The Nonesuch

Chapter 12

As she had looked forward to the ball with mixed feelings, so did Ancilla look back upon it. It had been with misgiving that she had accepted Lady Colebatch’s invitation, believing, with a sense of guilt, that in doing so she was allowing her desire to overcome the principles she had laid down for herself when she had first stepped deliberately out of her own sphere to become a schoolteacher.

It had been a hard decision to reach, for although her family was not affluent it was respected, and she had been accustomed all her life to move in the first circles of Hertfordshire. Her father’s death, coupled as it had been with unlucky investments, had left the family, not in penury, but in uncomfortably straitened circumstances, and no doubt existed in the minds of all those who were acquainted with the Trents that it was incumbent upon Ancilla to relieve her eldest brother of the burden of providing for her by contracting a suitable marriage. It was generally agreed that although she was then in her twenty-fourth year, and had no fortune, her case was not hopeless. She was very good-looking, with an air of distinction that always attracted attention; she was accomplished; her disposition was charming; though she was not vivacious she had a lively mind, and a witty tongue; and if she had rather too much reserve, and a composure that made her seem sometimes a little cold, her graceful manners always ensured her a welcome at any social function. It was a thousand pities she had not liked any of her admirers well enough to encourage their advances; but it was hoped that now, when she had been out for more than four years and must be fearful of dwindling into an old maid, she would not spurn a respectable offer.

That was what her aunt had hoped, when she had invited her to London for a whole season. Lady Trent, who was sincerely attached to her, had really done her best for her, introducing her to the ton, taking her to Almack’s, and even presenting her at one of the Queen’s Drawing-Rooms, but it had been to no avail. Ancilla would not marry where she did not love; and until she encountered the Nonesuch her heart had never experienced the smallest flutter.

Unwilling to marry, and resolved neither to add to the expenses of her brother’s household nor to hang upon her uncle’s sleeve, she had made her difficult decision, against the loudly expressed wishes of her family, and in the full realization that if she became a schoolmistress she would, to all intents and purposes, have renounced the world. It had been a hard duty, but she saw it as inescapable; and when she had accepted the post offered her by Miss Climping she had put the social life which she enjoyed behind her, and moulded herself into the form of a governess. By the time she had been fortunate enough to exchange her situation at Bath for the highly paid and privileged one which she now held she had thought herself inured to the disadvantages of her position. It had not been long before that position had become far more agreeable than she had ever supposed possible; but however much her kind employer might urge her to think herself one of the family, discretion, and a strong sense of propriety had prevented her from stepping across the invisible line she had drawn for herself. Her place was in the background, ready to fill a social need, but never putting herself forward. If Mrs Underhill were indisposed, she was perfectly willing to escort Tiffany to a party, where she took her place amongst the chaperones; but when, as had occasionally happened, she had herself received an invitation she had been steadfast in her refusal.

Until the arrival on the scene of the Nonesuch. Within a fortnight of their first meeting—or had it been within a minute?—he had destroyed her calm, undermined her resolution, and utterly demolished her comfort. She had believed herself to be a rational woman, with a well-regulated mind and a temperate disposition; but since his coming into Yorkshire she had swung from breathless happiness to doubt and despondency. Her heart had never previously opposed her mind: they seemed now to be in eternal conflict, the one warning her to take care, the other urging her to throw care and discretion to the wind.

Mind had suffered a severe set-back over the invitation to Lady Colebatch’s ball. The correct Miss Trent, who had long since outgrown her love of dancing, desperately wanted to go to the ball. Just this once! she pleaded. What harm can there he in it, when Mrs Underhill particularly wishes me to accept? I have too much sense to let it turn my head! Her well-regulated mind replied uncompromisingly: You have none at all. You want to go to this ball because Sir Waldo will be there, and if you had a grain of sense you would hint him away before he has ruined your peace.

Heart had won. She had gone to the ball, meaning to behave with the utmost circumspection; but no sooner had she dressed her hair in her former style than circumspection fled. She felt young again, as excited as a girl going to her first party, a little reckless.

