Charity Girl

Chapter 15

When Henrietta entered the library, nothing in her face or in her bearing betrayed her inward misgivings. She came in with her graceful, unhurried step, and looked across the room at her visitor, her brows faintly raised; and said, not uncivilly, but with a suggestion of highbred reserve in her manner: “Mr Steane?” She watched him execute a flourishing bow, and moved forward to a straight chair by the table in the middle of the room, saying, as she sat down on it: “Pray, will you not be seated? Am I right in supposing you to be poor Cherry’s father?”

“Yes, ma’am, you are indeed right!” he answered. “Her sole surviving parent, separated from her by a cruel fate for too long, alas, and tortured by anxiety!”

She raised her brows rather higher, and said, in a polite, discouraging voice: “Indeed?” She had the satisfaction of seeing that she had slightly discomfited him, and continued, with strengthened assurance: “I regret, sir, that my mother—er—finds herself unable to receive you. She is a trifle indisposed today.”

“I shall not dream of intruding upon her,” he said graciously. “My sole desire—I may say, my burning desire!—is to clasp my beloved child to my heart again. For this did I steel myself to revisit the land of my birth, with its poignant memories of my late, adored helpmate: inexpressibly painful to a man of sensibility, I assure you, Miss Silverdale! I presume I do have the honour of addressing Miss Silverdale?”

“Yes, I am Miss Silverdale,” she replied. “It is unfortunate that you did not warn us of your intention to visit us today, for it so happens that Cherry is not, at the moment, here. She went out walking some time ago, and is not yet returned. However, I daresay you will not have long to wait before being—reunited with her.”

“Every moment that withholds her from me is an hour! You must pardon the natural impatience of a father, ma’am! I can scarcely bear to wait five minutes to see with my own eyes that she is safe and well.”

“She was perfectly safe and well when I last saw her,” said Henrietta calmly, “but as she went out some hours ago I own I am a little uneasy, and have sent some of our servants to search for her, in case she may have met with an accident, or lost her way.”

He instantly assumed an expression of horror, and demanded in a shocked tone: “Do you tell me, ma’am, that she was actually permitted to go out unattended? I had not thought such a thing to have been possible!”

“It was certainly imprudent,” she said, maintaining her air of calm. “Had I been at home at the time I should have told her that she must take one of the footmen, or one of the maids, but I drove out myself quite early this morning, to visit an invalid, and so knew nothing about it, until I returned, an hour ago.”

“Had I known to what dangers, to what neglect, my tender, innocent child was being exposed—!” he groaned. “But how could I have known? How could I have guessed that the woman to whose care I committed her would prove herself to be utterly unworthy of my trust, and would cast her on the world, careless into what hands she might fall?”

“Well, she didn’t. She gave her into her aunt’s hands. And I can’t but feel, sir, that if you had kept her informed of your whereabouts she would have written to you, to tell you that Lady Bugle had taken Cherry to live with her.”

“I shall not weary you, ma’am, with an account of the circumstances which obliged me to withhold my direction from Miss Fletching,” he said loftily. “I am a man of many affairs, and they take me all over Europe. In fact, I rarely know from one day to the next where they will take me, or for how long. I believed my child to be safe and happy in Miss Fletching’s charge. Never for an instant did I entertain the thought that she would hand her over to one who has ever been—after my father and my brother—my worst enemy! She has much to answer for, and she shall answer for it! As I have told her!”

“Forgive me!” said Henrietta, “but have not you more to answer for than Miss Fletching, sir? It seems strangely unnatural for a father—particularly such an affectionate father as yourself!—to leave his daughter for so long without a word that she was forced to mourn him as dead!”

Mr Steane dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “If I had been dead she would have been informed of it,” he said. “It was quite unnecessary for me to write to her. I will go further: it would have been folly to have done so, for who knows but what she might have wished to leave school, and join me abroad? I was not, at that time, in a position to provide her with a settled home.”

“Oh!” said Henrietta. “Are you now in that position, sir?”

“Certainly!” he replied. “That is to say, as settled as one can ever hope to be. But of what use is it to dwell upon what might have been? I must resolutely banish the temptation to take the poor child away. I must deny myself the solace of her company. I must resign myself to loneliness. My duty is inescapable: I must see her righted in the eyes of the world!”

“Good gracious, has she ever been wronged?” Henrietta said, opening her eyes at him. “If you are talking of her having run away from her aunt, you must let me tell you that you are making a mountain out of a molehill, Mr Steane! To be sure, it was rather a hurly-burly thing to do, and might have led her into dangerous trouble; but since, as good luck would have it, Lord Desford overtook her on the road, and brought her here, no harm has come of it.”

