, which I dare say will not be long in coming, I suppose there will be nothing left for me to do in my remote little corner of the world but dwindle away into a grandmamma.” She sighed again, and made another little, rueful face.
“I cannot imagine it, ma’am!” declared Ned Jubb firmly. “You, a grandmamma? Well, if it is to be so, you will be the prettiest, youngest grandmamma betwixt Land’s End and John O’Groats!” –He had debated briefly with himself whether to use the “youngest”—after all, that was laying it on with a trowel—but Lady Charleson seemed in full agreement with the sentiment, gasping protestingly and fluttering her eyelashes modestly, though she did not manage a blush; so he decided he could lay it on as thick as he liked.
It was fairly clear to him that during her period of rural internment, Lady Charleson had become accustomed to despise the vast majority of her genteel acquaintance as much for their lack of mental acumen as for their inadequacies in the more directly social areas of address and dress, and to set herself as much above them in the mental sphere as the social. Well, pride went before a fall, and so the chatelaine of Willow Court would very shortly learn.
The gasping and fluttering finished, she then begged him to sit down, rather in the manner of a very young girl who had suddenly remembered her manners,
He inquired after the health and welfare of her children, so she was enabled to assure him exactly where they had gone today, and that Cousin O’Flynn—who was almost a brother to her—had gone with them, and indeed he frequently took the burden of chaperoning her little Millicent off her mamma’s shoulders, and, though she should not say so, it was sometimes a relief to have a quiet time. For girls at that age were so very energetic, did not Sir Edward find?
The robust Ned Jubb agreed to this and unblushingly put forward his own Johanna as an example. Adding that he did not know how he was to go on at all, now that she had come to live with him, for he was at a loss where all this social stuff was concerned.
Lady Charleson gave him a speaking look, did not quite lay her hand on his knee, merely making a vaguely caressing gesture in the air, and said that she exactly understood, having been a lone parent herself for so long, and that if ever there was anything she could do, Sir Edward could count utterly on her aid.
Ned Jubb did not make the mistake of assuming this meant her Ladyship was prepared to chaperone his Jo to balls and parties: he merely gave her a speaking look in return and thanked her fervently, adding that he had been sure she would understand.
That seemed more than enough on the subject of children, so he then expressed his envy of her beautiful garden, adding carelessly that he was thinking of purchasing a country place, only, to say truth, he did not know where to start! And though The Towers was doubtless very fine and Betsy of course, very fond of it, he himself could not but find it rather dark inside, and—and old-fashioned. Although he knew nothing of such matters. Here he gazed wistfully round Willow Court’s charming pastel-toned sitting-room, registering that the curtains were faded slightly, that the moulding of the ceiling had undoubtedly been created by some local genius with more imagination than talent, that the chairs had never come from Mr Chippendale’s workshop though they were about that date, that the Chinese wallpaper had once been extraordinarily fine but was beginning to fade, and that every scrap of gilding in-the room needed looking to. And if she had bought that thing on the mantelpiece as Dresden porcelain, she had been robbed: it looked even from across the room as if it was nought but soft paste.
“Oh, Sir Edward, do not look at my poor shepherd and shepherdess!” said Lady Charleson at this moment with a high tinkle of nervous, girlish laughter.—As he had thought, the woman was as sharp as a pin.—“The piece belonged to my dearest Mamma, and though I have been told it is not very good, I keep it in this room for sentimental reasons.”
“It’s very pretty,” he returned in a kind voice, smiling at her, though he would not have wagered a farthing on this claim for its provenance, “and looks charmingly in this room.” –The carpets, he noted by the by, though all in charming shades, were even more faded than the curtains. And had not been good to start with. But there was nothing second-rate or faded about her Ladyship’s shawls, or the piece of Venetian point lace on her head.
Lady Charleson expressed the opinion that he was flattering her, and Ned began to draw her out about her own family. From her replies he learned that she had come down in the world by marrying Mr Charleson—though naturally she did not demean herself so far as actually to say so—but that by dint of unrelenting hard work on her part and with the influence of her late papa, Mr Charleson had been enabled to further his political career and metamorphose himself very soon into a “Sir” with a country estate. From which the astute Ned Jubb gathered that the man must have been a rising politician when she had married him, that he had therefore been considerably her elder (which indeed had not been hard to deduce from the hesitant “slightly older” and the downcast eyes) and that the fair Evangeline, not to say her papa, had known a good thing when they were onto it. For although she made disclaiming noises over her family, and had to be forced into admitting that papa had, indeed, been a baronet, Ned Jubb had never heard of this Sir Jeremy Frimpton in his life, and indeed had never heard of any Frimptons, and was pretty sure that the “place” to which the former Miss Evangeline Frimpton referred so casually and deprecatingly as to give the impression it must be near as grand as Daynesford or Chypsley, was little more than an obscure country manor.
As the tea-tray was brought in he asked after the rest of her family, and was favoured with a description of her sister, Faith, and an account of the reasons which would prevent her, Evangeline, from herself bringing her only daughter out next year, as she would wish to. Which, though bearing largely on her own constitutional frailty, left him in no doubt that it was Faith’s generosity in offering to bear the chief financial burden involved which had decided her to the sacrifice.
