The Nonesuch

Chapter 6

It had been Mrs Mickleby who had first had the honour of entertaining the Nonesuch and his cousin; but it was generally acknowledged that the event which started the succession of gaieties which made that summer memorable was Mrs Underhill’s informal ball. Hostesses who had previously vied with one another only in the mildest ways became suddenly imbued with the spirit of fierce competition; and the invitation cards which showered upon the district promised treats which ranged from turtle-dinners to Venetian breakfasts. Assemblies and picnics became everyday occurrences, even Mrs Chartley succumbing to the prevailing rage, and organizing a select party to partake of an al fresco meal by the ruins of Kirkstall Abbey. This unpretentious expedition achieved a greater degree of success than attended many of the more resplendent entertainments which enlivened the month; for not only did the skies smile upon it, but the Nonesuch graced it with his presence. Mrs Banningham, whose daring Cotillion Ball had fallen sadly flat, for many days found it hard to meet the Rector’s wife with even the semblance of cordiality; and it was no consolation to know that she had only herself to blame for the failure of a party designed to outshine all others. She was imprudent enough to exclude the Staples family from the ball, informing her dear friend, Mrs Syston, (in the strictest confidence) that Tiffany Wield should be given no opportunity to flirt with Lord Lindeth under her roof. Mrs Syston told no one the secret, except Mrs Winkleigh, whom she felt sure she could trust not to repeat it; but in some mysterious way Mrs Underhill got wind of Mrs Banningham’s fell intention, and nipped in with some invitations of her own before ever Mrs Banningham’s gilt-edged cards had been procured from Leeds. One of the under-grooms was sent off with a note to Sir Waldo Hawkridge, inviting him and his cousin to dine at Staples on the fatal day; and no sooner had his acceptance been received than the Chartleys and the Colebatches were also bidden to dine. Not a party, wrote Mrs Underhill to all these persons: just a conversable evening with a few friends.

“And if that don’t take Mrs B. at fault, you may call me a wetgoose!” she told Miss Trent. “Done to a cow’s thumb, that’s what she’ll be! She and her Cotillion Balls!”

Great was Mrs Banningham’s chagrin when she received Sir Waldo’s polite regrets; and greater still her rage when she discovered that all the absentees had been at Staples, eating dinner on the terrace, and then, when the light began to fail, going indoors, either to chat, or to play such childish games as Crossquestions, and Jackstraws. Her own party had been distinguished by a certain languor. Everyone had been disappointed by the absence of the Nonesuch; and if the ladies were glad to find Tiffany absent, almost all the younger gentlemen, including Mrs Banningham’s son Jack, considered any ball at which she was not present an intolerable bore. Mrs. Banningham was even denied the solace of picturing the Nonesuch’s boredom at Staples, for Courtenay told Jack that the party had not broken up till past midnight, and that when it came to playing Jackstraws the Nonesuch had them all beat to flinders, even Miss Trent, who had such deft fingers. It seemed that he had challenged Miss Trent to a match, when he discovered how good she was at the game. Capital sport it had been, too, with Sir Ralph Colebatch offering odds on Miss Trent, and even the Rector wagering a coachwheel on the issue. Mrs Banningham could not delude herself, or anyone else, into thinking that the Nonesuch had been bored.

He had not been at all bored; nor had Julian found it difficult to persuade him to accept Mrs Underhill’s invitation. The Nonesuch, who had meant to spend no more time in Yorkshire than might be necessary for setting in train certain repairs and alterations to Broom Hall, was lingering on, and under conditions of some discomfort, since the builders were already at work in the house. He had his own reasons for remaining; but if he could have placed the slightest dependence on Julian’s going back with him to London he would have subordinated these (temporarily, at all events), for the sake of conveying that besotted young man out of danger. But when he had thrown out a feeler Julian had said, with studied airiness: “Do you know, I rather fancy I shall remove to Harrogate for a while, if you mean to go back to London? I like Yorkshire, and I’ve made certain engagements—and more than half promised to go with Edward Banningham to some races next month.”

So he remained at Broom Hall, steering an intricate course between his own interests and Julian’s. His trusting young cousin would have been astonished, and deeply shocked, had he known that Waldo’s lazy complaisance masked a grim determination to thrust a spoke into the wheel of his courtship. His allegiance to Waldo was too strong to be easily shaken; he did not for a moment wish him otherwhere; but he was often troubled by vague discomfort; and although Waldo had not uttered a word in her dispraise he could not rid himself of the suspicion that he regarded Tiffany a little contemptuously, and too often treated her as though she had been an importunate child, to be tolerated but given a few salutary set-downs. And then, having infuriated her, he would relent, charming her out of her sullens with his glinting smile, and a word or two spoken in a voice that held a tantalizing mixture of amusement and admiration. Even Julian could not decide whether he was sincere, or merely mocking; Julian only knew that Tiffany was never at her best when he was present. He thought that perhaps she too felt that Waldo did not like her, which made her nervous and self-conscious. And when you were very young, and shy, and anxious to make a good impression on someone of whom you stood in awe it was fatally easy to behave like a show-off character in your efforts to conceal your shyness. It did not occur to Julian that there was not a particle of shyness in Tiffany’s nature; still less that Waldo was deliberately provoking her to betray the least amiable side of her disposition.