He heaved a deep sigh, that verged on a moan, and covered his eyes with one fat hand. “Alas that it should fall to my lot to destroy your belief in Lord Desford’s integrity!”

“Oh, you won’t do that!” she said brightly. “So pray don’t fall into the dismals!”

He let his hand drop, and said, with a touch of asperity: “That may be the story Lord Desford told you, ma’am, but—”

“It is. And it is also the story Cherry told me,” interpolated Henrietta.

“Instructed, I have no doubt at all, by his lordship! It is not the story I heard from Amelia Bugle! Far from it indeed! Very far from it! She told me that although she had been unable to discover when it was that Desford first met Cherry, it was certainly before the night of the ball at her house, when one of her daughters was a witness of his secret assignation with her, and in the course of which the elopement must have been planned.”

“What nonsense!” said Henrietta contemptuously. “Elopement, indeed! I wonder you should have let yourself be bamboozled by such a ridiculous tale, sir! It’s easy enough to see why she told it, of course: she was scared that you might discover that it was her abominable treatment that drove Cherry to run away! But that is the plain truth! As for Lord Desford’s part in the business, you may think yourself very much obliged to him, for if he had not taken her up in his curricle, heaven knows what might have happened to her! I may add that as soon as he had established her in my mother’s care he left immediately to find Lord Nettlecombe! He ran him to earth at Harrowgate—and any other man would have abandoned the search when he discovered that he would be obliged to travel more than two hundred miles to reach his lordship!”

Mr Steane shook his head at her, a sad, pitying smile curling his lips. “That,” he sighed, “is the tale Desford’s young brother tried to hoax me with. I do not for a moment mean to suggest that you are trying to hoax me, Miss Silverdale, for it is plain to me that you too have been hoaxed. For how is it possible that Lord Desford—a man who has been on the town I know not how many years—should have supposed that my father would have contemplated for as much as a moment such a journey? You may not be aware that he is as scaly a snudge as was ever born, but Lord Desford must surely know it! Why, he has scarcely stirred out of Albemarle Street for years past! If he did find that his health demanded a change of air, the farthest he would have gone from London would have been Tunbridge Wells. Though I rather fancy,” he added, considering the matter, “that he would have retired to Nettlecombe Manor. Lodgings in watering-places, you know, are never to be had dog-cheap. As for the cost of travelling to Harrowgate—no, no, ma’am! That is doing it much too brown, believe me!”

“Nevertheless, he did go to Harrowgate, and is there at this moment. Perhaps his bride persuaded him to undertake the expense of the journey,” said Henrietta, with a wonderful air of innocence.

“His what?” ejaculated Mr Steane, starting upright in his chair, and staring at her very hard.

“Oh, didn’t you know that he was lately married?” she said. “Desford didn’t know either, until he was introduced to the lady. I understand she was used to be his housekeeper. Not, I fear, the pink of gentility, but I feel, don’t you, that it was very sensible of him to marry someone whom he can trust to look after him, and to manage his household exactly as he likes!”

She had introduced this new topic in the hope of diverting Mr Steane from the real object of his visit, and the gambit succeeded to admiration, though not in the way she had expected. Instead of going into a passion, he burst into a guffaw, slapping his thigh, and gasping: “By God, that’s the best joke I’ve heard in years! Caught in parson’s mousetrap, is he? Damme if I don’t write to felicitate him! That’ll sting him on the raw! Why, he cast me off for eloping with Jane Wisset, and though I don’t say she was of the first rank she wasn’t a housekeeper!” He went off into another guffaw, which ended in a wheezing cough; and as soon as he was able to fetch his breath again, invited Henrietta to describe his stepmother to him. She was unable to do this, but she did regale him with some of the things Desford had told her. He was particularly delighted by the quarrel between the newly married couple which had sprung up over the silk shawl, and again slapped his thigh, declaring that it served the old hunks right. He then said, wistfully, that he wished he could have seen his brother’s face when the news had been broken to him. He began to chuckle, but another thought occurred to him, and brought a cloud to his brow. “The worst of it is he can’t cut Jonas out of the inheritance,” he said gloomily. “Still,” he added after brooding over this reflection for a few moments, and speaking in a more hopeful tone: “I shouldn’t wonder at it if this housekeeper makes the old muckworm bleed freely, so the chances are Jonas won’t come into as big a fortune as he expected to.” He favoured Henrietta with a bland smile, and said: “One should always try to look on the bright side. It has ever been my rule. You would be astonished, I daresay, how often the worst disasters do have a brighter aspect.”

