Bath Tangle

14

Rotherham sat down again, and refilled both his own and the Major’s glass. The Major returned to his chair, but stood behind it, his hands gripping its back. He said jerkily: “She must be persuaded to do that!”

“I don’t know what your powers of persuasion are,” replied Rotherham, “but I should doubt whether you will succeed.”

“If she knew that you were in agreement with me—”

“Nothing would more surely set up her back. Moreover, I am not in agreement with you. I fail to see why Serena should be deprived of what she has every right to enjoy.” He picked up his wineglass, and lounged back in his chair, one leg stretched out before him, and his hand thrust into the pocket of his breeches. He surveyed the Major somewhat satirically. “Serena, my dear sir, is the daughter of an extremely wealthy man, and has lived her whole life, until Spenborough’s death, in the first style of affluence. I know of no reason why she should be obliged to spend the rest of it in reduced circumstances. I should doubt very much her ability to do so. However, it is no concern of mine. By all means persuade her, if you think you can do it, and believe yourself able to support her when you have done it!”

There was a long silence. The Major sat down rather heavily, and for some time remained staring blindly at his wineglass, which he kept on twisting round and round, a finger and thumb gripping its stem. At last he drew a long breath, and looked up with an air of resolution. “Lord Rotherham, when I asked Serena to marry me, it was in the belief that although her fortune might be larger than my own, it was not so immense as to render my proposal an effrontery! I am astonished that you should behave with such—I must call it forbearance! I am well aware in what a light I must appear to anyone not familiar with the circumstances! In justice to myself, I wish to tell you that I have loved her—the memory of her—ever since I first saw her! She, too, formed an attachment. She would have married me then, but my suit was considered to be ineligible—which, indeed, it was! I was a mere lad, a younger son! We were parted. I never hoped to see her again, but forget her I could not! She was to me—an unattainable dream, a beautiful goddess beyond my reach!” He stopped, flushing, and said with some difficulty: “But I need not try to explain that to you, I fancy. I am aware—Serena has told me—”

“If Serena has told you that I ever thought her a goddess, she’s either an unconscionable liar, or she’s hoaxing you!” interrupted Rotherham tartly.

“She did not—I only thought—”

“Then think it no longer! I collect that when you succeeded to the property you now possess, you decided she was no longer above your touch?”

The Major shook his head. “It never entered my head. I didn’t suppose even that she could remember me. But we met—here in Bath—neither of us dreaming of such a thing.” He raised his eyes fleetingly to that harsh face, and said, colouring as he spoke: “It was as though the years rolled back—for both of us!”

“I see.” Rotherham smiled slightly. “Your dream, in fact, had come true.”

“It sounds foolish, I daresay. I had not meant to tell you all this! But what has happened tonight—”

“Not at all. You are singularly fortunate, Major Kirkby. In my experience, the embodiment of such a dream is frequently a severe disappointment. So Serena is just what you had imagined her to be! You must have been far better acquainted with her than I had supposed possible!”

“How could I—how could I be disappointed in her?” demanded the Major, with unnecessary violence.

“Evidently you are not.”

“No! Unthinkable!”

“Then we need not think of it. I am obliged to you for honouring me with your confidence, but it was unnecessary. I had not imagined that you wished to marry Serena for the sake of her fortune: she’s not such a fool as to be taken in by a fortune-hunter! Nor is she answerable to me for her actions.”

“Was it not to guard her from just such a fortune-hunter as I must appear that her father appointed you to be her Trustee?”

Rotherham’s mouth twisted rather wryly. “No. It was not. No doubt he hoped, at the least, that I should prevent her marriage to some obviously undesirable person. Mere disparity of fortune would not, I fancy, constitute undesirability in the eyes of the Law. She would marry whom she chose, even though I swore she shouldn’t touch a penny more than the pin-money she now enjoys,” He gave a short laugh. “And fight me afterwards to the Courts of Appeal!” he added. He got up. There is really no more to say. Shall we go?”

