Lady of Quality

Chapter 13

The riding-party did not return until close on six o’clock, by which time Miss Farlow was begging Miss Wychwood to prepare herself to meet the news of a disaster’s having befallen the company, and saying that she had known how it would be from the start, if dear Annis permitted Lucilla to go off with a set of heedless young people. As two middle-aged and far from heedless grooms had accompanied the party, this description of it was singularly inept; but when Lady Wychwood placidly reminded her of this circumstance she only shook her head and demanded of what use two grooms could be? She was very sure that dear Annis must be excessively anxious, however bravely she tried to hide it.

Miss Wychwood was not at all anxious; she was not even surprised, for she had never expected to see Lucilla as early as had been promised, and had, in fact, told her chef, as soon as she had seen the party off, not to serve dinner until a later hour than was usual. “For you may depend upon it they will find so much to interest them at Badminton that they will never notice the time!” she said.

She was perfectly right, of course. Just after seven o’clock, Lucilla and Ninian burst into the drawing-room, both full of apologies, and disjointed attempts to describe the glories of Badminton, and the splendid time they had had, which had included—only fancy!—a delicious cold nuncheon, especially provided by his Grace’s housekeeper for their delectation. Nothing had ever been like it!

It seemed that careless Harry Beckenham had gone to considerable trouble to ensure the success of the expedition. “I must own,” said Ninian honestly, “I didn’t expect him to have done the thing in such bang-up style! He actually sent a message to Badminton yesterday, warning the housekeeper that it was very likely he would be bringing a few friends to visit the house today! Or perhaps he wrote to the steward, for it was the steward who led us over the place, and told us all about everything. And I must say it was amazingly interesting!”

“Oh, I never enjoyed anything as much in all my life!” said Lucilla, with an ecstatic sigh. “Corisande and I were in raptures, and neither of us had a notion how late it was until Miss Tenbury chanced to catch sight of a clock in one of the saloons, and drew our attention to it. And so we were obliged to hurry away immediately, and I do hope, ma’am, that you aren’t vexed!”

“Not in the least!” Miss Wychwood assured her. “I am famous for my foresight, and had set dinner back before you were all out of sight!”

Ninian then disclosed that (if she did not think him very uncivil) he had accepted an invitation from Harry Beckenham to join him and Mr Hawkesbury at the White Hart for dinner. “Oh, and he told me to present his compliments to you, ma’am, and to explain why he was unable to come in to beg you, in person, to forgive him for having made us all so late! The thing is, you see, that he was obliged to escort Miss Stinchcombe and Miss Tenbury to their homes. He said that he knew you would understand.”

Miss Wychwood said that she perfectly understood, and that she would have thought Ninian quite muttonheaded if he had refused Mr Beckenham’s invitation. What she did not tell him was that she was considerably relieved to learn that he would not be dining in Camden Place that evening. The foresight for which she had said she was famous had several hours earlier warned her that an awkward situation might arise, if it came to Lady Iverley’s ears that Ninian, according to his usual custom, had dined with her, instead of hastening to his doting parent’s side. It seemed improbable that he would return to the Pelican before going to the White Hart, since he would think it unnecessary to change his riding clothes for evening attire—indeed, quite improper for him to do so, when he knew that it was impossible for his host, or the amiable Mr Hawkesbury, to change their raiment. That meant that whatever message Lady Iverley might have left for him at the Pelican he would not receive until an advanced hour of the evening, which was, she acknowledged, regrettable, but not as regrettable as it would have been if Lady Iverley had been able to lay the blame of his failure to respond instantly to the summons at her door. So she sped Ninian on his way, adjured Lucilla to make haste to put off her riding-habit, and left whatever tomorrow’s problems might be to take care of themselves.