But Sir Waldo, with fifteen years’ experience at his back, had taken Tiffany’s measure almost at a glance. It was not his custom to trifle with the affections of fledglings, but within a week of having made Tiffany’s acquaintance he set himself, without compunction, to the task of intriguing her to the point of pursuing him in preference to Julian. He had had too many lures cast out to him not to recognize the signs of a lady desirous of engaging his interest; and he knew that for some reason beyond his understanding he possessed the wholly unwanted gift of inspiring debutantes with romantic but misplaced tendres for him. He had been on his guard ever since he had been (as he had supposed) paternally kind to the niece of an old friend. She had tumbled into love with him; and from this embarrassing situation he had learnt also to recognize the signs of a maiden on the verge of losing her heart to him. Since he had nothing but contempt for the man of the world who amused himself at the expense of a pretty girl’s sensibility, it was his practice to discourage any such tendency. Had he detected in Tiffany the least indication of a romantic disposition he would have adhered to his rule; but he saw nothing in her but a determination to add his name to the roll of her conquests, and strongly doubted that she had a heart to lose. If he was wrong, he thought, cynically, that it would do her no harm to experience some of the pangs of unrequited love with which her numerous suitors were afflicted. He believed her to be as selfish as she was conceited; and, while it was possible that time might improve her, he was persuaded that neither her disposition nor her breeding made her an eligible wife for young Lord Lindeth.

He had told Miss Trent that he was not Lindeth’s keeper, and that, in the strictest sense, was true. Julian’s father had left him to the guardianship of his mother, and had appointed two middle-aged legal gentlemen as his trustees; but Sir Waldo’s shrewd Aunt Sophia had enlisted his aid in rearing the noble orphan at a very early stage in Julian’s career, and he had progressed, by imperceptible degrees, from the splendid cousin who initiated his protégé into every manly form of sport (besides sending him guineas under the seals of his occasional letters, and from time to time descending in a blaze of real dapper-dog magnificence on Eton, driving a team of sixteen-mile-an-hour tits, and treating half-a-dozen of his cousin’s cons to such sock as made them the envy of every Oppidan and Tug in the College) to the social mentor who introduced Julian into select circles, and steered himpast the shoals in which many a green navigator had wallowed and foundered. He had come to regard Julian as his especial charge; and although Julian’s years now numbered three-and-twenty he still so regarded him: Lady Lindeth could not blame him more than he would blame himself if he allowed Julian to be trapped into a disastrous marriage without raising a finger to prevent it.

To cut out a young cousin who reposed complete trust in him might go very much against the pluck with him, but it presented few difficulties to a man of his address and experience. Indulged almost from the hour of her birth; endowed not only with beauty but with a considerable independence as well; encouraged to think herself a matrimonial prize of the first stare, Tiffany had come to regard every unattached man’s homage as her due. Sir Waldo had watched her at the Staples ball, playing off her cajolery in an attempt to attach Humphrey Colebatch; and he had not the smallest doubt that she did it only because that scholarly but unprepossessing youth was patently impervious to her charms. He was well aware, too, that while she would look upon his own capture as a resounding triumph he ranked in her eyes amongst the graybeards who had outlived the age of gallantry. There had been speculation, and a hint of doubt, in the swift glance she had first thrown him. She had certainly set her cap at him, but he could have nipped her tentative advances in the bud with the utmost ease. He would have done it had he not seen the glow in Julian’s eyes as they rested on her ravishing countenance, and realized that that guileless young man was wholly dazzled.

