Charity Girl

Chapter 10

For several minutes after he left Lord Nettlecombe’s lodging the Viscount seethed with anger, but by the time he was half-way to the High town this had diminished, and the comical side of the late interview struck him, so forcibly that the sparkling look of wrath in his eyes vanished, and the hardened lines about his mouth relaxed. As he recalled some of the things which had been said he began to chuckle; and when he pictured the scenes which must have goaded Nettlecombe to marry the most economical housekeeper he had ever employed he found that he was within ames-ace of positively liking the vulgar creature.

He wished very much that there was someone with him to share the joke: Hetta, for instance, whose sense of the ridiculous was as lively as his own. He would tell her all about it, of course, but recounting an absurd experience was not the same as sharing it. It was to be hoped she didn’t make the mistake of marrying that prosy fellow whom he had found dangling after her at Inglehurst, for he wouldn’t suit her at all: he was just the kind of slow-top to ask her in a puzzled voice what she meant when she made a joke. Come to think of it, none of Hetta’s suitors—and, lord, how many of them there had been!—had ever seemed to him worthy of her: queer that such an intelligent girl should be unable to recognize at a glance men who were quite beneath her touch! Recalling her numerous suitors he could not bring to mind one whom he had liked. There had been several dead bores amongst them; at least two bladders, who never stopped gabbing; and any number of men who were, in his opinion, very poor sticks indeed.

These reflections had led his mind away from the immediate problem confronting him, but the recollection of it soon recurred, and put an end to any desire in him to laugh at the failure of his mission, or to speculate on the strange vagaries of females. A less determined man might have felt that he had been tipped a settler, and have thrown his towel into the ring, but the Viscount had a streak of strong determination running through his easy-going nature, and he had no intention of being beaten on this, or any other, suit. He had certainly suffered a set-back, so what he must now do was to think of some other way of providing for Cherry’s future well-being. None immediately occurred to him. He wondered what she was doing, whether she was happy at Inglehurst, or whether she was too anxious to be happy; and realized with a slight sense of shock that it was now nine days since he had left her there.

Had he but known it, Cherry was blissfully happy, and only now and then thought about her future. She had fitted into her surroundings as though she had lived at Inglehurst all her life; and she seemed to take as much pleasure in making herself useful to her hostesses as in the small parties Lady Silverdale gave to her neighbours. Indeed, Henrietta thought that she took more, for her disposition was retiring, and her shyness tied her tongue, so that when she was seated at the dinner-table beside a stranger her conversation was inclined to be monosyllabic. Henrietta ascribed this to Lady Bugle’s treatment. She had relegated the poor child to the background, and had so systematically impressed upon her that she was far less important than her cousins, and must never put herself forward as though she thought herself their equal, that it had become second nature to her. Henrietta hoped that she would overcome her almost morbid shrinking from strangers for such excessive shyness was, in her view, a handicap to any penniless female obliged to make her own way in the world. It was unfortunate, too, that she was noticeably more ill-at-ease with the various young gentlemen who visited the house than with their fathers. However, once she became acquainted with them she grew less self-conscious, and chatted to them quite naturally. With Sir Charles, and young Mr Beckenham, she was soon on friendly terms; but she treated Tom Ellerdine, who showed a disposition to make her the object of his youthful gallantry, with marked reserve. Henrietta could not help feeling that it was a pity.

Lady Silverdale did not agree.. “For my part,” she said, “I think her a very pretty-behaved girl. I own, my love, it quite astonishes me that she is not in the least pert, or coming, as so many girls are nowadays, for one never expected a Steane to be so well-conducted, and her mama was not at all the thing. Not that I ever knew her, because she eloped with Wilfred Steane out of the schoolroom, you know, which shows the most shocking want of delicacy, and just what one would expect in any sister of that Bugle woman!”

“Dear Mama, I am perfectly ready to join you in abusing Lady Bugle, but that is going too far!” expostulated Henrietta laughingly. “She is a horrid creature, but I’m persuaded that she is quite boringly respectable!”

“Good gracious, Hetta, how you do take one up!” Lady Silverdale complained. “You know very well what I mean! She’s an excessively underbred woman, and that, you will allow, dear little Cherry is not! I think it remarkable that she shouldn’t be, for we all know what the Steanes are like, and although I never heard anything said against the Wissets they did not move in the first circles. I believe old Mr Wisset was an attorney, or something of the sort. And when you consider that Cherry has had no other home than her aunt’s house it has me in a puzzle to know how she came by her pretty, modest manners. She certainly cannot have learnt them from Amelia Bugle!”