On the following morning, Lucilla, who was eager to discuss the previous day’s entertainment with Corisande, volunteered to accompany Lady Wychwood to the Pump Room. Annis excused herself from going with them, for she felt reasonably certain that she would receive a visit from Ninian. Nor was she mistaken; but it was nearly midday before he arrived on the doorstep, hot and out of breath from having walked at breakneck speed up the steep hill from the Christopher. She received him in the book-room, because it seemed likely that her sister-in-law and Lucilla would return at any minute; and he said impetuously as he crossed the threshold: “Oh, I am so glad to find you at home, ma’am! I was afraid you might have gone down to the Pump Room, where I couldn’t have talked privately to you! And that I must do!”

“Then it is as well that I didn’t go to the Pump Room this morning,” she replied. “Sit down, and tell me all about it!”

He did sit down, and dragged his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow. Recovering his breath, he said in a tight, rigidly controlled voice: “I’ve come to take my leave of you, ma’am!”

“Have you decided to go back to Chartley?” she asked. “We shall miss you, but I think perhaps you should go back.”

“I suppose so,” he said dejectedly. “I said at first—but I see it won’t do! It seems that my father is quite knocked-up, and—and all through my having left Chartley in a huff, though I wrote to him, just as I told you I should, so why he should have taken it into his head that I meant never to return I can’t conceive! It makes me afraid that he must be in very, very queer stirrups, and—and I could never forgive myself if—if anything happened to him! There seems to be nothing for it but for me to go back. You see, my mother arrived here yesterday morning, Miss Wychwood. She is putting up at the Christopher.”

“I see,” she replied sympathetically.

“And my sister Cordelia as well,” he added, on a gloomy note. “If she had to bring one of my sisters with her she might at least have brought Lavinia, for she has some sense, and she ain’t a watering-pot, and she don’t wind me up anything like as often as Cordelia does! I can tell you, ma’am, it made me as mad as fire when the silly wet-goose flung her arms round my neck before I could stop her, and wept all over me!”

“I—I expect it did!” said Miss Wychwood, a trifle unsteadily.

“Well, of course it did, and it would have made any man feel just as I did! I told Mama—perfectly politely! that it was enough to make me jump on the Bristol coach, and ship aboard the first packet bound for America, or anywhere else that the Bristol boats sail to, because I had rather live in the Antipodes than have Cordelia hanging round my neck, and dashed well ruining my necktie, besides calling me her beloved brother, which was the biggest hum I ever heard, for she don’t like me any better than I like her! So then Cordelia asked me, as though she had been acting in some tragedy or another, if I wished to drive my sainted parents into their graves! Well, that did make me lose my temper, and I told her to her head that I had come to talk to Mama, and not to listen to fustian rubbish from her!”

Miss Wychwood, hugely enjoying this recital, perceived that the eldest Miss Elmore was a daughter after Lady Iverley’s heart. She also perceived that his sojourn in Bath had done Ninian (to her way of thinking) a great deal of good; and she hoped that Lady Iverley had realized that he was no longer the adored and dutiful son who did as he was bid, but a young gentleman who had crossed the threshold of adolescence, and had become a man.

Apparently she had. She had sent Cordelia out of the room. According to Ninian, she had done this because she had recognized the justice of his complaint; Miss Wychwood thought that she had done it because she had been frightened. But this she did not say. She merely said: “Oh, dear! What a sad ending to the day!”

“I should rather think it was!” said Ninian fervently. “Except that it wasn’t the end of the day, but the beginning of it! Of this day, I mean! Well, I didn’t get back to the Pelican till past midnight, so I didn’t see the note my mother wrote me until then, when it was far too late to visit her, even if I hadn’t been—” He stopped, in a good deal of embarrassment.

“Foxed?” suggested Miss Wychwood helpfully.

He grinned at her. “No, no, not foxed,ma’am! Just a little bit on the go! If you know what I mean!”

“Oh, I know exactly what you mean!” she assured him, the smile dancing in her eyes. “You had been dipping rather deep, but you were not too bosky to perceive the unwisdom of presenting yourself to your mama until you had slept off your potations! Have I that right?”