“Mm, I suppose a large country property like this must indeed be a drain on the purse,” he murmured.
Lady Charleson sighed deeply and agreed, explaining quite gratuitously, and in a most injured tone which Ned silently considered to be also quite gratuitous, the details of the trust which ensured that she could draw on the income of the estate for life or until she remarried, but that the actual property went to Eric.
“Is that what they call an entail, then?” asked Sir Edward Jubb with a perplexed look.
Lady Charleson gave a superior little smile and explained to the ignorant cit precisely what an entail was.
“Good gracious! A plain man like me can scarce conceive of... Well,” he said, frowning, “you old county families take such a long-term view! It gives one such a sense of... permanence, does it not?”
Lady Charleson had always privately thought an entail must be even more frustrating than a trust, but she agreed to this, murmured something disjointed about the fields and oaks of England and, whisking out a wisp of lace and cambric, dabbed at her perfectly dry eyes.
After which she allowed herself to tell Sir Edward more of her difficulties with the property and of Eric’s failure to take an interest in anything but slaughtering the wildlife thereon, of the Marquis’s cruelty in the matter of slivers of land to be purchased for draining (or rather in the matter of the price thereof), and of how much she wished she had a sensible man to advise her.
“Dear Cousin Liam does his best, but...” She allowed her voice to fall away, but before her visitor could interpret this in a way which she could not have agreed to, added: “But of course he lives so far away, and then his interests in Ireland take up considerable of his time. And latterly, of course, he has had young Mrs O’Flynn and the child to occupy his time. I suppose it is scarce to be wondered at: after all he stands in some sort as grandpapa to the little one,” she added with a sentimental look.
Ned looked at her with great appreciation: for did this remark not at once imply a sentimental love of little ones in herself (which he made no doubt was quite foreign to Evangeline’s nature) and present a picture of his own possible rival, Mr O’Flynn, as being of an advanced age and verging on his dotage at that! Not to say, reinforce the image of herself as without a strong male arm to support her. From her account of Willow Court’s various problems Ned was in little doubt that she did need the latter, but in her place he would have asked a responsible neighbour to recommend a reliable agent—and would have retained his services by paying him according to his worth. The which Mrs Urqhart had already explained the woman was too mean to do, for she had rather spend a fortune on her back than a groat on her son’s lands.
She then declared with a brave smile that she had chattered on far too much about herself and her silly little worries, and asked Sir Edward a great deal, in the most artless, girlish manner imaginable, about himself. His answers allowed her to gather that he was truly looking for a country place and, as he had given her to understand on a previous occasion, was thinking of giving up the City for politics, that he had every expectation of marrying his daughter off rather soon (for he did not flatter himself that Lady Charleson’s picture of her future included the rôle of stepmother to Jo), that he visited his late partner’s widow out of respect for his memory but that she did not visit him in town (here Lady Charleson almost visibly refrained from a sigh of relief and Ned experienced a strong desire to kick the woman, even though recognizing that in this she was no worse than the rest of her neighbours or, indeed, ninety-nine percent of her social class), and that his address in town was Green Street.
There was a short silence.
“Green Street?” said Lady Charleson faintly.
“Yes. I bought the house off a lord who had mortgaged and gambled himself into what they call point non plus; he told me it was a fashionable address,” he said on an anxious note. “Only to say truth, I would not know if it was a lie or not!”
She swallowed. “It is a most fashionable address, indeed, Sir Edward, and you are most fortunate in having been able to obtain a house in that locality.”
“Well, I’m very glad to hear it! I did ask Betsy,” he said without a blush, “only she had no more notion of whether it might be fashionable or not than the man in the moon!”
Lady Charleson was not tempted into an injudicious remark by this casually-set trap, and he looked at her with considerable respect: not for her charitable heart but for her quality as a sparring partner.
“Dear Mrs Urqhart, she has many excellent attributes, and I only regret my unequal health has prevented me from seeing much of her, these past few years,” she said, sighing and smiling.
“Indeed,” bowed Ned Jubb. She had finished her tea, so he hastily finished his and suggested, if she should care for it, a little stroll in her beautiful garden? If it was not too windy today? She hesitated and he wondered for an instant if the pretty fair curls were a wig.
Finally she said with a girlish giggle: “Dear Sir Edward, I own that a stroll would be most delightful, but I blush to confess that I shall have to replace my shoes! Oh, dear, you will be getting a very odd picture indeed of our country-house life!” Her hand went to her bosom again.
“Nonsense! Where are they?” he said with a grin, quite aware that the tone and the attitude were underlining the contrast which she was very obviously concerned to establish between his robust masculinity and her frail femininity. And—though with a mental sneer at himself—not unaware that he was enjoying the latter to a certain quite definite degree.
Of course Lady Charleson gasped and protested, with more fluttering of the eyelashes—which were indeed very fine: long and thick—but allowed herself to admit they were just under the chaise longue, if—?
Trying not to grunt, Ned Jubb got down on one knee and retrieved the shoes.