She was as much diverted as she was shocked by this simple revelation of Mr Steane’s character, and felt herself unable to do more than murmur an affirmative. Any hope that she might have entertained of Mr Steane’s forgetting his daughter’s predicament in the contemplation of his brother’s rage and chagrin were dispelled by his next words. “Well, well!” he said. “Little did I think that I should enjoy such an excellent joke today! But it will not do, Miss Silverdale! Jokes are out of place at such a time, when my breast is racked with anxiety. I accept that Lord Desford did go to Harrowgate; and I can only say that if he was such a dummy as to think he could fob my unfortunate child off on to her grandfather he has been like a woodcock, justly slain by its own treachery. Or words to that effect. My memory fails me, but I know a woodcock comes into it.”

What she might have been goaded to retort remained unspoken, for at this moment the Viscount came into the room. The thought that flashed into her mind was that he might have been designed to form a contrast to Wilfred Steane. There were fewer than twenty years between them, and it was easy to see that Steane had been a handsome man in his youth. But his good looks had been ruined by dissipation; and his figure spoke just as surely as his face of a life of indolence and over-indulgence. Nor were these faults remedied by his manner, or his dress. In both he favoured a florid style, which made him appear, in Henrietta’s critical eyes, disastrously like a demi-beau playing off the airs of an exquisite. Desford, on the other hand, was complete to a shade, she thought. He had a handsome countenance; a lithe, athletic figure; and if the plain coat of blue superfine which he wore had had a label stitched to it bearing the name of Weston it could not have proclaimed the name of its maker more surely than did its superb cut. His air was distinguished; his manners very easy, and unaffected; and while there was no suggestion of the Pink, or the Bond Street Spark, about his trim person it was generally agreed in tonnish circles that his quiet elegance was the Real thing.

He shut the door, and advanced towards Henrietta, who had exclaimed thankfully: “Desford!”

“Hetta, my love!” he responded, smiling at her, and kissing her hand. He stood holding it in a warm clasp for a minute, as he said: “Had you despaired of me? I think you must have, and I do beg your pardon! I had hoped to have been with you before this.”

She returned the pressure of his fingers, and then drew her hand away, saying playfully: “Well, at all events, you’ve arrived in time to make the acquaintance of Cherry’s father, who isn’t dead, after all! You must allow me to make you known to each other: Mr Wilfred Steane, Lord Desford!”

The Viscount turned, and raised his quizzing-glass, and through it surveyed Mr Steane, not for very long, but with daunting effect. Henrietta was forced to bite her lip quite savagely to suppress the laughter that bubbled up in her. It was so very unlike Des to do anything so odiously top-lofty! “Oh,” he said. He bowed slightly. “I am happy to make your acquaintance, sir.”

“I would I might say the same!” returned Mr Steane. “Alas that we should meet, sir, under such unhappy circumstances!”

The Viscount looked surprised. “I beg your pardon?”

“Lord Desford, I have much to say to you, but it would be better that I should speak privately to you!”

“Oh, I have, no secrets from Miss Silverdale!” said Desford.

“My respect for a lady’s delicate sensibilities has hitherto sealed my lips,” said Steane reprovingly. “Far be it from me to ask a question that might bring a blush to female cheeks! But I have such a question to put to you, my lord!”

“Then by all means do put it to me!” invited Desford. “Never mind Miss Silverdale’s sensibilities! I daresay they aren’t by half as delicate as you suppose—in fact, I’m quite sure they are not! You don’t wish to retire, do you, Hetta?”

“Certainly not! I have not the remotest intention of doing so, either. I cut my eye-teeth many years ago, Mr Steane, and if what you have already said to me failed to bring a blush to my cheeks it is not very likely that whatever you are about to say will succeed in doing so! Pray ask Lord Desford any question you choose!”

Mr Steane appeared to be grieved by this response, for he sighed, and shook his head, and murmured: “Modern manners! It was not so in my young days! But so be it! Lord Desford, are you betrothed to Miss Silverdale?”

“Well, I certainly hope I am!” replied the Viscount, turning his laughing eyes towards Henrietta. “But what in the world has that to say to anything? I might add—do forgive me!—what in the world has it to do with you, sir?”

Mr Steane was not really surprised. He had known from the moment Desford had entered the room, and had exchanged smiles with Henrietta, that a strong attachment existed between them. But he was much incensed, and said, far from urbanely: “Then I wonder at your shamelessness, sir, in luring my child away from the protection of her aunt’s home with false promises of marriage! As for your effrontery in bringing her to your affianced wife—”

“Don’t you think,” suggested the Viscount, “that foolhardiness would be a better word? Or shall we come down from these impassioned heights? I don’t know what you hope to achieve by mouthing such fustian rubbish, for I am persuaded you cannot possibly be so bacon-brained as to suppose that I am guilty of any of these crimes. The mere circumstance of my having placed Cherry in Miss Silverdale’s care must absolve me from the two other charges you have laid at my door, but if you wish me to deny them categorically I’ll willingly do so! So far from luring Cherry from Maplewood, when I found her trudging up to London I did my possible to persuade her to return to her aunt. I did not offer her marriage, or, perhaps I should add, a carte blanche! Finally, I brought her to Miss Silverdale because, for reasons which must be even better known to you than they are to me, my father would have taken strong exception to her presence under his roof!”