The recklessness, encouraged by the lights and the laughter, and the music, had grown. She had retained enough prudence to demur when Sir Waldo had asked her to dance the first waltz with him, but none thereafter, she thought. She had felt the exquisite happiness of knowing herself to be sought after by the man of her choice; and when he had asked her to waltz with him a second time she had not hesitated. He had taken her in to supper, too; and when they had gone into the garden to watch the firework-display it had been he who had fetched her shawl, and put it round her shoulders. So heedless had she been, so lost in enchantment, that she had not spared a thought for what might be the opinions of the matrons who watched her so jealously, and was shocked when an acid comment from Mrs Banningham made her realize that she was considered by that lady, and some others too, to be setting her cap at the Nonesuch. She knew it to be spite, but she felt ready to sink; and when Lady Colebatch had said to her, laughingly: “All this dangerous flirting with Sir Waldo—! Fie on you, Miss Trent!” her enjoyment was at an end, and her fears and doubts again assailed her.

She knew herself to be inexperienced in love, and guessed that Sir Waldo was not. It was beyond question that he was strongly attracted to her, but whether he had anything but flirtation in mind she could not tell. When their eyes met, and he smiled, she thought that surely he could not look at her and smile just so if the feeling he had for her was not deeper and more enduring than a mere passing fancy. Then she remembered that she was not the only woman to be charmed by his smile; and wondered if she was flattering herself in believing that that particular smile was one which no one but she had seen. But it was rumoured that he had had many loves: she supposed that a squire of dames must necessarily possess the power of making one believe that he was very much in love with one.

Almost as painful as these doubts was the thought that by allowing the Nonesuch to single her out she, who had so often preached propriety to Tiffany, should herself have set the neighbourhood in a bustle. Her conduct must have been very bad, she thought, for even Courtenay had remarked on it, saying, with a grin: “Lord, ma’am, won’t Tiffany be as mad as fire to see the Nonesuch making up to you!”

But it had not entered Tiffany’s head that any man, far less a man of Sir Waldo’s consequence, could feel the smallest tendre for a governess. In talking over the ball she had spoken quite casually of Sir Waldo’s having danced two waltzes with Miss Trent, and disclosed, as a very good joke, that some of the old cats had taken snuff at it; because they fancied him to be dangling after her. “You and Sir Waldo, Ancilla—!” she gurgled, “I was very nearly in whoops, as you may imagine! Of all the absurdities!”

“I don’t think it would be at all absurd!” stated Charlotte belligerently. “Not nearly such an absurdity as for anyone to suppose that he was dangling after you! I suppose you’re jealous because he didn’t ask you to stand up with him first of all!”

“Oh, he couldn’t!” said Tiffany, with a saucy look. “Mr Calver was before him! He was obliged to wait for the second waltz with me! And poor Lindeth for the third!”

Miss Trent regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, before lowering her gaze again to the handkerchief she was hemming. She had not been so much absorbed in her own affairs as to have had no leisure to observe Tiffany’s behaviour at the ball. Being fairly well conversant with Tiffany’s methods of punishing and still further enslaving any member of her court who had displeased her, she had not been surprised when she had seen her at her dazzling best with all the admirers whose noses had been put out of joint by Lord Lindeth, raising melting eyes to Mr Calver’s face, and treating Lindeth with careless indifference. Miss Trent had been amused rather than shocked, for these tactics, she thought, betrayed Tiffany’s extreme youth. They might answer well enough with callow boys, but they were not at all likely to inspire Lindeth with anything but disgust. She hoped they would do so, but she hoped also that they were not as blatant to others as they were to her.

To one person they were perfectly obvious. Laurence Calver’s intellect was not superior, but he had a certain quickness of perception, and a decided talent for discovering scandals and frailties. He went to the ball suspecting that his cousin Lindeth had a considerable interest in the unknown Beauty, and it did not take him long to become convinced of this, or to realize that some tiff had occurred to rupture what had no doubt been a promising affaire.That was very interesting, and opened out all sorts of possibilities. The girl was a minx: bang-up to the echo, of course, but not at all the thing for Lindeth. Waldo must know that, so what was he doing to prevent such a shocking alliance? Or was he at a stand? And if so would he be grateful if his other cousin were to intervene? Yes, thought Laurence: if the thing were serious, he would be. It would be very amusing, and not at all difficult: the Beauty had already thrown out unmistakeable lures to him, and he was perfectly ready to accept these. No doubt she was on the catch for Lindeth; and no doubt either that she thought to bring him to the scratch by making him mad with jealousy. Possibly she would succeed in making him jealous—and that would be amusing too—but if she supposed that by flirting outrageously with another man she would goad Lindeth into popping the question she must be as bird-witted as she was beautiful. Too vulgar by half for young Julian!