He burst out laughing. “Yes, by Jupiter you have! You’re a great gun, ma’am! Well, I went up to bed, but I told the boots to wake me not a moment later than eight this morning, which he did, and though I must say I felt pretty devilish at first, a cup of strong coffee more or less set me to rights, and I went off to the Christopher.” He paused; the laughter vanished from his voice, a frown descended on to his brow, and his mouth hardened. It was a full minute before he spoke again, and when he did speak it was with a little difficulty. He said: “Do you think it chicken-hearted of me to have knuckled down, Miss Wychwood?”

“By no means! You owe a duty to your father, remember!”

“Yes, I know. But—but I have begun to wonder if he is so very ill as Mama believes him to be. Or even if she does believe it, or if she says it to compel me to go home, and stay at home, because she is—well, much more deeply attached to me than to my sisters!”

“I daresay she might exaggerate a little, but from what you have told me I collect that Lord Iverley’s constitution was seriously impaired by his service in the Peninsula.”

“Yes, it was: there can be no doubt about that!” said Ninian, brightening. He thought it over for a moment, and then said: “And he did have a bad heart-attack some years ago. But—but Mama seems to live in dread of his having another, which might prove fatal, if he is put into a passion, or if one doesn’t do exactly as he bids one!”

“That is very natural, Ninian.”

“Yes, but it isn’t true! He was in the devil of a passion when Lucy ran away, and I helped her to do it; and when I lost my temper, and we quarrelled, and I said I should go straight back to Bath, he flew into such a rage that he shook with anger, and could hardly speak. But he didn’t suffer a heart-attack! What’s more, he went on being in a rage, for it was several days later that he wrote me that thundering scold, so that it is absurd to expect me to believe that he was exhausted. But when I tried to point this out to Mama, all she would say was that she couldn’t blame me for turning against my parents because she knew well that I had fallen under an evil influence! I couldn’t think what had put such a crack-brained notion into her head! It took me an age to get it out of her, but she did tell me in the end, and what do you think it was? Your influence, ma’am! Lord, I nearly laughed myself into stitches! Well, did you ever hear of anything so ridiculous?”

“Never!” said Miss Wychwood. “I trust you were able to convince her that she was mistaken?”

“Yes, but it was deuced hard work! Someone seems to have told her that you were the most beautiful woman in Bath—described you pretty thoroughly to her, too, for she talked of your eyes, and your hair, and your figure as though she had actually seen you! So I said Yes, you were very beautiful, and very clever too, and I’m dashed if she didn’t accuse me of having fallen a victim to your beauty!”

“I can almost hear her saying it!” murmured Miss Wychwood appreciatively.

“I daresay it would have made you laugh, but it didn’t make me laugh, though I suppose it was funny. The thing was that it made me very angry, and I told Mama that it was a great piece of impertinence to talk in that outrageous style about a lady whom everyone holds in respect, and who has been as kind to me as though I had been her nephew. Which you have been, ma’am, and I couldn’t leave Bath without telling you how very grateful I am to you for all the things you’ve done to make my stay in Bath so agreeable! Letting me run tame in your house, inviting me to go with you and Lucy to the theatre, making me known to your friends—oh, hosts of things!”

“My dear boy, I wish you won’t talk nonsense!” she protested. “It is I who am grateful to you! Indeed, I have made shameless use of you, and am wondering what I should have done without you, to take Lucilla about, and to stand guard over her! And another thing I wish you won’t do is to talk as though we were never to meet again! I hope you will often visit Bath, and promise you will always be a welcome guest in Camden Place.”

“Th—thank you, ma’am!” he stammered, blushing. “I mean to be a frequent visitor, I can tell you! I have made it plain to Mama that if I go home with her today it must be on the strict understanding that I am at liberty to come and go as I choose, and without having to coax Papa into giving his consent every time I wish to do something he doesn’t approve of!”

“Ah, that was very wise of you!” she said. “I daresay he may not like it at first, but depend upon it he will very soon grow accustomed to having a sensible man for his son and not a mere boy!”