“Yes. That is—I must think! Before I knew the size of this appalling fortune, I had qualms that I had no business to—Had it not been for Lady Spenborough, I believe I must have torn myself away!”

Rotherham had strolled towards the door, but he paused, and looked at the Major. “Did Lady Spenborough encourage you to declare yourself?”

“Yes. I was in miserable uncertainty! I felt she was the most proper person to be consulted!”

“Good God!”

“You are thinking of her youth! But I knew her to be devoted to Serena! Her kindness, her sympathy I can find no words to describe! To lose Serena must be such a blow to her, but I believe she never spares a thought for herself. I think I never knew one so young and so timid to have so much strength of character, so much understanding!”

“An excellent woman.” agreed Rotherham. “Serena’s marriage will no doubt be a sad loss to her. She is really quite unfitted to live alone.”

“Exactly so! One cannot but feel that she needs to be protected from—But I fear she will have her sister thrust upon her, and from all I can discover a more disagreeable, censorious girl never existed!”

“Indeed? A gloomy prospect, certainly. However, I daresay she will marry again.”

“Marry!” The Major sounded thunderstruck, but said quickly, after a blank moment: “Why, yes! Of course! We must hope she may.”

“I do hope it,” said Rotherham cryptically, and opened the door.

The sound of music met them, as they mounted the stairs. They found Fanny seated by the open window, gazing out into the gathering dusk, and Serena at the piano in the back half of the drawing-room. She stopped playing when she saw that the gentlemen had come in, but the Major went to her, saying: “Ah, don’t get up! You were playing the Haydn sonata I recommended to you!”

“Attempting to play it! It is not fit yet to be heard!”

“Try it once more!” he coaxed her. “I’ll turn for you.”

She allowed herself to be persuaded. Rotherham walked over to the window, and sat down beside Fanny. For a few moments he watched the couple at the far end of the room, his face expressionless. Then he turned his head to look at Fanny. He said, his voice a little lowered: “I understand that this marriage has your approval, Lady Spenborough.”

“Yes, I—I feel so sure that he will make Serena happy!”

“Do you?”

“It couldn’t be otherwise!” she said wistfully. “He is so very kind, and—and has loved her so devotedly!”

“So I am informed.”

“Indeed, it is quite true! He worships her: I think there is nothing he would not do to please her!”

“Excellent! Does he quarrel with her?”

“No, no! His temper is of the sweetest, and he is so patient! I cannot but feel that his tenderness and forbearance must put it out of her power to quarrel with him.” She saw the sardonic smile curl his lips, and faltered: “You do not dislike him, Lord Rotherham?”

He shrugged. “I see nothing to dislike.”

“I am so glad you have not withheld your consent.”

“It would have been useless.”

She looked anxiously at him, and nerved herself to say: “I am afraid you are not quite pleased. He is not her equal in rank or fortune, but in worth, I do assure you—”

He interrupted her, in his brusque way. “On the contrary! I am much better pleased than I expected to be. Had I known—” He broke off. She saw that the smile had quite vanished, and that his brows were lowering again. He sat in a brown study for several minutes. It seemed to her that his face hardened as she watched him. As though he felt her eyes upon him, he came out of his reverie, and turned his head to meet her inquiring look. “Such persons as you and Major Kirkby are to be envied!” he said abruptly. “You make mistakes, but you will not make the crass mistakes that spring from a temper never brought under control! I must go. Don’t get up!”

She was wholly bewildered, and could only say: “You will stay for tea!”

“Thank you, no! It is not yet dark, and there will be a full moon presently: I mean to start for London tonight.” He shook handswith her, and strode away to take his leave of Serena and the Major.

“Going so soon!” Serena exclaimed, rising quickly from the piano stool. “Good God, have I driven you away by my lamentable performance?”