“Be that as it may,” said Mr Steane, struggling against the odds, “you cannot—if there is any truth in you, which I am much inclined to doubt!—deny that you have placed her in a very equivocal situation!”

“I can and do deny it!” replied the Viscount.

“A man of honour,” persisted Mr Steane, with the doggedness of despair, “would have restored her to her aunt!”

“That may be your notion of honour, but it isn’t mine,” said the Viscount. “To have forced her into my curricle, and then to have driven her back to a house where she had been so wretchedly unhappy that she fled from it, preferring to seek some means, however menial, of earning her bread to enduring any more unkindness from her aunt and her cousins, would have been an act of wicked cruelty! Moreover, I hadn’t a shadow of right to do it! She begged me to carry her to her grandfather’s house in London, hoping that he might allow her to remain there, and convinced that if he refused to do that he would at least house her until she had established herself in some suitable situation.”

“Well, if you thought he’d do any such thing, either you don’t know the old snudge, or you’re a gudgeon!” said Mr Steane. “And from what I can see of you it’s my belief you’re the slyest thing in nature! Up to every move on the board!”

“Oh, not quite that!” said Desford. “Only to your moves, Steane!”

“You remind me very much of your father,” said Mr Steane, eyeing him with considerable dislike.

“Thank you!” said Desford, bowing.

“Also that young cub of a brother of yours! Both of a hair! No respect for your seniors! A pair of stiff-rumped, bumptious bouncers! Don’t think you can put the change on me, Desford, trying to hoax me with your Banbury stories, because you can’t!”

“Oh, I shouldn’t dream of doing so!” instantly replied his lordship. “I never compete against experts!”

Henrietta said apologetically: “Pray forgive me, but are you not straying a little away from the point at issue? Whether Desford was a gudgeon to think that Lord Nettlecombe would receive Cherry, or whether he thought what any man must have thought, doesn’t seem to me to have any bearing on the case. He did drive her to London, only to find Lord Nettlecombe’s house shut up. He then brought her to me. What, Mr Steane, do you suggest he should rather have done?”

“Thrown in the close!” murmured the Viscount irrepressibly.

“I must decline to enter into argument with you, ma’am,” said Steane, with immense dignity. “I never argue with females. I will merely say that in accosting my daughter on the highway, coaxing her to climb into his curricle, and driving off with her his lordship behaved with great impropriety—if no worse! And since he abandoned her here—if she is here, which I gravely doubt!—what has he done to redress the injury her reputation has suffered at his hands? He would have me think that he sought my father out in the belief that he would take the child to his bosom—”

“Not a bit of it!” interrupted Desford. “I hoped I could shame him into making her an allowance, that’s all!”

“Well, if that’s what you hoped you must be a gudgeon!” said Mr Steane frankly. “Not that you did, of course! What you hoped was to be able to fob her off on to the old man, and you wouldn’t have cared if he’d offered to engage her as a cook-maid as long as you were rid of her!”

“Some such offer was made,” said Desford. “Not, indeed, by your father, but by your stepmother. I refused it.”

“Yes, it’s all very well to say that, but how should I know if you’re speaking the truth? All I know is that I return to England to find that my poor little girl has been tossed about amongst a set of unscrupulous persons, cast adrift in a harsh world—”

“Take a damper!” said the Viscount. “None of that is true, as well you know! The unscrupulous person who cast her adrift is yourself, so let us have less of this theatrical bombast! You wish to know what I have done to redress the injury to her reputation she has suffered at my hands, and my answer is, Nothing—because her reputation has suffered no injury either at my hands, or at anyone else’s! But when I found that your father had gone out of town, the lord only knew where, and that Cherry had nowhere to go, not one acquaintance in London, and only a shilling or two in her purse, I realized that little though I might like it I must hold myself responsible for her. With your arrival, my responsibility has come to an end. But before I knew that you were not dead, but actually in this country, I drove down to Bath, to take counsel of Miss Fletching. I was a day behind you, Mr Steane. Miss Fletching most sincerely pities Cherry, and is, I think, very fond of her. She offers her a home, until she can hear of a situation which Cherry might like. She has one in her eye already, with an invalid lady whom she describes as very charming and gentle, but all depends upon her present companion, who is torn between her duty to her lately widowed parent, and her wish to remain with her kind mistress.”