“No, I fancy she must have learnt them from Miss Fletching,” said Henrietta. “From what Cherry has told me, she must be an excellent woman—and it is to Mr Wilfred Steane’s credit that he placed Cherry in her school, even if he did forget to pay the bills!”

“Well, it may be so,” acknowledged Lady Silverdale, reluctant to perceive any saving grace in Mr Wilfred Steane’s character, “but for my part I should rather suppose that he chose the first school that hit his eye. And I am much inclined to think that Cherry’s manners spring from her disposition—so very amiable and obliging, and with such delicacy of principle!—than from any lesson Miss Fletching could have taught her. You know, dearest, how very rarely I take a fancy to anyone, but I own I have taken a strong fancy to Cherry, and shall miss her sadly when she leaves us. Indeed, if Nettlecombe refuses to adopt her, which wouldn’t surprise me in the least, because he was always known to be as close as wax, and has “become positively freakish of late years—I have a very good mind to keep her here!”

Henrietta, who knew well, not how rarely her mama took fancies to people, but how frequently she did, and how inevitably she discovered that she had been mistaken in the character of her latest protégée, was startled into exclaiming: “Handsomely over the bricks, Mama, I do beg of you! You have only known Cherry for a sennight!”

“I have known her for nine days,” replied her ladyship, with dignity. “And I must request you, Hetta, not to employ vulgar slang when you are talking to me! Or to anyone, for it is not at all becoming in you! I have not the remotest conjecture what handsomely over the bricks may signify, but I collect that you have heard Charlie say it, and I must tell you that you are very ill-advised to copy the things young men say.”

“Oh, don’t blame Charlie, ma’am!” Henrietta said, her eyes alight with laughter. “It is what Desford says, when he thinks I am about to do something rash! But I should not have said it to you, and I beg your pardon! In—in unexceptionable language, I hope that you will consider carefully before you come to any decision about Cherry.”

“Naturally I shall do so,” said Lady Silverdale. “You may be sure of that!”