“I wasn’t listening to it. I am sleeping at Marlborough, or Newbury, tonight, and must not stay.”

She smiled, but retained his hand. “You have not wished me happy.”

There was a moment’s silence, while each stared into the other’s eyes. “Have I not? I do wish you happy, Serena.” His grasp on her hand tightened rather painfully for an instant. He released it, and turned to shake hands with the Major. “I wish you happy too. I fancy you will be.”

A brief goodbye, and he was gone. Serena shut the piano. The Major waited for a moment, watching her, as she gathered her music together. “No more?” he asked gently.

She looked as though she did not realize what she had been doing. Then she put the music into a cabinet, and replied, “Not tonight. I must practise it before I play it to you again.” She turned, and laid her hand on his arm, walking with him into the front half of the room. “Well, that went off pretty tolerably, didn’t it? I wish I had not flown into a rage, but he made me do so. Did you hate him?”

“I didn’t love him,” he confessed. “But I thought he treated my pretensions with a degree of kindness I had no right to expect.”

“Your pretensions! I wish you will not talk in that absurd way!” she said impatiently. He was silent, and she pressed his arm, saying, in a lighter tone: “Do you know I am close on twenty-six years of age? I am very much obliged to you for offering for me! I had quite given up hope of achieving a respectable alliance.”

He smiled, but said: “It won’t do, Serena. You must not try to turn it off. This matter must be seriously discussed between us.”

“Not now! I don’t know how it is, but I have the headache. Don’t tease me. Hector!”

“My darling! I will rather beg you to go up to bed! You should not have let me keep you at the piano! Have you any fever?”

She pulled her hand away. “No, no! It’s nothing—the heat! Ah, here is the tea-tray at last!”

He looked at her in concern, which was not lessened by Fanny’s saying: “A headache? You, dearest? I never knew you to complain of such a thing before! Oh, I hope you may not have a touch of the sun! I wish you will go to bed! Lybster, desire her ladyship’s woman to fetch some vinegar to her room directly, if you please!”

“No!” almost shrieked Serena. “For heaven’s sake, let me alone! Of all things in the world I most abominate being—” She clipped the word off short, and gave a gasp. “I beg your pardon!” she said, forcing a smile. “You are both of you very kind, but pray believe I don’t wish to have my temples bathed with vinegar, or to have such a rout made over nothing! I shall be better when I have drunk some tea.”

It seemed as if the Major was going to say something, but even as he opened his mouth to speak Fanny caught his eye, and very slightly shook her head. “Will you take this cup to Serena, Major?” she said calmly.

But he had first to hover over Serena, while she disposed herself in a wing-chair, to place a cushion behind her head, and a stool at her feet. Her hands gripped the arms of her chair till her knuckles gleamed, and her lips were tightly compressed. But when he set her cup down on a table beside her, she smiled again, and thanked him. Fanny began to talk to him, in her soft voice, distracting his attention from Serena. In a minute or two, Serena sat up, allowing the cushion to slide down behind her, and sipped her tea. When she spoke, it was in her usual manner, but when she had finished the tea in her cup she went away to bed, saying, however, that her headache was gone, and she was merely sleepy.

The Major turned an anxious gaze upon Fanny. “Do you think her seriously unwell, Lady Spenborough?”

“Oh, I hope not!” she replied. “I think, perhaps, Lord Rotherham vexed her. If she is not better in the morning, I will try to persuade her to let me send for the doctor. But it never answers to pay any heed if she is not quite well.” She smiled at him consolingly. “She cannot bear anyone to be in a fuss about her, you see. Indeed, I quite thought she would have flown out at you for trying to make her comfortable. Will you have some more tea?”

“No, thank you. I must go. I shall call tomorrow morning, if I may, to see how she goes on,” he said.

