The Nonesuch

Chapter 4

Ironically enough, the two persons who least desired the introduction were the first of the Staples household to meet Sir Waldo. Charlotte and Miss Trent, driving into the village in the one-horse phaeton originally bestowed on Mrs Underhill by her husband in the mistaken belief that it would afford her amusement to tool herself about the neighbourhood, were bound for the Church, with a basket full of flowers. Leaving the phaeton in the stableyard of the Rectory, they carried the basket through the wicket-gate into the Churchyard, and were employed in arranging lilies and delphiniums in two vases set on the altar when they were startled by a man’s voice, saying: “But how charming!”

“Oh, how you made me jump!” exclaimed Charlotte involuntarily.

“Did I? I beg your pardon!”

Miss Trent turned her head, and saw that a stranger had entered the Church, accompanied by the Rector, who said: “Well met, Miss Trent! How do you do, Charlotte? Charming indeed, is it not, Sir Waldo? And, I think, unusual. We are indebted to Miss Trent both for the notion and for the execution of it. But you are not yet acquainted! Sir Waldo Hawkridge—Miss Trent, Miss Charlotte Underhill!”

Charlotte bobbed a schoolgirl’s curtsy; Miss Trent, bowing slightly, critically watched the advance up the aisle towards her of this representative of a set she held in poor esteem. He carried himself with the natural grace of the athlete; he was certainly good-looking; and she was obliged to acknowledge that although it was evident that no provincial tailor was responsible for the cut of his coat he adopted none of the extravagances of fashion. He was dressed for riding, in buckskins and topboots, and he carried his hat and crop in one hand. The other, a shapely member, bare of rings, he held out to her, saying: “How do you do? May I compliment you? I have recently seen saloons and ballrooms decorated in this style, but not, I believe, a Church. It is altogether delightful!”

Their eyes met, both pairs gray, hers very cool and clear, his faintly smiling; she gave him her hand, and was aware of the strength latent in the clasp of his. She was a tall woman, but she had to look up to his face; and, as she did so, she became conscious of a tug of attraction. The thought flashed into her mind that she beheld the embodiment of her ideal. It was as instantly banished; she said, as he released her hand: “You are too good, sir. Mine was not the inspiration, however. In the parish where I was used to reside it has been the custom for some years.”

It would have been too much to have said that Miss Trent’s instinctive recognition of the ideal was reciprocated. The Nonesuch had been for too many years the target at which ambitious females had aimed their arrows to be any longer impressionable; and certain painful disillusionments suffered in his youth had hardened his heart against feminine wiles. He was not so much cynical as armoured; and at the age of five-and-thirty believed that he was past the age of falling in love. What he saw in Miss Trent he liked: the fine eyes which looked so directly into his, the graceful carriage, the indefinably well-bred air which distinguished her, and the absence of any affectation in her manners. He liked her voice, too, and the civil indifference with which she had received his compliment. It was refreshing to meet a marriageable female who did not instantly exert herself to win his admiration; it might be pleasant to pursue her acquaintance; but if he were never to see her again it would not cost him any pang of regret.

She turned her head away, to attend to the Rector, who was gently quizzing Charlotte. “I saw your phaeton in the yard, and was told by my good James that Miss Charlotte had driven in. Now, that I didn’t see, which is a severe disappointment!”

“Oh, Mr Chartley, you know—!” protested Charlotte, overcome by blushes and giggles. “It was Miss Trent!”

He laughed, and glanced at Sir Waldo. “Not even Miss Trent, who, I must tell you, is a very pretty whip, and a pattern-card of patience besides, has succeeded in curing this foolish child of a profound mistrust of even the sleepiest cart-horse! Eh, Charlotte?”

“Well, I don’t like horses!” she said boldly. She cast a defiant look at Sir Waldo, and added: “and I won’t pretend I do, because I hate shams! You can never tell what they mean to do next! And if you pat them, they—they twitch!”

This was rather too much for the Rector’s and Miss Trent’s gravity, hut Sir Waldo, though there was a laugh in his eye, replied gravely: “Very true! And when you stretch out your hand only to stroke their noses they toss up their heads, as though they supposed you meant to do them an injury!”