Henrietta was anything but sure of it, but she said no more, knowing that few things were more likely to goad Lady Silverdale into precipitate action than opposition from herself. Upon reflection she realized that she ought to have been prepared for the announcement which had startled her into uttering the slang phrase which had offended her mama’s chaste ears for she had watched Cherry winning more and more approval, and had several times heard Lady Silverdale say that she couldn’t conceive how she ever contrived to exist without “our sweet little sunbeam.” Well, there was nothing surprising in that: still less was it surprising that Lady Silverdale should be enjoying Cherry’s visit, for Cherry was always ready to do whatever her kind hostess wished, and happily ran errands, unravelled tangled embroidery silks, went for tediously slow walks with her round the gardens, accompanied her on sedate drives in her landaulette, read aloud to her, and listened with unfeigned interest to her store of very dull anecdotes. These duties had hitherto fallen to Henrietta’s lot, and although she had performed them cheerfully they had bored her very much, and none of them more than listening to reminiscences which had been told her many times before, and reading aloud absurdly romantic and adventurous novels, for which form of literature Lady Silverdale had an incurable passion. But three days after Cherry’s arrival at Inglehurst Henrietta contracted a slight cold, which made her throat too sore for reading aloud, and she had suggested that Cherry might take her place until she had recovered from her trifling indisposition. She had apologized to Cherry for saddling her with a task which she feared she would think abominably dull, but Cherry had said that indeed she wouldn’t think it dull, and the wonder was that she didn’t. At least, it seemed wonderful at the outset, but it was soon brought home to Henrietta, that Cherry’s literary taste exactly matched Lady Silverdale’s. Never having been permitted by Miss Fletching to read novels, she was instantly entranced by the specimen Henrietta gave her, entering into all the hapless heroine’s alarms, adoring the hero, hating the villain, uncritically accepting every extravagance of the plot, and eagerly discussing with Lady Silverdale how the story would end. Almost as absorbing did she find the Mirror of Fashion, a monthly periodical to which Lady Silverdale subscribed, and was ready to pore over it for as long as Lady Silverdale pleased. It had to be admitted that with all the advantages of a pretty face, engaging manners, and sweetness of disposition, one attribute had been denied her: she was regrettably lacking in intellect, Henrietta thought that when the ingenuousness of youth left her she would be as foolish as Lady Silverdale (though probably not as indolent), and a sad bore to any man of superior sense, for she was interested only in trivialities and domestic matters, and had very little understanding of wider issues. To Henrietta, who possessed considerable force of mind, this made her no more companionable than a small child would have been, but it suited Lady Silverdale admirably, and would possibly suit some other elderly and rather silly lady just as well. But what a bleak prospect for an affectionate girl, crying out to be loved and cherished! Henrietta sighed over it, but could see no other solution to the problem of her future, if Nettlecombe refused to acknowledge her. The realization that her mother had taken it into her head to keep Cherry with her seriously dismayed her. No dependence could be placed on Lady Silverdale’s continuing to dote on the girl: at any moment she might take her in dislike; and even if she did not do that she would almost certainly find her an irksome burden when the family removed to London, which they always did in the spring, and she became engaged in too many social activities to have the smallest need of any other attendant than her dresser. In London, Cherry would inevitably be regarded as that tiresome Extra Female, the bane of all hostesses, and could count herself fortunate if the sudden indisposition of one of the invited ladies led to her inclusion in some of her ladyship’s dinner-parties. To suppose that Lady Silverdale’s matchmaking instincts would prompt her to find a suitable husband for Cherry was to indulge fancy far beyond the bounds of probability: they were concentrated on her daughter, whose obstinate spinsterhood constituted almost the only flaw in her otherwise carefree existence. In a year or two she would no doubt be seeking a bride for her adored son, but at no time would she think it incumbent upon her to find a mate for Cherry. The thought of her brother caused Henrietta to feel a twinge of uneasiness. It had not occurred to Lady Silverdale that he might seek distraction in his enforced stay at Inglehurst by pursuing an à suivie flirtation with Cherry, but Henrietta laboured under no delusions about him, and she knew that he had begun to look far more favourably upon Cherry than when he had first seen her. He no longer spoke contemptuously of her as a snippety-thing, but had described her to at least two of Lady Silverdale’s morning visitors as a taking little puss. Henrietta did not for a moment suppose that he had any serious intention in mind; and she had a shrewd suspicion that Cherry’s friendly manner towards him rose from a very proper wish to avoid offending the susceptibilities of his mother and sister, and not at all from a desire to encourage his advances. She had at first been very shy of him, but that, naturally, had worn off, as she became better acquainted with him, and it was not many days before she was able to take him very much for granted, behaving towards him with little more ceremony than she would have used towards an elder brother. She fetched and carried for him, and sought to divert him by playing cribbage and backgammon and draughts with him, or even such infantile games as span-counters, in which his superior skill was counterbalanced by his inability to use his right hand. She did these things because she was sorry for him, and anxious to help his mother and sister to keep him amused; but although she enjoyed playing such games and was young enough to be intent on proving herself a match for him, Henrietta did not think that she liked him very much. That made Henrietta sigh again. Not that she wanted Cherry to fall a victim to Charlie’s lures, but she did wish that Cherry were not so indifferent to every young man she met, for her indifference, coupled as it was with a tongue-tied shyness, did not make her appear to advantage. The only men with whom she was natural and at ease were nearly all of them old enough to have fathered her; or, if not quite so middle-aged, too old to be considered as possible suitors, at all events. She certainly liked Desford, but although in years he was only ten years her senior, in experience he was at least twenty years older; and Henrietta believed (and hoped) that she regarded him in the light of a protector, not as a possible suitor. Cary Nethercott, and Sir James Radcliffe had also won her liking, but both these kindly gentlemen were in their thirties, which was probably why she didn’t retire into her shell when they came to Inglehurst, but chatted away to, them in the most natural style imaginable. She even told Mr Nethercott all about the lurid romance she was reading to Lady Silverdale, when she was seated beside him at dinner one evening. Henrietta heard her doing it and was moved to silent admiration of the good-nature which made him listen with apparent interest to the tangled story that was being described to him.

As for Charlie, she had little doubt that if some dashing beauty were to come within his ken he would have no thoughts to spare for Cherry. Unfortunately, there were no dashing beauties living in the vicinity, and very few unattached young females of any description. Whether it was unfortunate that his particular cronies, none of whom hailed from Hertfordshire, were either disporting themselves at Brighton, or had retired to their parental homes in distant parts of the country, to recover from the ravages to their constitutions and purses caused by too many sprees, jollifications, and revel-routs, was a moot point. Lady Silverdale was for ever saying that if only two or three of his friends lived within visiting-distance they could have ridden over to entertain him; and she even went so far as to suggest to him that he should invite one of them to spend a week or two at Inglehurst. He spurned the notion, saying ungraciously that his friends would think it curst flat to be stuck down in the country with nothing to do all day, and nothing to enliven the evenings but short whist, or half-guinea commerce. Having uttered this disagreeable speech, he found that his sister had raised her eyes from her book and was steadily regarding him from under lifted brows. He coloured, and begged his mother’s pardon, saying: “I didn’t mean to be uncivil, ma’am, but you don’t understand how it is! I mean—oh, dash it, how could it be possible to invite anyone to visit me when I can’t ride, or drive, or play billiards, or—or anything?”

