Sprig Muslin

Chapter 7

It could not have been said, when Amanda came to the end of her imaginative confidences, that Mr. Theale perfectly understood all the ramifications of her story. Certain features, such as the precise nature of the circumstances which had drawn Sir Gareth into her life, remained obscure, but this did not greatly trouble him. One thing was quite plain to him: Sir Gareth had hideously mangled a promising situation, which, reflected Mr. Theale, was a further example of the unwisdom of trusting to appearances. One wouldn’t have suspected that a fellow with such address, and such easy, pleasant manners, would have so grossly mishandled a shy filly whom anyone but a cod’s head must have guessed would respond only to a very light hand on the bridle. That Amanda had disliked him from the outset Mr. Theale did not for a moment believe, for the particular story Amanda had selected for his edification was the one she owed to the pen of Mr. Richardson. Sir Gareth had recognized the provenance, and had very unkindly said so; Mr. Theale, whose reading did not embrace the works of novelists admired by his parents, did not recognize it. Broadly speaking, he accepted the story, but the construction he put upon it was scarcely what the fair plagiarist would have desired. No doubt the little lovebird had encouraged the widowed parent of her young mistress to make up to her: probably, thought the cynical Mr. Theale, she had hoped to lure him into proposing marriage. That would account for the apparent inhumanity of the gentleman’s sister in turning her out of doors incontinent. Just how much time had elapsed, or what had happened, between this heartless eviction and Amanda’s arrival at Brancaster under Sir Gareth’s protection, Mr. Theale neither knew nor troubled to discover. She had said that she had met Sir Gareth for the first time on the previous day, but that, naturally, was a lie. Understandable, of course, but Mr. Theale was rather too downy a one to accept it. On his own admission, Sir Gareth had lingered on the road from London. He had pitched them a Canterbury-story about a visit to old friends in Hertfordshire: in Mr. Theale’s view, it had been a young friend who had detained him, and had succeeded in fixing his interest so securely that rather than lose her he had adopted the perilous course of bringing her to Brancaster. Mr. Theale considered it a bold stroke, but a trifle hare-brained: ten to one that had been when the chit had taken fright. When all was said and done, he thought, preening himself, an experienced man of fifty, even though he had become a little portly, could give Ludlow points, and beat him. A handsome face and a fine figure were very well in their way, but what was needed in this case was delicacy.

Mr. Theale, in the most delicate fashion imaginable, offered Amanda an asylum. He did it so beautifully that even if she had been attending closely to him she must have found it difficult to decide whether he was inviting her to become an inmate of his hunting-box in the guise of a maidservant, or in that of an adopted daughter. In the event, she paid very little heed to his glibly persuasive periods, being fully occupied in considering how, and at what stage of the journey to Melton Mowbray, to dispense with his further escort.

On one point, Mr. Theale failed to reassure her. So great was her dread of Sir Gareth that nothing served to convince her that he would not, as soon as her flight was discovered, pursue her relentlessly, probably springing his horses in a very reckless way, and quite certainly, unless she had several hours’ start of him, overtaking her, and snatching her back into his power.

“No, no, he won’t do that!” Mr. Theale said comfortably.

“Well, I think he will,” replied Amanda. “He is determined not to let me escape: he said so!”

“Ay, I heard him,” said Mr. Theale, chuckling to himself. “He was bamming you, my dear. The one thing he can’t do is to get you away from me. He’s been hoaxing you more than you knew. I’ll go bail he hasn’t told you what brought him here, has he?”

“No,” admitted Amanda. “But—”

“Well, he’s come to offer for my niece,” disclosed Mr. Theale.

“For Lady Hester?” gasped Amanda, roundeyed with surprise.

“That’s it. Sets him at a stand. A nice dust there would be if the truth of this business were to become known! Bad enough to have brought you here in the first place. The tale will be that I’ve taken you to those relations of yours at Oundle. Of course, he’ll know I haven’t done any such thing, because he knows there ain’t any relations at Oundle, but he won’t dare say so; and as for trying to get me to hand you over to him—well, if he’s got as much effrontery as that, he’s got more than any man that ever existed!”