“Oh, Des, it would be the very thing for Cherry!” Henrietta cried.

“What!” ejaculated Mr Steane, powerfully affected. “The very thing for my beloved child to become a paid dependant? Over my dead body!” He buried his face in his handkerchief, but emerged from it for a moment to direct a look of wounded reproach at Desford, and to say in a broken voice: “That I should have lived to hear my heart’s last treasure so insulted!” He disappeared again into the handkerchief, but re-emerged to say bitterly: “Shabby, my Lord Desford, that’s what I call it!”

Desford’s lips quivered, and his eyes met Henrietta’s, which were brimful of the same appreciative amusement that had put to flight his growing exasperation. The look held, and in each pair of eyes was a warmth behind the laughter.

Mr Steane’s voice intruded upon this interlude. “And where,” he demanded, “is my little Charity? Answer that, one of you, before you make plans to degrade her!”

“Well, I am afraid we can’t answer it just at this moment!” said Henrietta guiltily. “Desford, you will think me dreadfully careless, but while I was visiting an old friend this morning, Cherry went out for a walk, and—and hasn’t yet come back!”

“Mislaid her, have you? I learned from—Grimshaw—that she’s missing, but I don’t doubt she has done nothing more dangerous than lose her way, and will soon be back.”

“If she has not been spirited away,” said Mr Steane darkly. “My mind is full of foreboding. I wonder if I shall ever see her again?”

“Yes, and immediately!” said Henrietta, hurrying across the room to the door. “That’s her voice! Heavens, what a relief!”

She opened the door as she spoke. “Oh, Cherry, you naughty child! Where in the world—” She broke off abruptly, for a surprising sight met her eyes. Cherry was being carried towards the staircase by Mr Cary Nethercott, her bonnet hanging by its ribbon over one arm, a mutilated boot clutched in one hand, and the other gripping the collar of Mr Nethercott’s rough shooting-jacket.

“Dear, dear Miss Silverdale, don’t be vexed with me!” she begged. “I know it was stupid of me to run out, but indeed I didn’t mean to make you anxious! Only I lost my way, and couldn’t find it, and at last I was so dreadfully tired that I made up my mind to ask the first person I met to show me how to get back to Inglehurst. But it was ages before I saw a single soul, and then it was a horrid man in a gig, who—who looked at me in such a way that—that I said it was of no consequence, and walked on as fast as I could. And then he called after me, and started to get down from the gig, and I ran for my life, into the woods, and, oh, Miss Silverdale, I tore my dress on the brambles, besides catching my foot in a horrid, trailing root, or branch, or something, and falling into a bed of nettles! And when I tried to get up I couldn’t, because it hurt me so much that I thought I was going to faint.”

“Well, what a chapter of accidents!” said Henrietta. She saw that one of Cherry’s ankles was heavily bandaged, and exclaimed: “Oh, dear, dear, I collect you sprained your ankle! Poor Cherry!” She smiled at Cary Nethercott. “Was she in your woods? Was that how you found her? How kind of you to have brought her home! I am very much obliged to you!”

“Yes, that was how it was,” he answered. “I took my gun out, hoping to get a wood-pigeon or two, but instead I got a far prettier bird, as you see, Miss Hetta! Unfortunately I had no knife on me, so I thought it best to carry Cherry to my own house immediately, so that I could cut the boot off, and tell my housekeeper to apply cold poultices, to take down the swelling. I sent my man off to fetch Foston, fearing, you know, that there might be a broken bone, but he assured me that it was only a very bad sprain. You will say that I should have brought her back to you as soon as Foston had bound up her foot and ankle, but she was so much exhausted by the pain of having it inspected by Foston that I thought it best that she should rest until the pain had gone off.”

“You can’t think how much it hurt, dear Miss Silverdale! But Mr Nethercott held my hand tightly all the time, and so I was able to bear it.”

“What a perfectly horrid day you’ve had!” said Henrietta. “I’m so sorry, my dear: none of it would have happened if I hadn’t been absent!”

“Oh, no, no, no!” Cherry said, her eyes and cheeks glowing, and a seraphic smile trembling on her mouth. “It has been the happiest day of my whole life! Oh, Miss Silverdale, Mr Nethercott has asked me to marry him! Please, please say I may!”

“Good God!—I mean, you have no need to ask my permission, you goose! I have nothing to do but to wish you both very happy, which you may be sure I do, with all my heart! But there is someone here who has come especially to see you, and whom I am persuaded you will be very glad to meet again. Bring her into the library, Mr Nethercott, and put her on the sofa, so that she can keep her foot up.”

“Who,” demanded Mr Steane of the Viscount, “is this fellow who presumes to offer for my daughter without so much as a by your leave?”