Sir Waldo was neither dazzled by Tiffany’s beauty, nor so stupid as to suppose that any good purpose would be served by his pointing out to Julian those defects in the lovely creature which were perfectly plain to him, but to which Julian was obviously blind. But Julian, under his compliance, had a sensibility, and a delicacy of principle, to which virtues Sir Waldo judged Tiffany to be a stranger; and nothing could more effectually cool his ardour than the discovery that in their stead she had vanity, and a sublime disregard for the comfort or the susceptibilities of anyone but herself. Julian might ignore, and indignantly resent, warnings uttered by even so revered a mentor as his Top-of-the-Trees cousin, but he would not disbelieve the evidence of his own eyes. So the Nonesuch, instead of damping the beautiful Miss Wield’s pretensions, blew hot and cold on her, encouraging her one day to believe that she had awakened his interest, and the next devoting himself to some other lady. He paid her occasional compliments, but was just as likely to utter a lazy set-down; and when he engaged her in a little mild flirtation he did it so lightly that she could never be quite sure that he was not merely being playful, in the manner of a man amusing a child. She had not previously encountered his like, for her admirers were all much younger men, quite lacking in subtlety. Either they languished for love of her, or (like Humphrey Colebatch) paid no attention to her at all. But the Nonesuch, by turns fascinating and detestable, was maddeningly elusive, and so far from showing a disposition to languish he laughed at her suitors, and said that they were making great cakes of themselves. Tiffany took that as an insult, and determined to bring him to her feet. He saw the flash of anger in her eyes, and smiled. “No, no! You’d be gapped, you know.”

“I don’t know what you mean!”

“Why, that you’re wondering whether you might not make me a great cake. I shouldn’t attempt it, if I were you: I never dangle—not even after quite pretty girls.”

“Quite pretty—?” she gasped. “M-me?”

“Oh, decidedly!” he said, perfectly gravely. “Or so I think, but, then, I’ve no prejudice against dark girls. I daresay others might not agree with me.”

“They do!” she asserted, pink with indignation. “They say—everyone says I’m beautiful!”

He managed to preserve his countenance, but his lips twitched slightly. “Yes, of course.” he replied. “It’s well known that all heiresses are beautiful!”

She stared up at him incredulously. “But—don’t you think I’m beautiful?”

“Very!”

“Well, I know I am,” she said candidly. “Ancilla thinks I shouldn’t say so—and I meant not to, on account of losing some of my beauty when I do. At least, that’s what Ancilla said, but I don’t see how it could be so, do you?”

“No, indeed: quite absurd! You do very right to mention the matter.”

She thought this over, darkly suspicious, and finally demanded: “Why?”

“People are so unobservant!” he answered in dulcet accents.

She broke into a trill of delicious laughter. “Oh, abominable! You are the horridest creature! I’ll have no more to do with you!”

He waved a careless farewell as she flitted away, but he thought privately that when she forgot her affectations, and laughed out suddenly, acknowledging a hit, she was disastrously engaging.

Miss Trent, who had approached them in time to hear these last sallies, observed in a dispassionate voice: “Quite abominable!”

He smiled, his eyes dwelling appreciatively on her. She was always very simply attired; but she wore the inexpensive muslins and cambrics which she fashioned for herself with an air of elegance; and never had he seen her, even on the hottest day, presenting anything but a cool and uncrumpled appearance.

Sir Waldo, having cleared up one small misunderstanding, had contrived to get upon excellent terms with Miss Trent. His ear had been quick to catch the note of constraint in her voice when she had asked him if he was acquainted with her cousin; he fancied that she was pleased when he disclaimed any knowledge of Mr Bernard Trent; and he presently sought enlightenment of Julian.

“Bernard Trent?” said Julian. “No, I don’t think—oh, yes, I do, though! You mean General Trent’s son, don’t you? I’ve only seen him by scraps: the sort of cawker who talks flash, and is buckish about horses!” He broke off, as a thought occurred to him, and exclaimed: “Good God, is he related to Miss Trent?”

“Her cousin, I collect.”

“Lord! Well, he’s the greatest gull that ever was!” said Julian frankly. “Crony of Mountsorrel’s—at Harrow together, I fancy—and you know what a Peep o’ Day boy he is, Waldo! Always kicking up larks, and thinking himself at home to a peg, which the lord knows he ain’t, and going about town accompanied by the worst barnacles you ever clapped eyes on!”

“Yes, I know young Mountsorrel: one of the newer Tulips!”

“Tulips!” snorted Julian, with all the scorn of one who had been introduced, at his first coming-out, into the pink of Corinthian society. “Smatterers, more like! A set of roly-poly fellows who think it makes them regular dashes to box the Watch, or get swine-drunk at the Field of Blood! And as for being of the Corinthian-cut—why, most of ’em ain’t even fit to go!”

“You’re very severe!” said Sir Waldo, amused.

“Well, it was you who taught me to be!” Julian retorted. “Mountsorrel is nothing but a cod’s head, I own, but only think of the ramshackle fellows he’s in a string with! There’s Watchett, for instance: he wears more capes to his driving-coat than you do, but you’ll none of you admit him to the Four-Horse Club! Stone, too! His notion of sport is bull-baiting, and going on the spree in Tothill Fields. Then there’s Elstead: he knocks-up more horses in a season than you would in a lifetime, and flies at anything in the shape of gaming. Thinks himself slap up to the echo. Why, when were you ever seen rubbing shoulders in one of the Pall Mall hells with a set of Greek banditti?”