“I think,” said Amanda firmly, “that we should fly from this place at dawn.”

“No, we shouldn’t,” replied Mr. Theale, even more firmly. “Not at dawn, my dear.”

“Well, very early in the morning, before anyone is out of bed,” she conceded.

Mr. Theale, although not addicted to early rising, agreed upon reflection that it would be desirable to have left Brancaster before Sir Gareth had emerged from his bedchamber. He could not be induced to favour so ungodly an hour as that suggested by Amanda, but after some argument a compromise was reached, and they parted, Mr. Theale repairing to the library, where he was later discovered, apparently sleeping off a liberal notation of brandy; and Amanda seating herself under a fine yew-tree on the lawn. Here she was found by Lady Hester, who begged her to come back into the house before she contracted a chill. Amanda, who had been pondering the astonishing intelligence conveyed to her by Mr. Theale, would dearly have liked to have asked her whether she really was about to become affianced to Sir Gareth. The question was on the tip of her tongue when she reflected that if the story were untrue Lady Hester might be put out of countenance by such a question. In her youthful eyes, Hester was long past the marriageable age, but she approved of her, and was inclined to think that she would be just the wife for a gentleman also stricken in years. The unexpected streak of maturity which underlay her childish volatility made it possible for her to understand, in the light of Mr. Theale’s disclosure, the hitherto incomprehensible hostility of Hester’s abigail; and although she was not much given to considering any other interests than her own she did feel that it would be a great shame if, through her unwitting fault, the match came to nothing. This led to the comfortable conviction that in leaving Brancaster without the formality of bidding farewell to her kind hostess she was acting almost entirely in Hester’s interests. So she accompanied Hester back to the drawing-room with all the good-humour engendered by the agreeable feeling of having decided to adopt a very unselfish course of action. She was only sorry that it was impossible to guess, from either Hester’s demeanour or Sir Gareth’s, whether they were, in fact, betrothed, or whether the story was nothing but a hum.

An even stronger desire to know what had happened in the morning-room burned in the breasts of the other members of the party. Nothing was to be read in either of the principals’ countenances, but the Earl, trying unavailingly on several occasions to catch Sir Gareth’s eye, was despondent.

It was not until some time after the ladies had retired for the night that the truth was out. Mr. Theale, mounting the stairs on his way to bed, reached the upper hall just as Lady Widmore, her colour considerably heightened, emerged from Hester’s room, shutting the door behind her with a distinct slam. Perceiving Mr. Theale, she ejaculated with all the exasperation of one whose worst fears had been realized: “She rejected him!”

“Tell her not to make a cake of herself!” recommended Mr. Theale.

“Lord, do you think I haven’t? Mind, I hold him entirely to blame! What possessed the man to bring that girl here?” Mr. Theale closed one eye in a vulgar wink. “You don’t say so!” her ladyship exclaimed. “The devil take him! Upon my soul, if that ain’t the biggest insult—Yes, but she don’t believe it, Fabian! That’s what puts me out of all patience with her. You needn’t doubt I told her there was nothing in it, though from the way he kept his eyes on the little baggage—well! But Hester is such a zany! ‘Take it from me, my dear,’ I said, ‘he’s no more in love with her than Cuthbert is!’ And what do you think she said to that? I declare I could have boxed her ears! You know that way she has of answering you as though she hadn’t heard above half you had said to her! ‘No,’ she said, ‘not yet!’ I’m sure I don’t know how I kept my temper, for if there’s one thing I can’t abide it’s people who go off into a daze, which, let me tell you, is what Hester does! Not yet,indeed! ‘Pray, what do you mean by that?’ I asked her. So then she looked at me, as if I were a hundred miles away, and said: ‘I think perhaps he will be.’ You know, Fabian, there are times when I can’t but wonder whether she’s queer in her attic! Depend upon it, I told her pretty roundly that if that was what she thought she’d best snap the man up before the mischief was done. All she had to say to that was that she didn’t think she would, for all the world as though I had offered her a slice of cake, or some such thing. I’ve been talking to her for ever, but if she listened to anything I said it’s more than I bargain for! Well, I’ve no patience with her, and so I have told her! To be whistling Ludlow down the wind at her age, and affairs here in the case they are, makes me angry enough to burst my stay-laces! He was prepared to come down devilish handsomely, you know. Well, I don’t say Hester hasn’t often vexed me to death, but I declare I never thought she would behave so selfishly! What his lordship will have to say about it I hope I don’t have to listen to! I shall have enough to bear from Widmore, for this news will be bound to turn his stomach sour on him, you mark my words if it don’t!”