Encouraged, Charlotte said: “Yes! Though my brother says you should take hold of the bridle before you do so. But if they think you mean to hurt them, when they are for ever being cosseted and cared-for, they must be perfectly addle-brained!”

“I’m afraid they haven’t very much intelligence,” he admitted.

She opened her eyes at that. “But you like them, don’t you, sir?”

“Yes, but there is never any accounting for tastes, you know.” He smiled at Ancilla. “I collect that we share that particular taste, ma’am?”

“Mr Chartley has misled you, sir. I’m the merest whipster. Charlotte, we must not stand dawdling any longer!”

“But you will take a look in at the Rectory before you go, won’t you?” said the Rector. “Sir Waldo has been admiring our little Church, and I have promised to show him the twelfth-century piscina—our greatest pride, is it not?”

He moved away, and Sir Waldo, with a smile and a bow to the ladies, followed him. But when the flowers were arranged to Ancilla’s satisfaction, and she picked up her basket, nodded to Charlotte to come away with her, the Rector joined her, and the whole party left the Church together. Ancilla found herself walking beside Sir Waldo down the path leading to the Rectory; declined his offer to carry the basket; and asked him civilly how he liked the Yorkshire scene.

‘“Very well—as much as I have seen of it,” he replied. “As yet, that’s not very much: I have been spending most of my time in Leeds. I hope presently to see more of the countryside. My young cousin has been exploring far and wide, and is enthusiastic; says it is finer by far than his own county. That’s because the Squire has put him in the way of getting some excellent fishing.”

She laughed. “I hope he will enjoy good sport—though my small experience informs me that catching fish is not necessary for your true angler’s enjoyment.”

“Oh, no! But to lose a fish is quite another matter!”

“Certainly! One cannot wonder that it should cast even the most cheerful person into gloom, for it is always such an enormous one that escapes!”

“I begin to think you are yourself an angler, ma’am: you are so exactly right!”

“Indeed I am not! I was used to accompany my brothers sometimes, when I was a girl, but I very soon discovered that it was not at all the sport for me. When I caught nothing—which was in general the case—I found it a dead bore, and when a fish did get on my hook I was at a loss to know what to do with it, because I can’t bear handling fish! They wriggle so!”

They had reached the wicket-gate; he held it open for her, saying gravely: “They do, don’t they? So slimy, too! Almost as disagreeable as Miss Charlotte’s twitching horses!”

She stepped past him into the garden, but paused there, waiting for Charlotte and the Rector to join them. “Poor Charlotte! It was too bad of Mr Chartley to poke fun at her, for she has tried so hard to overcome her fear of horses, and is secretly much ashamed of it. Pray don’t laugh at her!”

“You may be sure I shan’t. I should be far more likely to recommend her not to give the matter another thought. Now, why do you look surprised, ma’am?”

She coloured faintly. “Did I do so? Perhaps because it did surprise me a little to hear you say that—being yourself, so I’m told, such a notable horseman.”

He raised his brows. “But must I therefore despise those who don’t care for horses?”

“No—but I have frequently observed that gentlemen who are addicted to sporting pursuits are prone to despise those whose interests are quite different.” She added quickly: “It is very understandable, I daresay!”

“I should rather call it intolerably conceited,” he replied. He regarded her quizzically. “Furthermore, ma’am, I have a notion that it is you who despises those of uswho are addicted to sport?”

“That’s to say I’m intolerably conceited,” she countered, smiling. “I am afraid I deserved it!”

They were interrupted by the Rector, who came up with Charlotte at that moment. He suggested that Sir Waldo should return to the house with them, but this was declined. Sir Waldo took his leave of the ladies, and went off with the Rector towards the stables.