“Is that what young Trent does?”

“I don’t know: not a friend of mine. I haven’t seen him lately: rusticating, I daresay. He didn’t look to me like a downy one, so you may depend upon it he found himself in Tow Street.”

Armed with this information, Sir Waldo very soon found the opportunity to set himself right with Miss Trent. Wasting no subtlety, he told her cheerfully that she had misjudged him.

They were riding side by side, Julian and Tiffany a little way ahead. Mrs Underhill felt herself powerless to prevent the almost daily rides of this couple, but she did insist on Ancilla’s accompanying them, and was sometimes able to persuade her son to join the party. Occasionally Patience Chartley went with them; and, quite frequently, Sir Waldo.

Ancilla turned her head to look at him, raising her brows. “In what way, sir?”

“In laying your cousin’s follies at my door.” He smiled at her startled look, and betraying flush. “What happened to him? Lindeth tells me he’s in a string with young Mountsorrel, and his set.”

“He was used to be—he and Lord Mountsorrel were at school together—but no longer, I hope. His connection with him was ruinous.”

“Ran into Dun territory, did he? The younger men don’t come much in my way, but I’ve always understood that Mountsorrel has more money than sense, which makes him dangerous company for other greenhorns. Too many gull-catchers hang about him—not to mention the Bloods, and the Dashers, and the Care-for-Nobodies.”

“Yes. My uncle said that, or something like it. But indeed I never laid Bernard’s follies at your door, sir!”

“Didn’t you? That’s discouraging: I believed I had solved the riddle of your dislike of me.”

“I don’t dislike you. If—if yon thought me stiff when we first met it was because I dislike the set you represent!”

“I don’t think you know anything about the set I represent,” he responded coolly. “Let me assure you that it is very far removed from Mountsorrel’s, ma’am!”

“Of course—but you are—oh, the Nonesuch!” she said with a quick smile. “Mountsorrel and his friends copy you—as far as they are able—”

“I beg your pardon!” he interrupted. “They don’t—being unable! Dear me, I sound just like the Beautiful Miss Wield, don’t I? Some of them copy the Corinthian rig—in the exaggerated form I don’t affect; but my set, Miss Trent, is composed of men who were born with a natural aptitude for athletic sports. We do the thing; Mountsorrel, and his kind, are lookers-on. Don’t ask me why they should ape our fashions, when there is nothing more distasteful to them, I daresay, than the sports we enjoy, for I can’t tell you! But you may believe that the youngster anxious to excel in sporting exercises is safer amongst the Corinthians than amongst the Bond Street beaux.”

“Ah, yes, but—does it not lead to more dangerous things? To gaming, for instance?”

“Gaming, Miss Trent, is not confined to any one class of society,” he said dryly. “It won’t lead him to haunt the wineshops in Tothill Fields, to wake the night-music, or to pursue the—er—West-end comets, to his destruction.” He laughed suddenly. “You foolish girl! Don’t you know that if he did so it would be bellows to mend with him within five minutes of his engaging in a little sparring exercise at Jackson’s?”

“To own the truth, I had never considered the matter,” she confessed. “Though I do recall, now you put me in mind of it, that whenever my brother Harry was engaged to play in a cricket-match, or some such thing, he was used to take the greatest pains not to put himself out of frame, as he called it.”

“Wise youth! Is he too a budding Corinthian?”

“Oh, no! He is a soldier.”

“Like your uncle!”

“Yes, and my father, too.”

“Indeed? Tell me about him! Was he engaged at Waterloo?”

“Yes—that is, my brother was, but not my father. My father was killed at Ciudad Rodrigo.”

“I am sorry.”

His tone was grave; but he did not pursue the subject, asking her instead, after a moment or two, if her brother was with the Army of Occupation. She was grateful to him for respecting her reserve, and answered far more readily than she might have done. She seldom mentioned her family, for Mrs Underhill was interested only in the General; and although Mrs Chartley sometimes enquired kindly after her mother, and her brothers, she rarely allowed herself to be lured into giving more than civil responses, feeling that Mrs Chartley could have little interest in persons with whom she was unacquainted.