“You know what, Almeria?” interrupted Mr. Theale, a look of profound concentration on his florid countenance. “I believe she had a tendre for him!”

Lady Widmore stared at him in contempt and suspicion. “I suppose you are top-heavy,” she remarked.

Not for the first time, Mr. Theale wondered what had possessed his nephew to marry this coarse-tongued and unattractive female. “No, I’m not,” he said shortly.

“Oh, beg pardon! But what made you say such a daffish thing, if it wasn’t brandy?”

“It ain’t daffish, but I daresay it may seem so to you. There isn’t one of you here who can see what’s dashed well under your noses. It occurred to me when I saw Hester look at Ludlow.”

“I’ll swear she has never given the least sign of such a thing!” she said incredulously “What the deuce can you possibly mean?”

“Just a certain look in her eye,” said Mr. Theale knowledgeably. “No use asking me to explain it, because I can’t, but I’d lay you odds she’d have had him if he hadn’t walked in with that little ladybird on his arm.”

“I could wring her neck!” exclaimed Lady Widmore, her cheeks reddening angrily.

“No need to do that: I’m going to take her off your hands first thing in the morning. To those relations at Oundle,” he added, with another of his vulgar winks.

She regarded him with great fixity. “Will she go with you?”

“Lord, yes! Do anything to get away from Ludlow. The silly fellow seems to have frightened her, poor little soul.”

“She! I never saw anyone less frightened in my life!”

“Well, it don’t signify. The point is, I’m going to take her away. Ludlow will be obliged to put a good face on it, and I shouldn’t be surprised if once Amanda is out of his eye he’ll see what a cake he’s been making of himself, and try Hester again.”

“If he can be persuaded to remain here,” she said “Does he know?”

“Of course he doesn’t! Doesn’t even know I’m leaving tomorrow. I stayed behind after he’d gone up to bed, and told my brother I meant to be off early, and would carry Miss Smith to Oundle.”

“What did he say?”

“Didn’t say anything, but I could see the notion took very well with him. If you want to be helpful, you’ll see to it no one hinders the child from joining me in the morning. I’ve ordered the carriage for seven o’clock. Breakfast in Huntingdon.”

“I’ll tell Povey!” said Lady Widmore, a scheming light in her eye. “My woman has been saying that she’s as mad as fire with that chit, for coming here and spoiling Hester’s chances. Would you believe Hester could be such a ninny?—She has invited the wretched wench to remain here for a week! You may lay your life Povey will take care no one stops her from going with you. I suppose there’s no fear Ludlow will go after you?”

“Lord, you’re as bad as Amanda!” said Mr. Theale impatiently. “Of course there’s no fear of it! He’d have to tell the truth about her if he did that, and that’s the last thin he’s likely to do.”

“Well, I hope you may be right. At all events, it will do no harm if Povey tells Hester the girl’s still abed and asleep at breakfast-time. I wouldn’t put it beyond Hester to send Ludlow after her!”

“What the devil should she do that for?” demanded Mr. Theale. “She’ll think I’m taking the girl to her relations!”

“I’ll do my best to make her think that,” retorted Lady Widmore grimly, “but ninny though she may be, she knows you, Fabian!”

He was not in the least offended by this insult, but went chuckling off to bed, where, like Amanda, he enjoyed an excellent night’s repose.