Lady Silverdale saw the force of this argument; but as she continued to regret it for the next twenty minutes Henrietta could hardly blame Charlie for dragging himself up from the sofa, and walking out of the room.

She was sorry for him, but she had suspected long since that his haggard appearance and slow recovery from his injuries were due not so much to his accident, but to the dissipated life he had been leading, in the company of those choice spirits who, in her private opinion, belonged to a fast, rackety set, and were rapidly ruining his character. The suspicion had been confirmed by the Squire, who had visited him two days after his accident, and had told her bluntly that it was just as well that the young ram-stam had knocked himself up. He was one of Charlie’s trustees, and had been intimately acquainted with both him and his sister all their lives, and he saw no need to mince his words. He said that what Charlie wanted was a long repairing lease. “Been going the pace, m’dear: only have to look at him to know that! I warned your mother he was too callow to be let loose on the town, but all she would do was to talk gibble-gabble about not keeping him tied to her apron-strings, and having complete confidence in him, and a lot more to that tune. ‘All very well,’ I told her, ‘if the boy’s father were alive, or he had elder brothers, or a male guardian, to tell him how he should go on, and warn him against the things no female knows anything about, but—’ Oh, well! No use crying over spilt milk, so I’ll say no more. Though how your father, as shrewd a man as ever I knew, could have allowed her ladyship to bamboozle him into appointing her to be Charlie’s guardian—Well, well, my tongue runs away with me, but you’re a sensible girl, Hetta, and you won’t take it amiss! We must hope that this latest bit of folly will have taught Charlie a lesson!” He refreshed himself with a pinch of snuff, and added, in a heartening tone: “No reason why he shouldn’t turn out to be as good a man as his father! Most codlings take time to find their feet, y’know, Hetta! Best thing for him would be to get himself buckled to a nice girl! He’s been philandering after dashing women of fashion, but there’s no harm in that! He don’t have petticoat affairs with straw damsels, and you may take it from me that’s true, for I’ve had my eye on him, ever since he set up for himself in London!”

“What can I do, Sir John?” she asked straitly.

“Can’t do anything!” he answered, restoring his snuffbox to the capacious pocket of his riding-coat. “Just try what you can to keep him amused, so that he don’t run off before he’s in better point than he is now!”

With this piece of advice she had to be satisfied, but she found it almost impossible to follow. The only things that amused Charlie were the country-sports which he was debarred from pursuing, and almost every variety of gaming. To do him justice, he enjoyed, for their sake, such games as offered a challenge to his skill, but Henrietta, who played a good game at chess, had so little card-sense that it bored him to play with her. Cherry, on the other hand, had neither the desire nor the ability to master the intricacies of chess, but she possessed a certain quickness which enabled her to grasp the rules and the objects of any card game he taught her, and to play well enough to make him declare that it wouldn’t be long before she became a dashed dangerous opponent.

“Such a good thing, dearest!” Lady Silverdale confided to her daughter. “At last we have hit upon something that keeps him tolerably well entertained! Gentlemen, you know, always like to instruct one, but they are much inclined to be vexed when people like you and me, my love, show no aptitude, or, at any hand, don’t instantly comprehend what they tell us. What a fortunate circumstance it is that dear little Cherry has a turn for cards! I declare I am positively grateful to Desford for having brought her to me!”

But two days later Cherry’s star suffered a temporary eclipse, when the most longstanding of Lady Silverdale’s cicisbeos was so ill-advised as to beg her to bestow on him one of the roses she was carrying into the house. With playful gallantry he insisted that she should put it into his buttonhole with her own fair hands, saying that it would smell the sweeter. Since she regarded him in the light of a grandparent, which indeed he was, she complied with his requests, but could not help giggling a little at the fulsome compliment he had paid her. Lady Silverdale, on the other hand, was not amused; and for an anxious moment Henrietta feared that Cherry’s popularity had already come to an end. Happily, Lady Silverdale’s faithful admirer had the wit to say (after one look at her stiffening countenance) that he was glad Cherry had gone into the house, because he never knew what to say to chits of her age, adding, as he sat down again on the rustic seat beside my lady: “Now we can be comfortable together, my lady!” This mollified her so much that instead of scolding Cherry she merely warned her not to encourage strange gentlemen to flirt with her. But even this mild reproof made startled tears spring to Cherry’s eyes as she exclaimed in trembling accents: “Oh, no, no! Indeed I didn’t! I thought he was being kind to me because you had asked him to be, ma’am!” She added imploringly, as the tears coursed down her face: “Don’t be vexed with me! Pray don’t be vexed with me, dear, dear Lady Silverdale! I can’t bear you to be displeased with me, for I wouldn’t displease you for the world, after all your goodness to me!”