Sir Waldo was much more successful in winning her out of her reticence; and it was not many days before he knew more about Miss Trent’s family than Mrs Chartley, preoccupied with her own family and her husband’s parish, had even guessed. He knew that Will—the best of all sons and brothers!—was the incumbent of a parish in Derbyshire, and already the father of a hopeful family. He had married the daughter of one of Papa’s oldest friends, a dear, good girl, beloved of them all. Mama and Sally lived with him and Mary, and in the greatest harmony. Sally was the youngest of the family: only a schoolroom child yet, but already remarkably accomplished, and bidding fair to become a very pretty girl. Christopher joined them during the holidays, except when his uncle invited him to stay in London, and indulged him with all manner of high treats, from snipe-shooting in Regent’s Park, or skating on the Serpentine, to Astley’s Amphitheatre, and pugilistic displays at the Fives Court. Uncle Mordaunt had taken upon his shoulders the whole charge of Kit’s education at Harrow. Nothing could exceed Uncle Mordaunt’s goodness and generosity: in spite of possessing a fortune that was genteel rather than handsome he had been almost at outs with them all for refusing to live upon his bounty! But with Will so comfortably situated; and Harry now able (since he got his Company) to contribute towards the family funds; and Mama teaching Sally herself, which she was well qualified to do, being the daughter of a Professor of Greek, and (as they told her when they wanted to joke her) very blue, it would be shocking to be so much beholden.

“And the elder Miss Trent, I collect, doesn’t choose to be in any way beholden?”

“No more than I need. But you mustn’t suppose that I am not already very much obliged to my uncle and aunt, if you please! My aunt was so kind as to bring me out, as the saying is—and to spare no pains to get me eligibly riveted!” she added, a gurgle of laughter in her throat. “She had a strong persuasion that even though I’ve no fortune a respectable alliance might have been achieved for me would I but apply myself to the business! Oh, dear! I ought not to laugh at her, for she bore with me most patiently, but she is such a funny one!”

His eyes gleamed appreciatively, but he said: “Poor lady! Were you never tempted to apply yourself?”

“No, I was always old cattish,” she replied cheerfully.

“Were you indeed? Did you remain with your uncle for only one season?”

She nodded. “Yes, but pray don’t imagine that I might not have stayed had I wished to do so! To have done so when he has three daughters of his own to bring out would have been rather too strong, I thought—particularly when Bernard had got so shockingly into debt.”

“So you became a governess! Not without opposition, I should suppose!”

“Oh, no! Will and Harry made a great dust, and even Mary said she took it very unkind in me not to wish to live at their expense. They all pictured me eking out a miserable existence on a pittance—and used as if I had been a slave into the bargain! The only comfort they could find was in the thought that I could return to them if I found my lot insupportable.”

“Have you never done so?” he asked, looking rather searchingly at her.

“No, never. No doubt I might have done so, but I’ve been singularly fortunate. Miss Climping, dear creature, treated me as though I had been her niece rather than the junior mistress; and it was she who recommended me to Mrs Burford, to take charge of Tiffany.”

“Good God, do you count that good fortune?”

“Most certainly I do! My dear sir, if I were to tell you what an enormous wage I’m paid it would make you stare!”

“I know very little about such matters, but I seem to have heard that an upper man can command a bigger wage than a governess.”

“Ah, but I am a very superior governess!” she said, putting on an air of large consequence. “Only fancy! Besides such commonplace subjects as water-colour sketching and the use of the globes, I instruct my pupils in music—both pianoforte and harp; and can speak and read French and Italian!”

“I have no doubt at all that you earn every penny of your hire,” he said, smiling.

She laughed. “The mischief is that I don’t! My conscience pricks me very often, I promise you, for Charlotte has neither inclination nor aptitude; and Tiffany will do no more than commit to memory the words of an Italian song. I’ve convinced her that some skill on the pianoforte is an indispensable accomplishment for a lady with social ambitions; but nothing will prevail upon her to play the harp. She complains that it breaks her nails, and says that it is better to have pretty nails than to be able to perform upon the harp.”

“I still maintain that you earn your hire, ma’am!”

He was thinking of this interchange when she joined him on the terrace, saying: “Quite abominable!” He was well aware by this time that her position was far more that of guardian than governess; and as he believed that she had too much intelligence not to have realized what was the end to which his dealings with Tiffany were directed be lived in daily expectation of being called to book. It seemed to him that Mrs Underhill viewed Julian’s infatuation with complaisance. Far from demurring at his frequent visits she had begged them both to treat Staples as their own, standing upon no ceremony. “For very uncomfortable it must be at Broom Hall, with builders working there, and plaster-dust in everything, as well I know it is!” she had said. “So take your pot-luck with us, Sir Waldo, whenever you fancy, and be sure you’ll be very welcome!”

He said now, leading Miss Trent to one of the rustic seats on the terrace: “Very true! But do you think it will do your ravishing charge any harm to receive a few set-downs?”

“Oh, no!” she replied calmly. “I fear it won’t do her any good either—but that, after all, is not your object, is it?”

He checked her, as she was about to sit down, saying: “One moment! You will have the sun in your eyes: I’ll turn the seat a little.”

She let him do so, but said, smiling faintly: “Trying to change the subject, sir?”

“No, no! Just sparring for wind, ma’am!”

“I imagine that to be some horrid boxing cant,” she observed, seating herself. “I trust, however, that you don’t think me such a ninny as to be blind to what is yourobject?”