“Cary Nethercott. An excellent fellow!” replied the Viscount enthusiastically.

He moved over to the sofa, and arranged the cushions on it, just as Cary Nethercott bore Cherry tenderly into the room. She exclaimed: “Lord Desford! Indeed I’m glad to meet him again, Miss Silverdale, for I owe everything to him! How do you do, sir? I have wanted so much to thank you for having brought me here, and I never did, you know!”

He smiled, but said: “Miss Silverdale didn’t mean that you would be glad to meet me again, Cherry. Look, do you recognize that gentleman?”

She turned her head, and for the first time caught sight of Mr Steane. She stared at him blankly for an instant, and then gave a tiny gasp, and said: “Papa?”

“My child!” uttered Mr Steane. “At last I may clasp you to my bosom again!” This, however, he was unable to do, since she had been set down on the sofa, and the corset he wore made it impossible for him to stoop so low. He compromised by putting an arm round her shoulders, and kissing her brow. “My little Charity!” he said fondly.

“I thought you were dead, Papa!” she said wonderingly. “I’m so happy to know you aren’t! But why did you never write to me, or to poor Miss Fletching?”

“Do not speak to me of that woman!” he commanded, side-stepping this home-question. “Never would I have left you in her charge had I known how shamefully she would betray my trust, my poor child!”

“Oh, no, Papa!” she cried distressfully. “How can you say so, when she was so kind to me, and kept me at the school for nothing?”

“She delivered you up to Amelia Bugle, and that I can never forgive!” declared Mr Steane.

“But, Papa, you make it sound as if I wasn’t willing to go with my aunt, but I promise you I was! I wanted to have a home so much. You don’t know how much!” She found that Mr Nethercott, standing behind the head of the sofa, had dropped a hand on her shoulder, and she nursed it gratefully to her cheek, tears on the ends of her eyelashes. She winked them away, and continued to address her father, with a good deal of urgency: “So, pray, Papa, don’t go away again without paying her what she is owed!”

“Had I found you as I left you, happy in her care, I would have paid and overpaid her, but I did not so find you! I found you, after an unceasing search which was attended by such pangs of anxiety as only a father can know, being buffeted about the world, and not one penny will I pay her!” said Mr Steane resolutely.

“In other words,” said Desford, “you mean to tip her the double!”

“Papa, you cannot behave so shabbily! You must not!” Cherry cried, in considerable agitation.

“I think, my love,” said Mr Nethercott, “that you had best leave me to deal with this matter.”

“But it isn’t right that you should deal with it!” she said indignantly. “It isn’t your debt! It’s Papa’s!”

“I do not acknowledge it,” stated Mr Steane majestically. “She may consider herself fortunate that I have decided not to bring an action against her for gross neglect of her duty. That is my last word!”

“In that case,” said Mr Nethercott matter-of-factly, “I will carry Cherry upstairs. You must realize, I am persuaded, sir, that she has had a very exhausting day, and has been quite knocked-up by it. Miss Hetta, will you conduct me to her bedchamber, if you please?”

“Indeed, I will!” Henrietta replied. “No, no, don’t argue, Cherry! Mr Nethercott is perfectly right, and I am going to put you to bed directly. You shall have your dinner sent up to you,—and your Papa may visit you tomorrow!”

“How kind you are! How very kind you are, Miss Silverdale!” Cherry sighed. “I own I am feeling rather fagged, so—so if you won’t think it very uncivil of me, Papa, I believe I will go to bed! Oh, Lord Desford, in case I don’t see you again, goodbye, and thank you a thousand, thousand times for all you’ve done for me!”

He took the hand she stretched out to him, and kissed it, saying in a rallying voice: “But you will be constantly seeing me, you little pea-goose! We are to be neighbours!”

“As to that,” said Mr Steane haughtily, “I have by no means decided to give my consent to this marriage. I shall require Mr Nethercott to satisfy me as to his ability to support my daughter in a manner befitting her breeding.”

Mr Nethercott, already in the doorway with his fair burden, paused to say with unruffled composure that he would do himself the honour of laying before his prospective father-in-law all the relevant facts concerning his birth, fortune, and situation in life as soon as he had carried Cherry up to her room. He than continued on his purposeful way, preceded by Henrietta, and telling his betrothed, very kindly, to hush, when she attempted to argue that her marriage had nothing whatsoever to do with her father.

The Viscount shut the door, and strolled back to his chair, regarding Mr Steane with a pronounced twinkle in his eyes. “You are to be congratulated, Mr Steane,” he said. “Your daughter is making a very creditable marriage, and you need never suffer pangs of anxiety about her again.”