All this was pleasantly intriguing. It was satisfactory too to have discovered why Waldo was lingering in this God-forsaken district: he had set up a new flirt. Not very like him to make a female who appeared to be some sort of a governess the object of his gallantry, but girls who were just out never took his fancy, and apart from them the only females in the neighbourhood seemed to be fussocks, like Lady Colebatch, or regular worricrows, like Mrs Banningham and the Squire’s wife.

Critically surveying Miss Trent, Laurence doubted whether she would prove a satisfactory flirt. Not striking au fait de beauté,and too much of a Long Meg for his taste, but a distinguished-looking woman: nothing of the dasher about her! If Waldo didn’t take care he’d find himself riveted, and a rare kettle of fish that would be! The last of the Hawkridges leg-shackled to a nobody who earned her bread by teaching provincial schoolgirls to write and to cipher and to stitch samplers! Devilish funny that would be! But it was odd of Waldo to raise false expectations. Come to think of it, all his flirts were married women of the world, well up to snuff; and he had some pretty Gothic notions about trifling with females on the catch for eligible husbands. Still odder that he shouldn’t have seen that this Long Meg of his was badly love-bitten.

Hot on the scent of this really succulent on-dit, Laurence sought information of his younger cousin, saying casually: “You didn’t tell me that Waldo had set up a new flirt. Who is she?”

Julian stared at him. “New flirt? Waldo?”

“Running rather sly, ain’t you?” drawled Laurence. “Tall female—somebody’s governess, I collect. Lord, Julian, do you take me for a flat?”

“Miss Trent! Good God, what next? New flirt, indeed! She’s Miss Wield’s companion: a most agreeable woman, but as for being Waldo’s flirt—! You should know him better!”

“No need to take a pet! All I know is that between the pair of ’em they set all the tabbies in an uproar last night!”

“I daresay! They live on scandal-broth!”

“But who is she?” insisted Laurence. “Or is that one of those questions one shouldn’t ask?”

“Not in the least. You are probably acquainted with her cousin, Bernard Trent. Her father was killed in the assault on Ciudad Rodrigo, and left the family all to pieces, I fancy. General Trent is her uncle.”

“Is he, though?” said Laurence, his eyes widening a little.

He asked no more questions, because he didn’t want Waldo to think he was prying into his affairs, and Julian was such a bagpipe that you never knew what he might blurt out, in his artless way. Besides, Julian probably didn’t know any more. He had said enough to put quite a different complexion on the matter: it began to look as though Waldo was thinking of becoming a tenant-for-life at last. Nothing wonderful about that: he was bound to marry one day. The wonder was that with the pick of the ton to choose from he should throw the handkerchief to a mere Miss Trent, who might be well-enough born, but who was quite unknown, and hadn’t rank, fortune, or any extraordinary degree of beauty to recommend her. Lord, what a sensation it would cause! Laurence knew of several top-lofty beauties who would look blue when they heard of it, one of whom had once rudely snubbed him. It would be pleasant to whisper the news in her ear.

Of course, it might not be true; he would be better able to judge when he had seen them together again. He hoped Miss Trent would be present at Mrs Underhill’s turtle-dinner: it seemed likely that she would be; and if she was he had every intention of making himself very agreeable to her. If there was the least chance of her becoming Waldo’s wife, it was a matter of the highest importance to stand well with her. Really, it was very fortunate that he had come to Yorkshire!

Miss Trent was present at the dinner, but had she been able to do so without disarranging Mrs Underhill’s carefully planned table she would have excused herself. She did indeed venture to suggest that since Charlotte was suffering from severe toothache, and would make no appearance in the drawing-room, it would be better if she remained upstairs with her, but Mrs Underhill would not hear of it. Where she demanded, was she to find a lady to take Miss Trent’s place?

“I thought, perhaps, since the Micklebys are coming, ma’am, you might invite the elder Miss Mickleby,” suggested Ancilla, but without conviction.

“Don’t talk so silly!” begged Mrs Underhill. “As though you didn’t know as well as I do that Mrs Mickleby takes an affront into her head if anyone invites one of those dratted girls without t’other! Yes, and so she would if I was to invite either of them at the last minute, like this is, and I can’t say I blame her, for a very poor compliment that would be!”