Charlotte was plainly bursting to discuss the unexpected encounter, but Ancilla checked her, begging her to reserve her remarks until they should be out of earshot of her very penetrating voice. She was obedient, and listened docilely enough to a warning against any indiscreet utterance; but Ancilla knew her too well to place much reliance on her assurance that she would mind her tongue. As soon as she became excited, she would blurt out whatever thought came into her head, infallibly incurring Mrs Chartley’s deep, if unexpressed, disapproval. Mrs Chartley was a kindly woman, but her sense of propriety was strict. It was with relief that Ancilla saw her charge carried off by her friend and contemporary, Miss Jane Chartley, who came running down the stairs as soon as they had entered the house. No doubt the Rectory schoolroom would be regaled with Charlotte’s opinion of the Nonesuch, but at least her governess would not be put to the blush by her forthright speech and far from retiring manners.

In the event, when she was ushered into the parlour, Ancilla found Patience alone. She was busy with some white work, hemming a seam with the tiniest of stitches, but she gladly laid it aside when she saw Ancilla. She was quite as eager to discuss the Nonesuch as Charlotte, but being a very well brought-up girl she was much less precipitate, and spent as much as five minutes talking on indifferent topics before saying: “I must tell you that we have had such an interesting visitor this morning, Miss Trent. Papa took him to see the Church: I wonder, did you meet him there?”

“Sir Waldo? Yes, we did. Indeed, we walked back together, all four of us, and parted at the gate. Your papa went off with him then to the stables.”

“Oh, yes! He rode over to call on Papa, and then Papa brought him in to introduce him to Mama and me, and he was with us for quite half-an-hour. What did you think of him? Were you surprised? I own, I was—and Mama too, I think! All the gentlemen have been talking so much about his being such an out-and-out Corinthian that I had pictured something quite different—though I’ve never seen a Corinthian, of course. You have, I expect: is that what they are really like? Do you think he is one?”

“There can be no doubt he is: a very famous one! As for whether all Corinthians are like him, I can’t tell, for I was never acquainted with one.”

Patience said shyly: “I fancy you don’t care for that set, and I must say I never thought I should either, for one hears such things about them! But he is not in the least what I had imagined! Not proud, or—or what Dick calls a dashing blade! He was so easy, and unaffected, and well-informed; and he seems to feel just as he ought about serious matters: he and Papa talked a little of the dreadful hardships the poor people have been suffering, and I could see how pleased Papa was with him. What did you think of him, Miss Trent?”

“Oh, a diamond of the first water!” replied Ancilla promptly. “His air, one of decided fashion; his manners most polished; his address—perfection!”

Patience looked at her. “You didn’t like him?”

“On the contrary! I thought him very amiable.”

“Ah, that signifies that you think his manners amiable, but not—not his disposition!”

“My dear Miss Chartley, I know nothing about his disposition!”

“No, but—Oh, I think I must tell you! It can’t be wrong to do so! Sir Waldo hasn’t mentioned the matter, even to Papa, and we believe he would as lief it were not known, because he told Wedmore that Mr Calver had privately desired him, when the precise state of his affairs should have been ascertained, to make provision for his old servants. Even Papa doesn’t believe Mr Calver did anything of the sort! The Wedmores are to have a pension which will make them comfortable beyond anything they had hoped for: Mrs Wedmore came to tell Honeywick yesterday! You may imagine how much she was overcome—how thankful!”

“Indeed! I am very glad to know that Sir Waldo has done what he should.”

“Yes, and of course it was expected that he would. You may say that he is so wealthy that it means no more to him than it would mean to me to give a penny to a beggar, but what strikes one so particularly is the manner of it. It was done with a delicacy that shows Sir Waldo to be a man of sensibility, not above considering what must have been the feelings of two such faithful people when they discovered how little their service had been valued!”

Ancilla acknowledged it; but murmured wickedly: “He has won your heart, I see! He has great address!”

“Oh, no!” cried Patience, quite shocked. “How can you—? Oh, you are funning, but indeed you should not! I hope my heart is not so easily won!”

Ancilla smiled at her. “I hope it may not be—and certainly not by a Corinthian! Don’t look distressed! I was only funning, of course: I don’t fear for you!”

Recovering her complexion. Patience said: “We shall none of us have time to lose our hearts: he doesn’t mean to settle at Broom Hall, you know.”

“I should suppose not: he would find it very slow. Does he mean to sell the place?”