But when he presented himself in Laura Place at ten o’clock next day, he found the ladies breakfasting, Serena in her riding dress. She greeted him with mock abuse, demanding to be told why he had broken faith with her. “Ten whole minutes did I wait for you to come trotting over the bridge, and that, let me tell you, is longer than I have waited for any man before! Well for you you did not appear by that time, for I should certainly have sworn at you! Fanny, I forbid you to give him that coffee! He has slighted me!”

“I never dreamed you would ride this morning!” he exclaimed. “I came only to see how you did! Are you sure you are quite well? You didn’t go alone?”

“No, with Fobbing.”

“It is too hot for riding: I wish you will not!”

“On the contrary, it was delightful. I don’t gallop Maid Marian, of course.”

“I was thinking of you, not the mare!”

“Oh, hush!” Fanny said, laughing. “You could not say anything she would think more shocking!”

“No, indeed! And not one word of apology, note!”

“My repentance is too deep to be expressed! You won’t go out again, will you? At least not in the heat of the day!”

“Yes, I’ve persuaded Fanny to forgo, the drinking of her horrid waters, and to drive with me instead to Melksham Forest. I hope you give her credit for heroism!”

“What, you don’t mean to drive her in your phaeton?”

“Most certainly I do!”

“Serena, not alone, I do implore you!”

“You and Fobbing will ride behind us, to protect us from highwaymen, and to set the phaeton on its wheels again when I have overturned it. I won’t do so above twice!”

There was nothing but nonsense to be got out of her, then or thereafter. She was in the gayest of moods all day, and at her most affectionate, yet when he parted from her he felt that he had not once come within touching distance of her.

He thought it wisest not to revert immediately to the vexed question of her inheritance, and when, after ten days, he ventured to raise the subject, she surprised him by listening without interruption to his carefully considered arguments, and by saying, when he had done: “Very well: let it be as you wish, my dear! After all, I don’t greatly care. Not enough, at all events, to make you uncomfortable. When the time comes, arrange it as you think proper!”

She would have banished the matter there; he could not. No sooner did she yield than he was torn by doubt. Rotherham’s words echoed in his mind: what right had he to insist on her relinquishing the means whereby she might live as she had always done? She listened with what patience she could muster, but exclaimed at last: “Oh, Hector, what are you at? You told me you cannot bear it if I use my fortune, and I submitted! Now you tell me you cannot bear to deprive me of it!”

“Do I seem absurd? I suppose I must. I don’t wish you to submit, now or ever! I couldn’t do it on such terms as that. Only if you too desired it!”

“No, that is asking too much of me!” she cried. “I must have less than common sense if I desired anything so foolish!”

“Oh, my dear, if it seems foolish to you, how could I let you make a sacrifice to my pride?”

She looked at him strangely. “Ask yourself how I could let you sacrifice your pride to my extravagant habits. I could tell you how easily I might do that! Don’t—don’t encourage me to rule you! I shall try to, you know. There! you are warned! Handsome of me, wasn’t it? Don’t let us speak of this again! Only tell me when you have decided what to do!”

They did not speak of it again. He thought of it continually; she seemed to have put it quite out of her mind. If her indifference was a mask, she never let it slip. She seemed to him to be in the best of health and spirits, so full of unflagging energy that it was he who sometimes felt tired, keeping pace with her. He told Fanny once, half in jest, half in earnest, that he never knew from one moment to the next where she would be, or what she might be doing. “I think,” Fanny said, “that it is perhaps because she is very happy. She has always a great deal of energy, but I never saw her so restless before. She can’t be still!”

Mrs Floore noticed it, and drew her own conclusions. She bore down upon Fanny one day in the Pump Room, and, ruthlessly ousting young Mr Ryde, her most fervent admirer, from her side, lowered herself into the chair he had been obliged to offer her. “Well, I don’t doubt that’s one enemy I’ve made!” she remarked cheerfully. “Between you, my lady, you and Lady Serena have got the men in this town so lovelorn that it’s a wonder the other young females ain’t all gone off into declines!”