Much touched by this speech, Lady Silverdale melted completely, to the extent of shedding a few tears herself; and within the hour told her dresser, when that jealous spinster uttered a sly criticism of Cherry, that she was a nasty, ill-natured creature, and if she ever again dared to speak of Miss Steane as That Miss Steane she would find herself turned off without a character. Upon which, Cardle too burst into tears, but as this display of sensibility was accompanied by lamentations that her own virtues should go unrecognized, and a pious hope that my lady would learn before it was too late who were her real friends, Lady Silverdale was easily able to refrain from succumbing to her own tendency to become lachrymose upon the smallest provocation. She accepted an apology from Cardle, but with chilly dignity; and immediately went off to tell Henrietta that Cardle was growing to be intolerably bumptious, and that if it weren’t for the circumstances of her being such an excellent dresser she would be much inclined to get rid of her. Henrietta knew, of course, that nothing would prevail upon her to put this threat into execution, but her mother’s account of the painful scene which had taken place, made her heart sink. Nothing, she thought, could have more surely increased Cardle’s jealousy of one whom she persisted in believing to be her rival. She embarked on the task of peace-making, soothing her ruffled parent by agreeing that Cardle was detestably uppish, but saying that she was so devoted to her mistress that she resented it if even Mama’s own daughter dared to perform any service for her which she regarded as her sole prerogative. “Do, pray, say something kind to her, Mama, when she puts you to bed tonight! She’ll cry herself to sleep, if she thinks you are still angry with her!”

These tactics succeeded very well with Lady Silverdale, but Henrietta failed to induce any softening of Cardle’s heart towards Cherry. Not even a casual reference to the probability that Cherry’s visit would soon come to an end had the least effect on Cardle. “And the sooner the better, miss!” she said tartly. “One thing’s certain! The day my lady invites her to live here is the day I leave this house! I pity you, Miss Hetta, having your nose put out of joint by that designing little hussy, and being taken in by her coaxing ways, every bit as much as my poor deluded mistress is! And it’s no good telling me I’ve got no business to say she’s a designing hussy, which I wouldn’t have presumed to do if you hadn’t opened the subject, for I know what I know, and I hope and pray you won’t regret your kindness to her!”

Henrietta went down to dinner fervently hoping, for her part, that Desford’s return from Harrowgate would not be long delayed.

In fact, it was delayed for longer than the Viscount had anticipated, for his journey south was not attended by the good fortune which had made his northward journey so speedy. A series of mishaps befell him, the most serious of which, the loss of a tyre, kept him kicking his heels for a day and a half, this accident occurring on the first day out from Harrowgate, which happened to be a Saturday, midway between Chesterfield and Mansfield. By the time the chaise bumped its way into Mansfield it was too late for the necessary repair to be effected, and on the Sunday the premises of both the wheelwright and the blacksmith were found to be closed: the one because its owner was a stern opposer of Sunday Travel; the other because the smith had gone off to spend the day with his married sister. It was not until Monday morning was merging into Monday afternoon that a new tyre was fitted to the wheel, and the Viscount was able to proceed on his way. And then (proving to him his belief that his luck had run out) one of his wheelers went dead lame, so that his progress to the next post-house more nearly resembled a funeral cortege than the swift journey of a gentleman of wealth and fashion. What with this, and several minor hindrances, it was four days before he reached Dunstable, where he decided to put up for the night, since there were still almost thirty miles to cover to Inglehurst, and he had no wish to arrive there long after the dinner-hour.

So it was not until a fortnight after he had deposited Cherry at Inglehurst that Henrietta, a little before noon, was at last gratified by having him ushered into her presence. Grimshaw announced him, in a sepulchral voice, and she started up out of her chair in front of the writing-desk, exclaiming impulsively: “Oh, Des, I am so thankful you’ve come at last!”

“Good God, Hetta, what’s amiss?” he demanded, brought up short in his advance across the room.