“We don’t know. He didn’t tell us what he means to do; and, naturally, one would not ask prying questions.” She looked up, as her mother came into the room, and smiled, saying: “I have been telling Miss Trent how agreeable we think Sir Waldo Hawkridge, Mama; gossiping, you will say!”

“I suppose we all gossip about him,” Mrs Chartley replied, shaking hands with Ancilla. “How do you do, Miss Trent? Yes, I must own that I was very pleasantly surprised in Sir Waldo. After the tales we have heard about the Nonesuch I had not expected to find that this Tulip of the Ton, instead of being a great coxcomb, is a man who wants neither sense nor feeling. I thought his manners particularly good, too: he has an air of well-bred ease, and no pretension—and as for his leading our sons astray, nonsense! I hope they may copy him! Indeed, I find myself regretting that Dick is at school, for he would be all the better for a little polish!”

“Town bronze, ma’am? Oh, no!” Ancilla protested.

“Oh, not a la modality! I meant only that it would do him a great deal of good to perceive that a man may be sporting-mad without advertising the circumstance.”

She said no more about Sir Waldo, and Ancilla made no attempt to bring the conversation back to him. His name was not mentioned again until Charlotte, seated beside her in the phaeton, uttered in awed accents: “Well! To think we should have been the first to meet Sir Waldo, and to talk to him! Oh, Miss Trent, wasn’t it nuts for us?”

Ancilla burst out laughing, but protested as well. “Charlotte! Do you wish to see me turned off without a character, you abominable girl? Nuts for us,indeed!”

“As though Mama would! No, but wasn’t it? Tiffany will be as angry as a wasp!”

Knowing that it would be useless to expect Charlotte to refrain from exulting over her cousin, Ancilla held her peace. She was justified by the result: Tiffany received the news with indifference; for while Charlotte had been making the acquaintance of the Nonesuch she had met and dazzled Lord Lindeth.

Whether the encounter had been by accident or by her own design was a point she left undisclosed. She had refused to accompany her cousin and governess that morning, voting the object of the expedition slow work, and declaring that nothing would prevail upon her to sit bodkin in a carriage designed to carry no more than two persons. Instead, she had had her pretty bay mare saddled, and had ridden out alone, declining the escort of the groom expressly hired to attend her. Since there was nothing unusual about this he made no attempt to dissuade her from conduct unbefitting her years and station, merely remarking to Courtenay’s groom that one of these days, mark his words, Miss would be brought home with her neck broke, ramming her horses along the way she did, and thinking herself at home to a peg, which the lord knew she wasn’t.

The latter part of this criticism Tiffany would have much resented; but she would have been rather pleased than annoyed at the accusation of ramming her horses along, which she considered to be exactly the style to be expected of one who took pride in being a hard-goer. Accustomed, as a little girl, to career all over the countryside on her pony, she had not as yet learnt to accept chaperonage; and although she was willing to ride with Courtenay, or with Ancilla, she found the presence of her groom irksome, and dispensed with it whenever she could. On this occasion she had an excellent reason for doing so: the Squire had let fall the information that young Lord Lindeth was going to fish the stream that ran through the grounds of the Manor; and Tiffany, by no means reconciled to her exclusion from Mrs Mickleby’s dinner party, had every intention of making his acquaintance. Miss Trent might be right in thinking that the party would not suit her, but even less did it suit her to be the last lady of consequence in the neighbourhood to meet the distinguished newcomers. No more than her aunt did she doubt that Mrs Mickleby’s omission of her name from the elegant dinner-card sent to Mrs Underhill sprang from a jealous fear that her own two daughters would be cast into the shade by the appearance on the scene of an accredited beauty. Well! Mrs Mickleby, no doubt hopeful that Mary or Caroline would contrive to attract the interest of a titled gentleman, should discover that one at least of her exalted guests was in no mood to make either of these damsels the object of his gallantry. Lord Lindeth, if the beautiful Miss Wield could contrive it, was going to think the party very flat, when he looked in vain for her amongst the guests.