They were almost the only members of the party to do so. Not until the small hours crept in did sleep put an end to Lady Hester’s unhappy reflections; her father lay awake, first dwelling on her shortcomings, then blaming Sir Gareth for her undutiful conduct, and lastly arguing himself into the conviction that it formed no part of his duty to interfere with whatever plan Fabian had formed; Lady Widmore was troubled by bad dreams; and her husband, as she had prophesied, succumbed to an attack of acute dyspepsia, which caused him to remain in bed on the following day, sustaining nature with toast and thin gruel, and desiring his wife not—unless she wished to bring on his pains again—to mention his sister’s name within his hearing.

Lady Widmore was the first person to put in an appearance at the breakfast-table. She, alone amongst the family, had attended the service Mr. Whyteleafe held daily in the little private chapel. The Earl was always an infrequent worshipper, but it was rarely that Lady Hester rose too late to take part in the morning service. This morning, however, she had been an absentee. Sir Gareth, confidentially informed overnight by his host that the chaplain was employed for the edification of the servants and the ladies of of the family, had not felt it to be incumbent upon him to attend either; but he was the second person to enter the breakfast-parlour.

Lady Widmore, after bidding him a bluff good-morning, told him bluntly that she was sorry his suit had not prospered.

“Thank you: I too am sorry,” replied Sir Gareth calmly.

“Well, if I were you I wouldn’t give up hope,” said her ladyship. “The mischief is that Hester’s the shyest thing in nature, you know.”

“I do know it,” said Sir Gareth unencouragingly.

“Give her time, and I dare swear shell come round!” she perserved.

“Do you mean, ma’am, that she might be scolded into accepting me?” he asked. “I trust that no one will make the attempt, for however much I must hope that her answer to me last night was not final, I most certainly don’t wish for a wife who accepted me only to escape from the recriminations of her relatives.”

“Well, upon my word!” ejaculated Lady Widmore, her colour rising.

“I know that your ladyship is an advocate of plain speaking,” said Sir Gareth sweetly.

“Ay, very true!” she retorted. “So I will make bold to tell you, sir, that it’s your own fault that this business has come to nothing!”

He looked coolly at her, a hint of steel in his eyes. “Believe me, ma’am,” he said, “though you may be labouring under a misapprehension as little flattering to yourself as it is to me, Lady Hester is not!”

Fortunately, since her temper was hasty, the Earl came in just then, with his chaplain at his heels; and by the time he had greeted his guest, with as much cheerfulness as he could muster, and had expressed the conventional hope that he had slept well, she had recollected the unwisdom of quarrelling with Sir Gareth, and managed, though not without a severe struggle with herself, to swallow her spleen, and to call upon her father-in-law to persuade Sir Gareth not to curtail his visit to Brancaster.

The Earl, while responding with a fair assumption of enthusiasm, privately considered that it would be useless for Sir Gareth to linger under his roof. His daughter, he had decided, was destined to remain a spinster all her days; and he had formed the intention, while shaving, of putting the whole matter out of his mind, and losing no time in repairing to the more congenial locality of Brighton. He had been prepared to perform his duties as a host and a father while Hester mooned about the gardens with her affianced husband, but if this very easy way of entertaining Sir Gareth failed, as fail it assuredly must, he wondered what the devil he was to do with the fellow for a whole week in the middle of July.

“Thank you, sir, you are very good, but I fear it is not in my power to remain,” replied Sir Gareth. “I must convey my charge to Oundle—or even, perhaps, back to her parents.”

“Oh, there is not the smallest need for you to put yourself about!” struck in Lady Widmore. “Fabian was saying to me last night that he would be pleased to take her up in his carriage as far as to Oundle, for he goes to Melton today, you know, and it will not carry him far out of his way.”

“I am very much obliged to him, but must not trespass upon his good-nature,” replied Sir Gareth a note of finality in his voice.

“No such thing!” said Lady Widmore robustly. “It can make no difference to Fabian, and I am sure I know not why you should be dancing attendance upon a schoolgirl, Sir Gareth!”