“Nothing!—that is to say, I hope nothing, but I am much afraid that things are beginning to go amiss.” He had taken her hands in his, and kissed them both, and was still holding them in his strong clasp, but she gently drew them away, and said, scanning his face: “Your errand hasn’t prospered, has it?”

He shook his head. “No. Nettlecombe has become an April-gentleman!”

Her eyes widened. “Married?”she asked incredulously.

“That’s it: leg-shackled to his housekeeper—oh, I beg her pardon! his lady-housekeeper!”

“Ah!” she said, with a twinkle of perfect comprehension. “No doubt she told you so herself!”

He grinned at her. “No, she told Nettlecombe, when he told me that he had married his cook. She said she would thank him to remember it, too, and I don’t doubt he will. Oh, Hetta, you can’t think how much I longed for you to be present at that interview! You must have laughed yourself into stitches!”

She moved to the sofa, and sat down, patting the place beside her. “Tell me!” she invited.

He did tell her, and she appreciated the story just as he had known she would. But he ended on a sober note, when, having described the final scene, in the corridor, he paused for an instant, before saying abruptly: “Hetta, I could not thrust that unfortunate child into such a household!”

“No,” she agreed, her own brow as troubled as his. “Only—Des, what is to be done with her? Mama said, a week ago, that if Nettlecombe repudiated her she had a good mind to keep her here, but—it wouldn’t do—I know it wouldn’t do! It is always the same when Mama takes a violent fancy to anyone! At first she thinks the new treasure perfect, and then she begins to perceive faults in her—and even when they are quite trivial faults she exaggerates them in her mind, and—which is worse!—remembers them, and adds them on to the next error her wretched favourite falls into!”

“Good God, has it come to that? Poor Cherry!”

“No, no, not yet!” she assured him. “But she has begun to criticize her—oh, not unkindly! merely noticing little innocent habits, or tricks of speech, and saying that she wishes Cherry would rid herself of them. And that odious woman of hers is so jealous of Cherry that she never loses an opportunity to drop poison into Mama’s ears. So far, she hasn’t succeeded in turning Mama against poor Cherry, but I own to you, Des, that I can’t persuade myself that—”

“Don’t tease yourself!” he interrupted. “There can be no question of Cherry’s remaining here! I never for a moment had such a solution to the problem in my mind. I had hoped to have left her with you only for a very few days, but I didn’t discover Nettlecombe’s whereabouts until Monday of last week, and even when I did discover that he had gone to Harrowgate I couldn’t induce his man of business to divulge his exact direction, and was obliged to spend the better part of two days scouring the town for him.”

“Oh, poor Des! No wonder you are looking so tired!”

“Am I? Well, if I am it’s only because I had the most devilish journey up from Yorkshire,” he said cheerfully. “No sooner did we get over one check than we fell into another, which is why I’m so late showing my front, as Horace would say. However, I’ve had time to decide what I had best do for Cherry—and that’s the most urgent matter I want you to consider, my best of friends!”

The door opened. “Mr Nethercott!” announced Grimshaw.

Cary Nethercott trod into the room, but checked at sight of the Viscount, and said: “I beg pardon! Grimshaw must have misunderstood me! I enquired for Lady Silverdale, and he ushered me into this room, where—where I can only trust that I am not intruding, Miss Hetta!”

“Not at all,” she responded, rising, and shaking hands with him. “You have already met Lord Desford, haven’t you?”

The gentlemen exchanged bows. Mr Nethercott said painstakingly that he had indeed had that pleasure, and the Viscount said nothing at all. Mr Nethercott then explained he had ridden over to bring Lady Silverdale his copy of the last number of the New Monthly Magazine, which contained an interesting article which he had mentioned to her ladyship on the occasion of his last visit, and which she had expressed a desire to read.

“How very kind of you!” said Henrietta. “She has gone for a stroll in the shrubbery, with Miss Steane.”

“Oh, then I will take it to her myself!” he said, his cheeks slightly reddening. “I shall hope to see you again presently, Miss Hetta!” He then said: “Your servant, sir!” and bowed himself out of the room.

The Viscount, who had been eyeing him with disfavour, hardly waited for the door to be shut before demanding: “Does that fellow live at Inglehurst, Hetta?”

“No,” replied Henrietta calmly. “He lives at Marley House.”

“Well, he seems to be here every time I come to visit you!” said the Viscount irritably.

She wrinkled her brow, and, after apparently cudgelling her memory, said, with a wholly spurious air of innocence: “But had you met him before you came to visit us on your way to Hazelfield?”