It was an easy matter to find Lord Lindeth. The stream he was fishing wound through a stretch of open country. Tiffany saw him from a distance, and cantered easily in his direction, neither so close to the stream as to make it apparent that she wished to attract his attention, nor so far from it that he would not hear the thud of the mare’s hooves. It was a little unfortunate that his back should be turned towards her, but she felt sure that he would look round when he heard her approach. She reckoned without her host: Lord Lindeth was casting into a likely pool; he had got a rise; and he gave not the smallest sign of having heard the sound of a ridden horse. For a moment it seemed as though Miss Wield’s careful strategy must be thrown away. She was a resourceful girl, however, and as soon as she realized that he was wholly absorbed in his sport she let her whip fall, and reined in, uttering a distressful exclamation.

That did make him look round, not so much interested as vexed. It was on the tip of his tongue to request the intruder to make less noise when he perceived that the rude interruption had come from a lady.

“Oh, I beg your pardon!” Tiffany called. “But would you be so very obliging, sir, as to give me my whip again? I can’t think how I came to be so stupid, but I’ve dropped it!”

He reeled in his line, saying: “Yes, of course—with pleasure, ma’am!”

She sat still, serenely awaiting his approach. He laid his rod down, and came towards her. There was a slight look of impatience on his face, but this speedily vanished when he was near enough to see what a vision of beauty had accosted him. Instead of picking up the whip he stood staring up at Tiffany, frank admiration in his gaze.

She was dressed in a flowing habit of sapphire-blue velvet, a lace cravat round her neck, and a curled ostrich plume caressing her cheek. It did not occur to Julian that this undeniably becoming costume was scarcely the established country-mode; he thought only that never in his life had he beheld a more staggeringly lovely girl.

An enchanting smile made him blink; Tiffany said contritely: “I am so sorry! I interrupted you—but I can’t mount without a block, so you see ....!”

He found his tongue, saying quickly: “No, no, you didn’t, I assure you!”

A gleam shone in her eyes. “But I know very well I did!”

He laughed, flushing a little: “Well, yes! But you needn’t be sorry: I’m not!”

“Oh, and you looked so vexed!”

“That was before I saw who had interrupted me,” he retorted audaciously.

“But you don’t know who I am!”

“Oh, yes, I do. Diana!”

“No, I’m not!” she said innocently. “I’m Tiffany Wield!”

“Tiffany! How pretty! But you make me remember an old poem: Queen and huntress, chaste and fair—though I rather fancy it was about the moon, not the goddess. But I know the title is To Diana,and the refrain, or whatever it’s called, is Goddess, excellently bright!So—!”

“I don’t think I ought to listen to you,” she said demurely. “After all, sir, we haven’t been regularly introduced yet!”

“There’s no one to perform that office for us,” he pointed out. “Do you care for such stuff?”

“No, not a scrap, but my aunt thinks I should! And also that I should never converse with strange gentlemen!”

“Very true!” he answered promptly. “May I present Lord Lindeth to you, Miss Wield?—he is most anxious to make your acquaintance!”

She gave a trill of laughter. “How do you do? How absurd you are!”

“I know—but what else was to be done in such a case? I was afraid you would gallop away!”

“So I shall—if you will be so very obliging as to pick up my whip for me, sir!”

He did so, but stood holding it. “I’m tempted to keep it from you!”

She held out her hand. “No, please!”

He gave it to her. “Only funning!” It struck him that it was strange that so young and lovely a girl should be quite unattended, and he said, glancing about him in a puzzled way: “Is no one with you, Miss Wield? Your groom, or—or—”

“No one! It’s so stuffy to have a groom at one’s heels! Do you think it very improper?”

“No, indeed! But if anything were to happen—some accident—”

“I’m not afraid of that!” She shortened the bridle. “I must go now. Thank you for coming to my rescue!”

“Oh, wait!” he begged. “You haven’t told me where you live, or when I shall see you again!”

“I live at Staples—and who knows when you will see me again?” she replied, her eyes glinting down into his. “I’m sure I don’t!”

“Staples,” he said, committing it to memory. “I think I know—oh, I should have told you that I’m at Broom Hall, with my cousin, Waldo Hawkridge! Yes, and we are to dine at the Manor the day after tomorrow—some sort of a party, I believe! Shall I see you there?”

“Perhaps—perhaps not!” she said mischievously, and was off before he could demand a more positive answer.