He sat down beside her. “No, I don’t,” he confessed. “I’ll own to you that I’ve been torn between the hope that you did know, and the dread of having a peal rung over me!”

If she blushed it was so slightly that he was unaware of it. She replied, ignoring the first part of his sentence: “Oh, I don’t mean to scold!”

“Now you have surprised me!” he remarked.

“I suppose, under certain circumstances I might scold,” she said thoughtfully. “But my situation is rather difficult. The thing is, you see, that Mrs Underhill doesn’t wish Tiffany to marry your cousin any more than you do.”

“In that case, it is a little astonishing that she should encourage Julian to run tame here,” he said sceptically.

“I daresay it may seem so to you, not knowing Tiffany as well as I—we—do. I can assure you that if her mind is set on anything the least hint of opposition is enough to goad her into going her length, however outrageous that may be. And in general it is outrageous,” she added candidly. “You will allow that an à suivie flirtation, conducted in my presence, or her aunt’s, is by far less dangerous than clandestine meetings would be. For one thing, it is not so romantic; and, for another, such meetings would of necessity be infrequent, as well as brief, and that, you know, would preclude her becoming bored with Lord Lindeth.”

He could not help smiling at her matter-of-factness, but he said: “Yes, I will allow that, ma’am. I will even concede that the girl might prevail upon Lindeth to meet her in such a way. But when you talk of her becoming bored with him I think you are wide of the mark. I daresay she may be—but Lindeth would be a big prize for her to win.”

She wrinkled her brow. “Well, it is very natural that you should think that, but she doesn’t. She means to marry a Marquis.”

“Means to—Which Marquis?”

“Any Marquis,” Ancilla replied.

“Of all the absurdities—!”

“I don’t know that. When you consider that besides beauty she is possessed of a handsome fortune you must surely own that a brilliant match is by no means impossible. In any event, I beg you won’t depress that one of her pretensions! I have suggested to her that to form a connection with a mere baron—and before she is even out!—would be perfectly bird-witted!”

He regarded her in some amusement. “Have you, indeed? What a very odd sort of governess you are, ma’am!”

“Yes, and you can’t imagine what a worry I have been in, trying to decide what I ought to do in this troublesome situation,” she said seriously. “I think I am right to scotch the affair, if I can; for while, on the one hand, the Burfords might welcome the match, on the other, Mrs Underhill would not, and Tiffany is too young to be contracted to anyone.”

“Why wouldn’t Mrs Underhill welcome the match?”

“Because she wants Tiffany to marry her cousin, of course.”

“Good God! I should have said that the boy holds her in contempt and dislike!”

“Mrs Underwood thinks they will learn to love one another.”

“Foolish beyond permission! Isn’t he dangling after the pretty redhead?”

“Yes, and I should think they will make a match of it one day,” she agreed. “Which would be a very good thing, for they suit wonderfully. And once Tiffany has left Staples, which will be next year, when her aunt Burford is pledged to bring her out, Mrs Underhill will very soon become reconciled. In the meantime, I do believe it to be my duty to do my possible to keep Tiffany quite—quite unattached!” She smiled kindly upon him, and added: “So I am very grateful to you for your assistance, Sir Waldo!”

“Even though—if the little minx has made up her mind to many a Marquis!—it must be thought superfluous!”

“Oh, no! We can’t foretell what might happen, you know. Tiffany is only a precocious child, and although she may indulge dreams of grandeur she doesn’t scheme.Would you care to say that she won’t take just enough fancy to Lord Lindeth to imagine herself in love? I promise you I wouldn’t! He is very good-looking, you know, besides having such engaging manners! Indeed, I am more than half in love with him myself!”

“Now, that I utterly forbid!” he declared.

She laughed. “I should rather think you might! I must be several years his senior. But in all seriousness, sir, a marriage between him and Tiffany would not do!”

“I am well aware of it.”

“Even if her birth matched his!” she said earnestly. “It must seem shocking in me to say such a thing of her, but I feel it would be quite wicked of me not to put you on your guard!”

“You believe it to be necessary?”

“I don’t know. I’ve seen how she can bring people round her thumb, and how charming she can be, when she chooses. But she hasn’t a particle of that sweetness of disposition which is in your cousin, and nothing but misery could be the outcome of a marriage between them!”

“Let me assure you, ma’am, since you seem to think I might succumb to her wiles, that my taste runs to females of quite another complexion!”

“I am glad of it,” she said, thinking, however, that he might well be courting more danger than he was yet aware of.

“That’s the kindest thing you have yet said to me,” he murmured.