“Do you think he will, ma’am?” he asked, rather doubtfully.

“I am very sure of it,” she smiled, getting up. “You will take some nuncheon with us before you go, will you not?”

“Oh, thank you, ma’am, but no! I mustn’t stay. My mother is anxious to reach Chartley today, because she fears my father will be fretting over the chance that she may have met with an accident. Which is very possible, for she never goes away without him. It would be much wiser, of course, if we postponed our departure until tomorrow morning, but when I suggested this to her, I saw at once that it would not do. I don’t mean that she tried to—to persuade me—in fact, she said I must be the only judge of what was best—but I could see that she wouldn’t get a wink of sleep tonight for worrying about Papa, so even if we don’t reach Chartley before midnight it will be better for her to go home today than to be worrying herself into a fever. And it don’t really signify if we do have to drive after dark, because it won’t be dark, the moon being at the full, and no fear that I can see of the sky’s becoming overcast.” He added imploringly, as though he had detected in Miss Wychwood’s expression what were her feelings on the subject: “You see, ma’am, Mama is not robust, and her disposition is nervous, and—and I know what trials she has to undergo—and—and—”

“You love her very much,” supplied Miss Wychwood, patting his flushed cheek, and smiling at him warmly. “She is a fortunate woman! Now you will wish to say goodbye to Lucilla, so we will go up to the drawing-room. I think I heard her come in, with my sister, a minute or two ago.”

“Yes—well, I must do so, though ten to one she will abuse me for not having any resolution!” he said resentfully.

However, Lucilla behaved with perfect propriety. She exclaimed, when he told her that he was obliged to return to Chartley: “Oh, no, Ninian! Must you do so? Pray don’t go away!” but when he explained the circumstances she made no further demur, but looked thoughtful, and said that she supposed he would be obliged to go. It was not until he had left the house that, emerging from a brown study, she said earnestly to Miss Wychwood: “It makes me almost glad I am an orphan, ma’am!”

Lady Wychwood uttered a slightly shocked protest, and said: “Good gracious, child, whatever can you mean?”

“The way the Iverleys bullock Ninian into doing what they want him to do in—in an infamous way!” Lucilla explained. “Lady Iverley appeals to his better self,and the pity of it is that he has a better self! I quite see that it is very creditable to have a better self, but it does make him rather milky.”

“Oh, no! I should never say he was milky,” responded Miss Wychwood. “You must remember that he is very much attached to his mama, and is, I believe, fully aware of the anxious life she leads. I rather fancy she is inclined to cling to him—”

“Yes, indeed she does, and in the most cloying way!” said Lucilla. “So do Cordelia and Lavinia! I wonder that he can bear it! I could not.”

“No, but you haven’t a better nature, have you?” said Miss Wychwood, quizzing her.

Lucilla laughed, but said: “Very true! And thank goodness I haven’t, for it must be excessively uncomfortable!”

Miss Wychwood was amused, but Lady Wychwood shook her head over it, and later told her sister-in-law that she thought the remark a melancholy illustration of the evils attached to growing up without a mother.

“Well, they could scarcely be worse than the evils of growing up with such a mother as Lady Iverley!” said Annis caustically.

Ninian’s absence was felt to have created a sad gap in the household; and even outside the household a surprising number of people told Annis how sorry they were that he had left Bath, and how much they hoped it would not be long before he revisited the town. He seemed to have made many friends, which circumstance increased Annis’s respect for him: very few young men would have sacrificed their pleasures to so lachrymose and unreasonable a parent as Lady Iverley. She hoped that he was not moped to death at Chartley, but feared that he must be finding life very flat.