There was a challenge in her eye, but before Sir Gareth could meet it, Mr. Whyteleafe said with precision: “I must venture to inform your ladyship of a circumstance which cannot but preclude Mr. Theale’s being able to offer his services to Miss Smith. Mr. Theale’s travelling carriage, closely followed by the coach containing his baggage, passed beneath my window at fourteen minutes past seven o’clock exactly. I am able, I should explain, to speak with certainty on this point because it so chanced that, being desirous of knowing the hour, I was at that instant in the act of consulting my watch.”

The Earl had never liked his chaplain, but he had not hitherto considered him actively malevolent. He now perceived that he had been cherishing a viper. Sir Gareth was of course bound to discover the truth, but it had been his lordship’s intention to have taken good care that he should not do so in his presence. The more he had considered the matter, the stronger had become his conviction that the disclosure would lead to an awkward scene, and the avoidance of awkward scenes was one of the guiding principles of his life. In an attempt to gloss over the perilous moment, he said: “Yes, yes, now you put me in mind of it, I recall that my brother said he rather thought he should make an early start. Doesn’t like travelling in the heat of the day,” he added, addressing himself to Sir Gareth.

The door opened, and Lady Hester came into the room. Sir Gareth, as he rose to his feet, pushing back his chair, saw with concern that she was looking pale, and rather heavy-eyed.

“Good-morning,” she said, in her soft voice. “I am afraid I am shockingly late this morning, and as for Miss Smith, my woman tells me that she is still asleep.”

“Lady Hester, have you yourself seen Amanda?” Sir Gareth asked abruptly.

She shook her head, looking enquiringly at him. “No, I didn’t wish to disturb her. Ought I to have? Oh, dear, you don’t think she can have—?”

“Yes, I do think that she can have,” said Sir Gareth. “I have just learnt that your uncle left Brancaster two hours ago, and nothing appears to be more likely than that he took Amanda with him.”

“Well, what if he did?” demanded Lady Widmore. “Very obliging of him, I should call it, and nothing to make a piece of work about! To be sure, it is excessively uncivil of her to have gone off without bidding anyone goodbye, but I, for one, am not amazed.”

“I will go up to her room immediately,” Lady Hester said, ignoring her sister-in-law.

She found Amanda’s bedchamber untenanted. A note addressed to herself lay on the dressing-table. As she was reading the few lines of apology and explanation, Povey came in, checking at sight of her, and saying in some confusion: “I beg pardon, my lady! I was just coming to see if Miss was awake!”

“You knew, Povey, when you told me that Miss Smith was asleep, that she had left the house,” said Hester quietly. “No, do not try to answer me! You have done very wrong. I don’t wish to talk to you. Indeed, I don’t feel that I shall be able to forgive you.”

Povey instantly burst into tears, but to her startled dismay her tenderhearted mistress seemed quite unmoved, leaving the room without so much as another glance thrown in her direction.

Lady Hester found Sir Gareth awaiting her at the foot of the stairs. She put Amanda’s note into his hand, saying remorsefully: “It is just as you suspected. I have been dreadfully to blame!”

“You! No, indeed!” he returned, running his eye over the note. “Well, she doesn’t tell you so, but I imagine there is no doubt she went away with your uncle.” He gave the note back to her, saying, as he saw her face of distress: “My dear, don’t look so stricken! There is not so very much harm done, after all. I own, I wish I knew where Theale is taking her, but I daresay they will not be difficult to trace.”

“It is quite shameful of Fabian!” she said, in a tone of deep mortification.

He replied lightly: “For anything we yet know she may have prevailed upon him to take her to Oundle, where, I don’t doubt, she will try to give him the slip.”

“You say that to make me feel more comfortable, but pray don’t!” she said. “There can be no excuse for his conduct, and the dreadful thing is that there never is! Even if she made him think she indeed had relations at Oundle, he cannot have thought it proper to remove her from Brancaster in such a way. And I very much fear that he has not taken her to Oundle. In fact, it would be much more like him to carry her off to his hunting-box, which I should have no hesitation in saying is what he has done, only that he must know that is the first place where you would look for her.”