“There is that, of course,” acknowledged Mr Steane heavily. “But when I think of the plans I have been making for years—I should have known better! All my life, Desford, I have been quite the dregs of my family as to luck. It disheartens a man! There’s no denying that!” He turned his jaundiced gaze upon the Viscount, and added: “Not that you know anything about it! You seem to me to have the devil’s own luck! Well, consider what has happened this day! You wouldn’t have braced it though if this fellow, Nethercott, hadn’t dropped out of the sky like a honey-fall for you!”

“Oh, yes, I should!” said the Viscount. “Not to use words with the bark on them, your intention was to bludgeon me into marrying Cherry, but you chose the wrong man, Steane: there was never the least hope of buttoning that scheme up!”

“I abandoned all thought of your marrying Cherry when I learned of your betrothal,” Mr Steane replied. “Never shall it be said of me that I wrecked the happiness of an innocent female—however deluded she may be! But I fancy, my lord, you’d have come down handsomely to keep this scandalous business quiet! Or, at any hand, that stiff-necked father of yours would!”

“From what I know of my stiff-necked father, Mr Steane, I think he would have been far more likely to have driven you out of the country.”

“Well, it’s a waste of time to discuss the matter!” said Mr Steane irritably.

“Of course it is! Consider instead how much cause you have to be thankful that your only daughter has had the good fortune to become attached to a man who will certainly make her an admirable husband!”

“My only daughter! She’s another disappointment! There’s no end to them. I had hopes of her when she was a child: seemed to be a bright, coming little thing. She could have been very useful to me.”

“In what way?” asked Desford curiously.

“Oh, many ways!” said Mr Steane. “I hoped she might act as hostess in the establishment I have set up in Paris, but I saw at a glance that she’s too like her mother. Pretty enough, but not up to snuff. Wouldn’t know how to go on at all. A pity! Sheer waste of my time and blunt to have come to England.”

Since he seemed to be slipping rapidly into a maudlin frame of mind, the Viscount was relieved to see Mr Nethercott come back into the room. He was accompanied by Henrietta, and it was immediately plain to the Viscount that it was she who had prompted him to suggest to Mr Steane that it would be more convenient to discuss such matters as Settlements at Marley House.

“I think that an excellent notion!” she said warmly. “You will wish to inspect Cherry’s future home, I expect, Mr Steane. And if you care to visit her tomorrow, Mr Nethercott has been kind enough to say that he will be happy to put you up for the night!”

“I am obliged to you, sir,” said Mr Steane, reverting to his grand manner. “I shall be happy to avail myself of your hospitality—but without prejudice, understand!” He then took a punctilious leave of Henrietta, bowed stiffly to the Viscount, and allowed himself to be ushered out of the room by the impassive Mr Nethercott.

“You unprincipled woman!” said the Viscount, when the door was fairly shut behind the departing visitors. “You should be ashamed of yourself! Saddling the unfortunate man with that old rumstick!”

“Oh, did you guess it was my doing?” she said, breaking into pent-up laughter.

“Guess!” he said scornfully. “I knew it the instant you came in looking as demure as a nun’s hen!”

“Oh, no, did I? But I had to get rid of him, Des, or Mama would have taken to her bed! What with thinking Charlie had eloped with Cherry, and then hearing that Wilfred Steane was on his way to visit us, she’s been having spasms, and vapours, and every sort of ache and ill, and is now in the worst of ill-humours! I shall have to go to her, or she will fall utterly into the hips. But before I do go, tell me what you feel about this astonishing betrothal! Will it do, or is he too old for her? I’ve noticed that she seems to prefer old men, but—”

“Never mind what I think! What do you think, Hetta?”

“How can I say? I think she is so amiable, and sweet-tempered, that she will be happy, as long as he is kind to her. As for him, he seems to be extremely fond of her, so perhaps he won’t find her a trifle boring.”

“Fond of her! He must be nutty on her to be willing to marry her now that he’s seen her father!”

She laughed. “You know, Des, I didn’t think he could be as bad as people say, but he’s worse! If he weren’t such a funny one I couldn’t have borne to sit there listening to him! But when I was discussing her prospects with Mr Nethercott one day, he said that her parentage ought not to weigh against her in the mind of a man who fell in love with her. So I daresay he won’t think her father worth a moment’s consideration!”

“Hetta, tell me the truth! Has it hurt you?” he asked bluntly.

“Good God, no! Though it has sadly lowered my crest, I own! I was vain enough to think that he came here to visit me, not Cherry!”

“When I first met him, dangling after you, none of us had ever heard of Cherry,” he reminded her.

“I might have known you’d roast me for having been cut out by Cherry! What an odious creature you are, Des!” she said affably. “By the by, do you and Simon mean to spend the night at Wolversham? I wish I might invite you both to dine with us; but I daren’t! Mama has taken you in the most violent dislike, for having foisted Cherry on to us, and she never wants to see the face of a Carrington again! So for the present I must say goodbye to you!”