However, some few days later she received a letter from him, and gathered from its closely written pages that although he thought wistfully of Bath and its inhabitants conditions at Chartley had improved. He had had a long talk with his father, the outcome of which was that he was now occupying himself with the management of the estate, and spent the better part of his time going about with the bailiff. Miss Wychwood would stare if she knew how much he was learning. His quarrel with Lord Iverley had been quite made up. He had found his lordship looking dragged and weary, but was happy to say that he was plucking up wonderfully, and had even said that if Ninian wished to invite any of his friends to visit him he should be glad to welcome them to Chartley.

Miss Wychwood concluded that his lordship had learnt a valuable lesson, and that there was no need to worry about Ninian’s future.

There was no need to worry about anything, of course: Lucilla was well, and behaving with great docility; little Tom’s toothache was remembered by no one but his mama and Nurse; Miss Farlow had won Nurse’s approval and had begun to spend a large part of the days either in the nursery or taking Tom for walks; and if Mr Carleton had thought better of his intention to return to Bath it was a very good thing, for they went on perfectly happily without him.

But when, one morning, she received a letter from him her heart jumped, and she hardly dared to break the seal, for fear that she might read that he had indeed changed his mind.

It did not seem as though he had done so, but although it was a relief to know that he still meant to come back his letter was not really very satisfactory. Mr Carleton had written it in haste, and merely to inform her that he had been obliged to postpone his return. He was much occupied with some tiresome business which made it necessary for him to visit his estates. He was on the point of setting out on the journey, and begged her to excuse his sending only a short scrawl to apprise her of his immediate intentions. He had no time for more, but remained hers, as ever, Oliver Carleton.

Not a model of the epistolary art; still less the letter of a man in love, she thought. The only part of it which encouraged to hope that he did still love her was its ending. But very likely he signed all his letters Yours, as ever, and it would be nonsensical to read more into these simple words than mere friendliness.

She found herself in low spirits, and tried very hard to shake off this silly fit of the dismals, and not to allow herself to think about Mr Carleton, or his letter, or how much she was missing him. She thought that even if she didn’t succeed in carrying out this admirable resolution she had at least succeeded in hiding her depression from Lady Wychwood, but soon discovered that she was mistaken. “I wish you will tell me, dearest, what is making you so—so down pin,” said her ladyship coaxingly.

“Why, nothing! Do I seem to be down pin? I wasn’t aware of it—except wet streets, dripping trees, and nothing else to be seen but umbrellas and puddles always does put me into the hips. I hate being shut up in the house, you know!”

“Well, it is sad that the weather should have turned off, but you were never used to care a straw for the weather. How often have I begged you not to venture out, when it was raining pitchforks and shovels! But you never paid any heed! You said you liked to feel the rain on your face.”

“Oh, that was in the country, Amabel! It is a very different matter in town, where one can’t tie a shawl round one’s head, find a pair of stout list shoes and go for a tramp! You wouldn’t have me make such a figure of myself in Bath!”

“Of course not,” said Lady Wychwood quietly, and bent her head again over the robe she was making for her infant daughter.

“The truth is, I expect, that I need occupation,” offered Annis. “Now, if only I didn’t find sewing a dead bore, or if I had Lucilla’s talent for water-colour drawing—have you seen any of her sketches? They are infinitely superior to the generality of young-lady-drawings!”

“Oh, I don’t think sewing or sketching would answer the purpose! They don’t divert one’s mind, do they? I don’t know about sketching, for I was never at all fond of it, but I should think it is much the same as sewing, and that I find doesn’t divert one’s mind in the least—in fact, quite the reverse!”

“I think I shall embark on a course of serious reading,” said Annis, bent on leading Lady Wychwood down a less dangerous conversational avenue.

“Well, dearest, I daresay that might answer the purpose, but you have been sitting with a book open in front of you for the past twenty minutes, and I could not but notice that you haven’t yet turned the page,” replied Lady Wychwood. She looked up, and smiled faintly at Annis. “I don’t mean to tease you with prying questions, so I’ll say no more. Only that I hope so much that you won’t do anything you might live to regret. I couldn’t bear you to be made unhappy, my dear one. Tell me, do you think I have made this bodice large enough for Baby?”