So Miss Trent submitted, and no one could have supposed, observing her cold composure, that she was suffering from acute embarrassment. To a proud woman of her upbringing the imputation of setting her cap at the Nonesuch was so abhorrent that she was nauseated every time she thought of it. Like some vulgar, scheming creature, without delicacy or conduct, throwing out her every lure to snare a husband! Worse!—a husband so wealthy and so distinguished as to be considered one of the biggest prizes to be won! And she the penniless daughter of an officer in a marching regiment! She could not accuse herself of having thrown out lures, but when she looked back over the past month it was upon a vista of rides with the Nonesuch, evenings spent in his company, strolling walks with him in the gardens of Staples, tête-à-tête, with him, jokes shared with him: all culminating in that disastrous ball, which she ought never to have attended. How indiscreet she had been! It must have appeared to everyone that she had gone to the ball, breaking her own rule, for no other purpose than to dance with the Nonesuch, and the dreadful truth was that she had. And who, seeing her waltz with him twice, and go in to supper on his arm, and allow him to fetch her shawl, would believe that she had committed these imprudencies unthinkingly, because she loved him, and had been too happy in his company to remember the delicacy of her situation—or even common propriety? She might as well have tied her garter in public!

It was a severe ordeal to be obliged to appear at Mrs Underhill’s dinner-party, knowing that Mrs Mickleby’s sharp eyes would be watching her: perhaps, even, Mrs Chartley’s? She chose from her slender wardrobe the most modest and sober-hued of her few evening-dresses, and set a cap over her tightly braided locks, to which Mrs Underhill took instant exception, exclaiming: “Whatever made you put on a cap, as if you was an old maid of forty? For goodness’ sake, go and take it off! There’ll be time enough for you to wear caps when you’re married!”

“I have no expectation of being married, ma’am, and you know it is customary for a gover—”

“No, and nor you will be if you don’t prettify yourself a bit!” interrupted Mrs Underhill tartly. “If you aren’t wearing that old, brown dress, too, which is enough to give anyone the dismals! I declare you’re as provoking as Tiffany, Miss Trent!”

So Miss Trent went away to remove the offending cap, but she did not change her dress, or come downstairs again until the guests had all arrived, when she slipped unobtrusively, into the drawing-room, responding to greetings with smiles and slight curtsies, and sitting down in a chair as far removed from Sir Waldo as was possible.

She was seated at dinner between the Squire and the Rector, and with these two uncritical friends she was able to converse as easily as usual. It was more difficult in the drawing-room, before the gentlemen joined the ladies. Mrs Mickleby talked of nothing but the waltzing-ball, and contrived, with her thin smile, to plant quite a number of tiny daggers in Miss Trent’s quivering flesh. Miss Trent met smile with smile, and replied with a calm civility which made Mrs Mickleby’s eyes snap angrily. Then Mrs Chartley, taking advantage of a brief pause in these hostilities, moved her seat to one beside Ancilla’s, and said: “I am glad of this opportunity to speak to you, Miss Trent. I have been meaning for weeks to ask you if you can recall the details of that way of pickling mushrooms which you once described to me, but whenever I see you I remember about it only when we have parted!”

Ancilla could not but be grateful for the kindness that prompted this intervention, but it brought the colour to her cheeks as Mrs Mickleby’s barbs had not. She promised to write down the recipe, and bring it to the Rectory; and wished very much that she could retire to the schoolroom before the gentlemen came in. It was impossible, however: Mrs Underhill expected her to pour out tea later in the evening.

A diversion (but a most unwelcome one) was created by Tiffany, who suddenly exclaimed: “Oh, I have had a famous notion! Do let us play Jackstraws again!”

Since she had broken in not only on what Patience was saying to her, but on what Mrs Mickleby was saying to Mrs Underhill, this lapse from good manners made Miss Trent feel ready to sink, knowing that Mrs Mickleby would set the blame at her door. Worse was to come.

“I was hoping Miss Chartley would give us the pleasure of hearing her sing,” said Mrs Underhill. “I’ll be bound that’s what we should all like best, such a pretty voice as you have, my dear!”

“Oh, no! Jackstraws!”

“Tiffany,” said Miss Trent, in a quiet but compelling voice.

The brilliant eyes turned towards her questioningly; she met them with a steady gaze; and Tiffany went into a trill of laughter. “Oh! Oh, I didn’t mean to be uncivil! Patience knows I didn’t, don’t you, Patience?”