The Viscount ignored this home-question, and said: “I wonder which of us he thought he was hoaxing with his gammon about the New Monthly? Lord, what a fimble-famble!” He did not resume his seat, but glanced frowningly down at Henrietta, and said, with unaccustomed asperity: “I can’t conceive why you—No, never mind! What were we saying when that fellow interrupted us?”

“You were about to tell me what you have decided will be the best thing to do for Cherry,” she replied. “The most urgent question to be considered—or, rather, which you wish me to consider.”

“Yes, so I was. There are other things I should wish to talk about, but until I’ve provided for her Cherry must be my only concern.”

“Provided for her?” she repeated, her eyes lifting quickly to his face.

“Yes, of course. What else can I do but try to establish her comfortably? It was no doing of mine when she ran away from Maplewood, but when I drove her to London I became responsible for her: there’s no getting away from that, Hetta! Good God, what a shabster I should be if I abandoned her now!”

“Very true. What scheme have you in mind?”, she asked. “I have thought that—that marriage is the only answer to the problem, only—her parentage, and her want of fortune must stand in the way—don’t you think?”

He nodded, but said: “Not in the way of a man who fell in love with her, and had no need of a rich wife. But that’s for the future: my concern is for the immediate present. I’m going to Bath, to try if I can persuade Miss Fletching to help Cherry. Has she spoken to you about her? She was at Miss Fletching’s school, and talked to me about her on the way to London, saying how kind she had been.”

“Yes, indeed she has, and most affectionately, but when I suggested to her that she might return to that school, as a teacher, rather than hire herself out as a companion, she said Miss Fletching would have offered her that position if she had had enough learning, or enough skill on the pianoforte to teach music. Only she hadn’t. And I am afraid, Des, that that is true. Her only skill is in stitchery. She has the most amiable disposition in the world, but she is not at all bookish, you know. If Miss Fletching were to offer to take her I am very sure she would refuse, because she feels herself to be under a heavy obligation to her already.”

“I know she does. And if I were to pay Miss Fletching the debt that is owing to her—”

“No, Desford!” Henrietta said stringently. “You mustn’t do that! She is by far too proud to countenance such a thing!”

“Not, surely, if she supposed I had prevailed upon Nettlecombe to tip over the dibs!”

“If she believed you she would write to thank him.”

“I should tell her that he had paid Miss Fletching on condition that she neither wrote to him nor attempted to see him ever again. It is exactly what he would say, too!”

She smiled, but shook her head. “It won’t do. Only consider what an uncomfortable situation she would be in if ever it became known that you had paid Miss Fletching to give her a home! You must consider your own situation as well: you would compromise yourself as much as Cherry. You know what all the tattle-boxes would say! And it is useless to suppose that the secret wouldn’t leak out, because you may depend upon it that it would.”

The smile was reflected in his eyes, but he said ruefully: “I’ve wondered about that. I hoped you would tell me I was being absurd—but I had a pretty shrewd notion you wouldn’t! You’re right, of course. So I shall lay the whole case before Miss Fletching, and ask her if she knows of anyone residing in Bath who would be glad to employ Cherry. There must be scores of elderly invalids there: whenever I’ve visited the place it has always seemed to me to teem with decrepit old ladies! And if she must seek such a post I think Bath would be the best place for her. She would have Miss Fletching to turn to, and I know she has other acquaintances in the town whom she would be able to visit.”

The tiny crease vanished from between her brows; she exclaimed: “Yes, that would be the very thing for her! But not, Des, if you recommend her to a prospective employer!”

“I thought it wouldn’t be long before you made me stand the roast, my sweet wit-cracker,” he observed appreciatively. “How fortunate it is that you should have warned me—such a slow-top as I am!”

She laughed. “No, no, not a slow-top, Ashley! But dreadfully imprudent when you take one of your quixotic notions into your head!”

“Lord, Hetta, you must have windmills in your own head! I’ve never done such a thing in my life! Now, stop funning! If I’m to post off to Bath tomorrow, I’ve precious little time to waste—and all things considered, I fancy it will be as well if I leave from here before Cherry comes in. I should be obliged to tell her what I mean to do, and if she didn’t try to stop me, but liked the scheme, I don’t wish to raise what might prove to be a false hope.”

“But she’s bound to know that you’ve been here!” protested Henrietta. “What am I to say to her, pray?”

“Tell her that I called here, but was unable to stay more than a few minutes, because I have an urgent appointment in London, and only broke my journey to tell her that although I couldn’t bring old Nettlecombe up to scratch I haven’t abandoned her, but—but have now hit upon a fresh plan for her relief. Which I didn’t disclose to you, for fear it might not come to anything!”