“Oh! No, I did not mean—!” she gasped, as he looked up at her with a twinkle, once again laying her hand to her shapely bosom.
It was Ned Jubb’s intention to lure her into pursuing him very publicly. At the best, this would give Noël Amory a disgust of the woman; at the least, it was to be hoped it would indicate to him that there was no longer any chance for him there.
So he said: “I beg you will let me slip them on, ma’am,” in a polite voice, and when she giggled and held a foot out merely slipped the shoes on without saying anything and without handling her feet more than necessary, and did not offer to tie the strings for her. His blood raced rather, true, but Ned Jubb was accustomed to ignoring such minor matters as that when he had a definite goal in mind.
Evangeline Charleson had set out to pursue the nabob not because she found him an attractive male animal, but because he was free, and rich enough to support her in the manner which she considered her due. The fact that she did find him an exciting and attractive male animal was merely a bonus. Her blood raced, too, and though he was being so proper she could see that he was not unaffected by her. She could have screamed and flung herself at him when his big warm hand closed round her foot, but of course did no such thing. Immediate gratification, pleasant though it might be, was not her aim. And she must do nothing to give him a disgust of her, for if he was a cit, he was a cit who had come up in the world, and even a mere merchant, after all, would not seek to make a loose woman his wife.
Willow Court’s gardens were in truth lovely, and since during the course of the walk Lady Charleson had a spirited encounter with her head gardener over the pruning of a certain area of rosebushes, he declaring it to be needful and she vetoing it crossly on the grounds that it would ruin this part of the gardens and the bushes did not yet need it, Ned Jubb, a little to his surprize, saw that she did take a very real interest in the gardens. This was confirmed when they came upon a deliciously pretty lily pond and she described exactly what was in and around it, and when they all flowered, recounting how Matthew Adams had wished to have it on the higher level, the which would have been entirely unsuitable, being too exposed to the winds in spring and autumn. Sir Edward then asked her about the damming and channelling of the little stream which meandered through the grounds and fed the pool, but she confessed with a girlish laugh, clinging very tight to his arm and looking up at him with big, melting blue eyes, that that was quite, quite beyond her poor head, and Sir Edward must think she was an asserlutely dunce!
He did not, for an instant, but he did recognise that she was the source of Muzzie’s more nauseating expressions. In spite of the undoubted irritation her use of the phrase roused in him, his blood pounded as she clung to his arm, for the clinging entailed the pressing of one breast against his upper-arm, the which gesture he would have staked his entre fortune was deliberate.
There was a little pause. Then Evangeline burst into girlish speech. Would he like to see the waterfall? Though she could not tell him anything about the drefful complicated engineering of that, either! Ned Jubb agreed he would like to see the waterfall, and they wandered on.
Eventually, as she seemed quite content to wander on for ever, and by this time had gathered an armful of blooms, which he was carrying except for a very pretty spray of scented pink roses which from time to time she held to her face, Sir Edward declared he had stayed too long, only it had been quite enchanting! But he must get back.
“I will not keep you, if you do not think it proper to stay longer,” she sighed, looking sadly up into his face.
Sir Ned found himself thinking it was a damned pity she was a conniving cat, for— Oh, well.
“Shall we see you at the Place, er—not tomorrow night, I think it is to be the night after?” he asked politely as they turned for the house.
“I fear not. We are not grand enough for a marquis, you see, dear Sir Edward!”
“He must be an odd sort of man, if you are not good enough for him, Lady Charleson!” he said, all simple merchant.
“You speak of our country life with envy, but I think you have rather a lot to learn about it, sir!” she said with a little angry titter which was not feigned at all. “I have never been favoured with an invitation to Daynesford Place, though we have lived at the Court since before Millicent was born, and when my late husband was alive his Lordship visited not infrequently on political business to do with the district.”
“I see,” he said in a puzzled voice.
“Well,” said Lady Charleson, recollecting herself and her biting lip nervously: “he has had no lady to play hostess, of course. But am I very glad indeed to hear that dear Mrs Urqhart has been favoured with an invitation, for I am sure she is the most deserving woman alive!”
“Indeed,” he agreed gravely: “she’s a simple soul, but a great heart.”
Lady Charleson absorbed this phrase gratefully, not caring whether he meant a word of it. It was a useful one which might well be adopted by herself on a later occasion. For if she had to go on pretending to approve of the woman, she would soon run out of expressions in which to do so!
In the front hall Ned bowed formally and kissed her hand, almost equally formally but not quite, so as she would at least be left with a certain amount of optimism about his intentions, and immediately took his leave.
Evangeline was left standing there feeling like a fool. She had not even got out of him how long he meant to remain at The Towers! And while there was no doubting at all that he admired her—well, perhaps he had merely had a few spare hours to while away, and after dining with the damned Marquis of Rockingham would disappear from the district, never to be seen again! She rushed into the sitting-room and threw herself onto her chaise longue, sobbing in despair and frustration.
Next morning, however, she determined to be optimistic about Sir Edward. He was not altogether beyond the pale, and given a little time could be turned into an acceptable facsimile of a country gentleman. By the right woman.
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