“Just a moment before you do that!” he said. “You and I, my pippin, have still something to discuss!”

He spoke lightly, but the smile had vanished from his eyes, which were fixed on her face with a look in them that made her feel, for the first time in all their dealings, as shy as a schoolgirl. She said hurriedly: “Oh, you refer, I collect, to that nonsensical story Simon made up about us! I must say I was excessively vexed with him, but I don’t think any harm will come of it! Simon says that if it does leak out that we are secretly engaged we have only to deny it, or for one or other of us to cry off.” He returned no answer, and when she ventured to steal a look at him she found that he was still watching her intently. In an attempt to relieve what, for some inscrutable reason, she felt to be an embarrassing situation, she said, with a very creditable assumption of her usual liveliness: “If it comes to that, I collect the task of crying off will be mine! I can never understand why it is thought very improper for a gentleman to cry off an engagement, but no such thing if the lady does it!”

“No,” he agreed, but not as if he had been attending to her. “I give you fair warning, Hetta, that if it does come to that the task will be yours, for I have not the most remote intention—or desire—to cry off.” He paused for an instant, trying to read her face, but when she lifted her eyes, as though compelled, to his, his mouth twisted, and he said in a voice she had never heard before: “But you shan’t! I won’t let you! Oh, Hetta, my dear pippin, I’ve been such a fool! I’ve loved you all my life, and never knew how much until I thought I was going to lose you! Don’t say it’s too late!”

A tiny smile wavered on her lips. She said simply: “No, Des. N-not if you really mean it!”

“I never meant anything more in my life!” he said, and went to her, holding out his arms. She walked straight into them, and they closed tightly round her. “My best of friends!” he said huskily, and kissed her.

This idyll was interrupted by Lady Silverdale, who came into the room, saying in the voice of one who had passed the limits of her endurance: “I do think, Hetta, that you might have come to tell me—” She broke off, and exclaimed in scandalized accents: “Hen-ri-etta!” Then, as Desford looked quickly round, and she perceived who it was who was embracing her daughter, her note changed. “Desford!” she cried joyfully. “Oh, my dear, dear boy! Oh, how happy this makes me! Hetta, my darling child! Now I don’t care what happens!”

“But, Mama!” objected Hetta, wickedly quizzing her. “You told me that nothing would prevail upon you to give your consent to my marrying Des! Why, you even congratulated me on my fortunate escape from such a fate!”

“Nonsense, Hetta!” said Lady Silverdale, very properly dismissing this untimely reminiscence. “It has been the one wish of my life! I have always been excessively fond of him, and, what’s more, I have never wavered from my conviction that he is just the man for you!”

“Thank you, ma’am!” said Desford, raising her hand to his lips. “I hope I may be just the man for Hetta, but all I know is that she is just the woman for me!”

“Dear Ashley! Very prettily said!” she approved. “It is what one so particularly likes in you! To be sure, I was not quite pleased with you when you brought Wilfred Steane’s child here, but that’s not of the smallest consequence now! But I must say, Hetta, it was as much as I could do to say what was proper when she told me, just now, that she had accepted an offer from Mr Nethercott. It seemed to me that there was to be no end to the gentlemen she steals from you! First it was Desford; then it was Charlie—not, of course, that he is one of your suitors, but the principle is the same—and now it’s Mr Nethercott! Well, she’s welcome to him, for I never thought him worthy of you, never! Desford, you will stay to dine with us, of course. Hetta, run and warn Ufford—No, I’ll see him myself, and Charlie must talk to Grimshaw about champagne. Bless you, my dear ones!” With these words she went away to confer with the cook, her gait at startling variance from the tottering steps which had brought her into the room a few minutes earlier.

The lovers then resumed their previous occupation, only to be almost immediately interrupted by Simon, who strolled in, checked on the threshold in surprise at the sight which met his eyes, and burst into a shout of laughter. Reproved in no uncertain terms by his elder brother, he was quite unrepentant. “Oh, isn’t there anything to laugh at!” he said, kissing Hetta’s cheek, and painfully wringing the Viscount’s hand. “Here’s the pair of you, smelling of April and May ever since I can remember, and it ain’t until I put it into your heads that it occurs to either of you to stop huffling and get spliced! Well, I told you you didn’t know how nacky my best was, Des, but you know now!”

He then took his leave of them, declining an invitation to join the dinner-party on the score of its being imperative that he should be in London before it became too dark to see his way. “I’m off to Brighton in the morning,” he explained. “But if you should get into any more scrapes, Des, just send me word, and I’ll post straight back to rescue you!”