“Of course I do!” replied Patience instantly. “I think it would be much more amusing to play Jackstraws. But Miss Trent will beat us all to flinders—even Sir Waldo! If you and he engage in another duel, ma’am, I shan’t bet against you this time!”

Miss Trent could only be thankful that at that moment the door opened, and the gentlemen came in. She was able to move away from the group in the middle of the room on the pretext of desiring one of the footmen to open the pianoforte and to light the candles in its brackets, and she remained beside the instrument, looking through a pile of music. After a minute or two she was joined by Laurence, who came up to her, and said very politely: “Can I be of assistance, ma’am? Allow me to lift that for you!”

“Thank you: if you would put it on that table, so that the instrument may be opened—?”

He did so, and then said, with a winning smile: “You must let me tell you how delighted I am to have the pleasure of making your acquaintance, ma’am. With one member of your family I’m already acquainted: I believe Bernard Trent is your cousin, is he not?”

Miss Trent inclined her head. It was not encouraging, but Laurence persevered. “A first-rate man! The best of good company! We are quite old friends, he and I.”

“Indeed!” said Miss Trent.

He was not unnaturally daunted, for her tone was arctic, and the look in her eyes contemptuous. He wondered what the devil was the matter with her, and felt aggrieved. Anyone would have supposed that she would have been glad to meet someone who knew her cousin, but instead she had snubbed him! Pretty well for a governess! he thought indignantly.

She realized that she had spoken curtly, and added, with a slight smile: “I daresay you are better acquainted with him than I am, sir. He has never come very much in my way.”

She turned away, to adjust one of the candles, and as she did so looked up, to find that Sir Waldo was standing within easy earshot. Her eyes met his, and saw that they were alight with amusement, and involuntarily she smiled. It was only for an instant, but Laurence caught the exchange of looks, and was so much pleased to find his suspicion confirmed that he forgot his indignation. If ever two people were head over ears in love! he thought, and tactfully moved away.

Sir Waldo strolled up to the pianoforte, and picked up the snuffers. As he trimmed one of the candlesticks he murmured: “He meant well, you know! Of course, I ought to have warned him.”

“I’m afraid I was uncivil,” she owned.

“No, no, merely quelling!” he assured her.

She could not help laughing, but she was aware of Mrs Mickleby’s eyes upon her, and said: “That was very bad! Excuse me—I must speak with Miss Chartley!”

She walked away immediately, and contrived to remain at a distance from him until the tea-tray was brought in. She was ably assisted by Mrs Mickleby, who kept him at her side, and maintained a flow of vivacious small-talk until Patience had been persuaded to sing. After that, Tiffany renewed her demand that they should play at Jackstraws, which enabled Miss Trent to retire into the back drawing-room, where she became busy, finding the straws, and settling the four youngest members of the party round the table. Sir Waldo made no attempt to follow her; but when she was obliged to return to the front drawing-room, to dispense tea, he came up to the table to receive his cup from her, and asked her quietly if he had offended her.

No, but people are saying that I have set my cap at you!

Unthinkable to utter such words! She said: “Offended me? No, indeed! How should you?”

“I don’t know. If I did, I should be begging you to forgive me.”

Her eyes smarted with sudden tears; she kept them lowered. “How absurd! To own the truth, I have the headache, and should perhaps be begging your pardon for being cross and stupid! This is Mr Chartley’s cup—would you be kind enough, Sir Waldo, to give it to him?”

He took it from her, but said, “If that’s the truth I am sincerely sorry for it, but I don’t think it is. What has happened to distress you?”

“Nothing! Sir Waldo, pray—!”

“How intolerable it is that I should be forced to meet you always in public!” he ejaculated under his breath. “I shall drive over tomorrow—and hope to find you, for once, alone!”

That made her look up. “I don’t think—I mean, it is not—that is, I cannot conceive, sir, why—”

“I wish for some private conversation with you, Miss Trent. Now, don’t freeze me with Indeed! as you froze poor Laurie, or tell me that you can’t conceive why I should hope to find you alone!”

She forced her lips to smile, but said with a good deal of constraint: “Very well—though it is true! But you must know, sir, that it would be quite improper for me—in my situation—to be receiving visitors!”

“Oh, yes! I know that. But mine won’t be a social call!” He saw the guarded look in her face, and his eyes twinkled. “I have a—a certain proposition to lay before you, ma’am! No, I shan’t tell you what it is tonight: I can see you would bite my nose off!”