“Banbury man!”

“No. I do fear it may come to nothing! By the by, has Lady Bugle tried to make her return to Maplewood?”

“No—and that puts me in mind of something I must tell you! Lady Bugle doesn’t know where she is, because when I suggested to Cherry that she should write to her she became so much agitated that I let the matter drop. But I should warn you that although Lady Bugle doesn’t know she’s here she does know that you had something to do with her flight. And that brings me to another thing I must tell you. Lord and Lady Wroxton know she is at Inglehurst.”

“Oh, my God!” he ejaculated. “As though I hadn’t enough to deal with! Who was the tale-pitcher who carried that news to Wolversham?”

“My dear Ashley, you cannot, surely, have forgotten how inevitably the smallest piece of news flies round the county! Steward’s gossip, but in this case it reached Wolversham by way of one of the chambermaids, who is the daughter of our head groom. Lady Wroxton gave her leave to come to Inglehurst, on the occasion of her parents’ silver wedding—and so you can wish for no further explanation!”

He was regarding her intently. “That’s not the whole story, is it?”

“No, not quite. Lord and Lady Wroxton visited us two days ago.”

“If my father undertook a drive of sixteen miles, either his gout has spent itself, or he must have supposed me to be on the verge of disgracing him!” interjected the Viscount.

“Well, he was walking with a stick, but I think he is much improved in health,” said Henrietta, forgiving this rude interruption for the sake of the balm it applied to her sorely troubled heart. “They came to enquire after Charlie—at least, that was what Lord Wroxton told Mama—but their real purpose, I am very sure, was to discover the truth of the story they had heard. I didn’t have much conversation with Lord Wroxton, but your mama made an excuse to take me apart, and she asked me, without any roundaboutation, to tell her if it was true that you had brought Cherry here, and, if so, why you had done so. She said that I need not scruple to open my budget to her, because she was very sure that you had a good reason for having done so. Des, I do like your mama so much!”

“Yes, so do I,” he agreed cordially. “She’s a right one! What did you tell her?”

“I told her the truth, exactly as you told it to me. And she then disclosed to me that she had received a letter from your aunt Emborough, saying that Lady Bugle had called upon her, demanding to know what you had done with Cherry. It seems that one of her daughters—I can’t recall her name, but I know it was most extraordinary—”

“They all have extraordinary names—all five of ‘em!”

“Good gracious! Well, this one seems to have been on the listen when you talked to Cherry, that night at the ball; and when it was discovered that Cherry had run away, she put it into Lady Bugle’s head that she had gone off with you! How Lady Bugle can have believed such a nonsensical story I can’t conceive, but apparently she did, and at once drove over to Hazelfield to demand of Lady Emborough what were your intentions! Lady Emborough wrote to your mama that she had laughed to scorn the idea that you had had anything to do with Cherry’s flight, and had assured Lady Bugle that so far from stealing Cherry away from Maplewood at dawn you had been eating breakfast at Hazelfield at ten o’clock. But she also wrote that she was burning to know whether you had had anything to do with Cherry’s escape, because she recalled that it had seemed to her that you were much more interested in Cherry than in her cousin, who is a singularly beautiful girl.”

“Lucasta,” he nodded. “I was, but never mind that! My aunt wrote to my mother, you say. She hasn’t divulged any of this to my father, has she?”

“No, and your mother hasn’t shown him her letter. But it was he who first heard the local tittle-tattle, and I have a very shrewd notion that it was he who insisted on coming to visit us, to discover how true it was. Or, rather, that your mama should do so! You know what he is, Des!”

“None better! He would think it beneath him to betray the least interest in the exploits of his sons—to anyone, of course, but the sons themselves!”

“Exactly so!” she said, with a twinkle. “Most fortunately, this visit was paid when Mama was feeling particularly pleased with Cherry, for having found a lace flounce which was thought to have been thrown away years ago, so I am quite certain she must have spoken of her to Lord Wroxton with the warmest approbation!”

“Did he see Cherry?”

“Yes, certainly he did—but whether he liked her or not I don’t know! He was perfectly civil to her, at all events.”

“That’s nothing to judge by,” said Desford. “He would be, even if he had taken her in dislike. Well, there’s nothing for it: I shall have to sleep at Wolver-sham tonight, which means a further delay. I’m sorry for it, Hetta, but you see how I’m fixed, don’t you? I don’t ask you if you are willing to keep Cherry here for a few more days, because I know what your answer would be. Bless you, my dear!” He possessed himself of her hands, and again kissed them, and with no more words took his departure.