She glanced at him, a puzzled expression in her eyes. They met his, and saw that they were quizzically smiling; and the suspicion flashed into her mind that he was trying to beguile her into flirtation. It was swiftly succeeded by the startling realization that she could very easily be so beguiled. That would never do, of course; so she said lightly: “I should be sorry to see anyone in Tiffany’s toils. Which puts me in mind of something I had to say to you! Tell me, Sir Waldo, what do you think of this proposed expedition to Knaresborough?”

“Too far, and the weather too sultry,” he replied, tacitly accepting her rebuff. He thought she sighed faintly, and said: “Do you wish for it, then?”

“I own I should like to go, if it were possible. Your cousin’s description of the Dripping Well made me long to see it. Tiffany, too. No sooner had Lord Lindeth told us of the wild, ragged rocks, and the cavern which was once the lair of bandits than she became mad after it!”

He smiled. “Mysteries of Udolpho?”

“Naturally! And I must own that it sounds most romantic. Isn’t it odd that it should be Lord Lindeth, a stranger to the district, who should have told us about it?”

“Oh, no! Natives are never enraptured by their surroundings. Over great familiarity,you know, genders despite.”

“Very true. I wish it were not too far to make an expedition eligible. I had not thought it about sixteen miles.”

“Which would mean a ride of thirty-two miles.”

“Nothing of the sort! Two rides of sixteen miles, with a long rest between for repose and refreshment! That’s a very different matter.”

“Out again, Miss Trent! Refreshment, certainly; but instead of reposing yourself you would spend your time clambering up rocky crags, and exploring caverns. Why don’t you go by carriage, if go you must?”

“Because nothing would prevail upon Tiffany to sit beside me in a carriage, driving sedately along the road when she might be on horseback, enjoying a canter over the moor. To be honest with you, I should think it sadly flat myself! Do you picture us being quite knocked up? I know my own powers, and as for Tiffany, she is the most indefatigable girl imaginable. However, it is very hot, so I’ll say no more.”

“You may say no more, but if the Beautiful Baggage is indeed mad after it there will be not the least need for you to do so, will there?”

She choked, but replied awfully: “Sir Waldo, you go too far! Besides, you have only to drop a word in your cousin’s ear to make him cry off, which will end the matter.”

“My dear Miss Trent, if it would give you pleasure to go I withdraw my objection. In fact, I’ll accompany you.”

There could be no denying that it was very agreeable to be talked to in such a manner. Miss Trent was no self-deceiver, and she did not deny it; but she was uneasily aware of running the risk of forming far too strong an attachment to the Nonesuch. Commonsense told her that he was merely alleviating boredom with a little dalliance, probably thinking (for she was persuaded he would not wantonly trifle with any female’s affections) that she was past the age of being taken in by his light advances; but although there was often a laugh in his eyes there was also a certain warmth, and, in his voice, a note of sincerity hard to withstand. She remembered that her aunt had told her once, in a moment of exasperation, that she was a great deal too nice in her requirements; and she thought, wryly, that poor Lady Trent had spoken more truly than she knew, and would have been as much surprised as dismayed to have learnt that her provoking niece, having repulsed two very eligible suitors, had discovered that no less a personage than the Nonesuch would do for her.

It would be fatal to indulge a tendre for him; and the wisest course to pursue would be to avoid his company; but as this, in the circumstances, was impossible, the next best thing would be to maintain a cool friendliness. So she said, with all the composure at her command: “Yes, it would be prudent in you to do so, no doubt. Your presence will divert Tiffany far more surely than mine.”

“Oh, I’ve another reason than that!” he said.

She put up her brows, saying frigidly: “Indeed?”

The disarming twinkle was in his eyes. “Four is a more comfortable number than three, don’t you think?” he suggested blandly.

She agreed to it, but with a quivering lip. Sir Waldo, duly noting this circumstance, continued to expatiate on the advantages of adding a second gentleman to the expedition, producing several which made it quite impossible for Miss Trent to keep her countenance. He was interrupted in this unchivalrous assault upon her defences by the reappearance on the scene of Tiffany, who came dancing out on to the terrace with Julian and Courtenay at her heels, and disclosed that the party of four had become a party of six.

“We have settled it between us to go to Knaresborough on Friday!” she announced, sparkling with delight. “It is to be a regular cavalcade, which will be such good fun! Lizzie Colebatch is to go with us, and Courtenay too, of course. And you, Sir Waldo—if you please?”

It was said so prettily, and with such an appealing smile, that he thought it no wonder that Julian should watch her in blatant admiration. He replied: “Thank you: I do please!”

“Miss Colebatch!” Ancilla exclaimed, taken aback. “Tiffany, I don’t think Lady Colebatch will permit her to go!”

“Yes, yes, she will!” Tiffany asserted, with a trill of laughter. “Lindeth and Courtenay have persuaded her, promising that you will be with us, you dear dragon!”