“Well, if we are to speak frankly of your uncle, I will own that that is precisely what I fear he may have done,” said Sir Gareth.

“Oh, yes, pray say what you like! I assure you, none of us would disagree with you, however badly you think of him, for he is almost the most severe misfortune that ever befell us. But it would be quite foolhardy of him to have taken her to Melton Mowbray!”

“I suspect that he thinks I shan’t attempt to follow him,” replied Sir Gareth dryly. “Your brother and his wife certainly believe me to have brought my mistress to Brancaster, and your uncle’s conduct now leads me to suppose that they are not alone in that belief.”

“I don’t know very much about such matters,” said Hester thoughtfully, “but I shouldn’t have thought you would do that.”

“You may be perfectly sure I would not!”

“Oh, yes, I am! I told Almeria so. I cannot but feel that it would be such a silly thing to do!”

“It would also be an extremely insulting thing to do,” he said, smiling at her tone of serious consideration. “How Theale came to credit me with so much ill-breeding is something that perhaps he will explain to me presently.”

“Well,” said Hester, wrinkling her brow, “I think it is just the sort of thing he would do himself, which would account for it. But what has me in a puzzle is why you should think he would not, in that event, expect you to follow him. I should have thought it quite certain you would do so—unless, of course, not pursuing people who steal your mistress is one of those rules of gentleman’s etiquette which naturally I know nothing about.”

“No,” he answered, laughing, “it is not! But if I had been so lost to all sense of propriety as to have brought my mistress with me, when my errand was to beg you to honour me with your hand in marriage, I must indeed have found it an awkward business—to say the least of it!—to recover Amanda from your uncle.”

“Yes, so you must!” she agreed, pleased to have the problem elucidated. “Dear me, how excessively shabby of Fabian to try to take advantage of your position! You know, whenever he is in a scrape, one always hopes that he has gone his length, but he seems never to be at a loss to think of something worse to do. How very vexing it is for you! What shall you do?”

“Try to discover which road he took when he left this house, and go after him. What else can I do? I made myself responsible for Amanda, and although she deserves to be well spanked I can’t let her run into mischief that might so easily mean her ruin. I have already desired your butler to send a message to the stables.” He held out his hand, and she put hers into it, looking fleetingly up into his face. “I owe you an apology,” he said. “Believe me, if I had guessed how troublesome she would be, I would not have burdened you with Amanda.” He smiled suddenly. “One advantage, however, must have been gained. I was obliged to tell your father the truth—or some part of it, and as he plainly considers me to be touched in the upper works I imagine he will congratulate you on your good sense in refusing to have anything to do with me!”

She flushed, and very slightly shook her head. “Don’t let us speak of that! I wish I might be of some assistance to you now, but I cannot think of anything I could usefully do. If Fabian has gone to Melton, he will have taken the road to Huntingdon, because although the more direct way is through Peterborough the road from Chatteris to Peterborough is very narrow and rough, and he will never venture on to it for fear of being made to feel ill. He is a very bad traveller.” She paused, and seemed to reflect. “Will you feel obliged to call him out? I don’t know what may be the proper thing for you to do, and I don’t wish to tease you, but I can’t help feeling that it would be more comfortable if you did not.”

His lips quivered, but he replied with admirable gravity: “Just so! I shan’t go to such desperate lengths as that, and although I own it would give me a good deal of pleasure to draw his cork—I beg your pardon! make his nose bleed!—I daresay I shan’t even do that. He is too old, and too fat—and heaven only knows what tale Amanda may have beguiled him with! I only wish I may not figure as the villain of it.”

“Now, that,” said Hester, roused from her gentle tolerance, “would be really too naughty of her, and quite beyond the line of what is excusable!”

He laughed. “Thank you! I must go now. May I write to tell you the outcome of this nonsensical adventure?”

“Yes, indeed, I hope you will, for I shall be very anxious until I hear from you.”

He raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it, pressed it slightly, and then released it, and went away up the stairs. Lady Hester remained for a moment or two, staring absently at nothing in particular, before going slowly back into the breakfast-parlour