Fanny laughed, but shook her head. “It is Lady Serena they admire, not me, ma’am!”

“I don’t deny anyone would take her for a jam-jar, the way all these silly bumble-bees keep buzzing round her,” agreed Mrs Floore, “but there’s some that like you better, if you’ll pardon my saying so! As for that young sprig that gave up his chair to me with the worst grace I ever did see, he makes a bigger cake of himself than ever the Major did, when he used to come day after day into this room, looking for her ladyship.”

“Mr Ryde is only a boy, and dreadfully stupid!” Fanny said hastily.

“He’s stupid enough, I grant you. Which the Major is not,” said Mrs Floore, cocking a shrewd eye at Fanny. “What I thought at first, my lady, was that that was just a Bath flirtation. But, lord bless me. Lady Serena wouldn’t be in such a fine flow of spirits if that’s all it is! When is it to be, that’s what I’d like to know?”

Fanny, anything but appreciative of the wink so roguishly bestowed upon her, said as coldly as her tender heart would permit: “I am afraid I don’t know what you mean, ma’am.”

“Keeping it a secret, are they?” Mrs Floore shook with fat chuckles. “As though it wasn’t plain enough for a blind man to see! Well, if that’s how it is, I won’t ask any questions, my lady. I can’t help watching them, and having my own notions, though!”

The very thought of being watched by Mrs Floore was so objectionable to Fanny that she almost summoned up enough resolution to remonstrate with Serena on her imprudence. But before she had quite succeeded in doing so something happened to give the old lady’s thoughts another direction. Midway through July she once more had herself driven to Laura Place, announcing on arrival that such a piece of news as she had she couldn’t keep to herself, not if she died of it.

“Which I very likely would have done, through going off pop, like a gingerbeer bottle,” she said. “Who do you think will be staying with me before I’m more than a day older?”

Neither lady could hazard a guess; though Serena hugely delighted Mrs Floore by saying promptly: “The Prince Regent!”

“Better than him!” Mrs Floore declared, when she had recovered from the paroxysm into which this sally threw her. “Emma!”

“Emily!” Serena exclaimed. “Delightful, indeed! How pleased you must be! The Lalehams are in Gloucestershire again, then?”

“No, that’s the best of it!” said Mrs Floore. “Though heaven knows I shouldn’t be saying so, for the other poor little things—three of them, that is—are so full of the measles as never was! So Sukey stayed in London, with Emma, because there wasn’t a house to be had in Brighton, which she had a fancy for. Only it seems the Marquis don’t care for Brighton, so it was just as well, I daresay. Not that I’d ever want Emma to go and get ill with this nasty influenza that’s going about in London, which is what she did do, poor little soul! Not four days after they came back from this place, Delford, which Sukey tells me is the Marquis’s country home. Seat, she calls it, and I’m bound to say it don’t sound like a home to me. Well, it’s all according to taste, but you mark my words, my dear, when he gets to be as fat as I am—which I’m sure I hope he won’t—this Marquis will wish he hadn’t got to walk a quarter of a mile from his bedroom to get to his dinner! I shouldn’t wonder at it if that’s how poor Emma came to get ill, for she’s never been much of a one for long walks.”

“Delford is very large, but Lady Laleham exaggerates a little, ma’am,” Serena said, faintly smiling.

“You can lay your life to that, my dear! Well, the long and the short of it is that she did take ill, and very sick she must have been, because Sukey writes that the doctor says she must go out of London, on account of her being regularly knocked up, and her nerves quite upset besides.”

“I am so sorry!” Fanny said. “So Lady Laleham is to bring her on a visit to you, ma’am?”

“No!” said Mrs Floore, a smile of delight spreading over her large face. “Depend upon it, Sukey would have taken her to Jericho rather than come to me! But she’s got the influenza now, so there’s no help for it but for her to send Emma down with her maid tomorrow! She’s coming post, of course, and see if I don’t have her blooming again in a trice!”