“Yes, but that’s not what I mean,” said Ancilla. “Miss Cole-batch dislikes the hot weather so much that I should have thought her mama must have forbidden her to go on such an expedition. Does she perfectly understand where it is you mean to go?”

She was reassured on this point; but although Lady Cole-batch’s sanction made it improper for her to raise any further objection she could not feel at ease. Lady Colebatch was an indolent, good-natured woman who was much inclined to let her children overrule her judgment, but Ancilla knew how quickly Elizabeth wilted in the heat, and began to wish that the expedition had never been projected. Courtenay was confident that all would be well, for they meant to make an early start, so that they would have reached Knaresborough long before midday; and Tiffany said gaily that Lizzie only disliked the heat because it made her skin so red.

The three younger members of the party then began to discuss the route they should follow, the hour at which they should assemble, and the rival merits of the various inns in Knaresborough, Julian inviting the company to partake of a nuncheon at the Crown and Bell, and Courtenay asserting that the Bay Horse was superior.

“Well, as you wish!” Julian said. “You must know better than I do! Shall we ask Miss Chartley to go with us? Would she care for it?”

“Patience! Good gracious, no!” exclaimed Tiffany. “What put such a notion as that into your head?”

“You don’t think she would like it? But she’s an excellent horsewoman, and I know she loves exploring ancient places, for she told me so.”

“Told you so? When?” demanded Tiffany.

“At Kirkstall, when we were wandering about the ruins. She knows almost as much as her father—do let us invite her to go with us!”

Miss Trent found herself digging her nails into the palms of her hands. It was irrational, but little as she wanted Tiffany to captivate Lindeth she could not help dreading the threatened tantrum. Since Courtenay was the one marriageable man whose devotion Tiffany neither desired nor demanded she was perfectly happy to include Miss Colebatch in the party, but that any one of her admirers should betray even the smallest interest in another lady invariably roused a demon of jealousy in her breast. She said now, with a glittering smile, well-known to her family: “Why? Do you like her so much?”

He looked at her in a little surprise. “Yes—that is, I like her, of course! I should think everyone must.”

“Oh, if you have a fancy for insipid girls—!” she said, shrugging.

“Do you think her insipid?” he asked. “She doesn’t seem so to me. She is very gentle, and persuadable, I agree, but not insipid,surely! She doesn’t want for sense, you know.”

“Oh, she has every virtue and every amiable quality! For my part, I find her prosy propriety a dead bore—but that’s of no consequence! Do, pray, invite her! I daresay she will be able to recite you the whole history of the Dripping Well!”

Even Julian could not mistake the rancour behind the smile. Miss Trent saw the slight look of shock in his face, and decided that she could not bear to hear her charge expose herself any more. She said quietly: “I am afraid it would be useless to invite Miss Chartley, sir. I know that Mrs Chartley wouldn’t permit her to go with us on such a long, fatiguing expedition. Indeed, I begin to wonder whether we should any of us attempt it.”

This alarming apostasy caused an instant throw-up. Miss Chartley was forgotten in the more urgent necessity of alternately abusing Miss Trent for chickenheartedness, and cajoling her into unsaying her words. But before he left Staples Julian had received from Tiffany an explanation of her spiteful outburst which quite cleared the cloud from his brow. She owned her fault so contritely that he longed to take her in his arms and kiss away her troubled look. He perfectly understood how provoking it must be to have Patience Chartley held up to her continually as a model; and he thought her penitence so candid and so humble that by the time he took his leave he had not only assured her that she was not in the least to be blamed for flying into a pet, but also that he didn’t care a rush whether or not Patience went with them to Knaresborough. Later, he tried to disabuse his cousin’s mind of whatever unjust thoughts it might harbour: not because Waldo referred to the matter, but because it seemed to him that he carefully avoided doing so. He said rather haltingly:

“I daresay it may have seemed odd to you that Miss Wield was—that she shouldn’t wish for Miss Chartley to accompany us on Friday.”

“What, after such a slip-slop as you made?” said Sir Waldo, laughing. “Not in the least odd! You did grass yourself, didn’t you? I hadn’t believed you could be such a greenhorn.”

Flushing, Julian said stiffly: “I don’t understand what you mean! If you imagine that Miss Wield was—was cross because I wished to invite Miss Chartley—it wasn’t so at all!”

“Wasn’t it?” said Sir Waldo, amusement lurking beneath his too-obviously assumed gravity. “Well, take my advice, you young cawker, and never praise one woman to another!”

“You are quite mistaken!” said Julian, more stiffly than ever.

“Yes, yes, of course I am—being so green myself!” agreed Sir Waldo soothingly. “So, for God’s sake, don’t stir any more coals to convince me of it! I am convinced—wholly!—and I detest brangles!”