The Reluctant Widow

Chapter XIII

The next day, the eve of the funeral, passed in much the same busy but uneventful style. The piles of rubbish grew higher yet. Miss Beccles was made happy by being permitted to make the stillroom and the linen cupboard her particular concerns. Elinor began to think that in time the house might be made very tolerable. And Nicky beguiled the morning by taking Bouncer to a neighboring farm and engaging in a rat hunt which might have been more successful had not Bouncer jumped to an overhasty conclusion that his first duty was to rid the world of the flea-ridden terrier who should have assisted him in his work of destroying all the rats in the big barn.

Returning from the day’s sport midway through the afternoon, Nicky strolled up to the house by the short cut that led through the surrounding woodland in time to see an elegant post-chaise-and-four drawn up before the front door. As he paused, in surprise, a very obvious gentleman’s gentleman jumped down from it, a dressing case in his hand, which he tenderly set down on the porch before turning back to assist his master to alight.

A slim and exquisite figure descended languidly onto the drive and stood with the utmost patience while I the valet straightened the numerous capes of his greatcoat and anxiously passed a handkerchief over the gleaming surface of a pair of well-cut Hessian boots. A high-crowned gray beaver with a curling brim was set at a slightly rakish angle on the gentleman’s head of glossy chestnut curls. He wore one gray glove and carried the other in the same hand, together with an ebony walking cane. From under the brim of his hat a pair of weary, blue eyes gazed in insufferable boredom at nothing in particular. Their expression of worldly cynicism made them sit oddly in a face decidedly round, and a nose inclined to the retroussé, and an almost womanishly delicate mouth and chin.

“Hell and the devil confound it!” uttered Nicky under his breath, recognizing the visitor.

Bouncer, who had been standing with his tail up and his ears on the prick, needed no more encouragement than these muttered words to send him forward like a bolt from the blue to execute his clear duty. Barking like a fiend, he launched himself upon the intruder.

The exquisite gentleman whirled about at the first bark, and as Bouncer came at full tilt across the ill-kept lawn, his ungloved right hand grasped the ivory top of his cane, deftly twisted it and drew a thin, wicked blade hissing from the ebony stick that formed its sheath.

“Heel, Bouncer!” Nicky roared, terror for his pet lending such ferocity to his voice that Bouncer checked in mid-career, dropping tail and ears, and cowering to the earth in startled dismay.

Nicky came striding up, his eyes sparkling with wrath, his countenance flushed, and sternly admonished Bouncer.

The visitor kept his swordstick poised but raised his eyes, suddenly very wide open, to Nicky’s face. He was breathing a little fast, but his lips smiled, and he said smoothly: “I do not—like—dogs!”

“By God, Cheviot, if you so much as touch my dog with that blade of yours I’ll ram it down your gullet!” swore Nicky, glaring at him.

The smile grew, the arched brows rose. Francis Cheviot restored his blade to its sheath. “What, Nicholas! Determined to purge the world of Cheviots?”

Nicky’s color darkened and his fists clenched themselves involuntarily. Francis Cheviot laughed softly and patted his shoulder with one white hand. “There, there!” he said soothingly. “I was only funning, dear boy! I am sure you would not really ram my blade down my throat.”

“You harm my dog, and you need not be so sure of that!” said Nicky pugnaciously.

“Oh, but I am, Nicholas! I cannot help but be sure of it,” Francis said, in dulcet accents. “But tell me, dear boy, is it quite—quite in the best of good ton for you to be here? Under the circumstances—and pray do not imagine that I blame you for them, for nothing could be farther from my thoughts!—but under these circumstances, do you not feel—No, I see you do not, and indeed, who am I to presume to set myself up as an arbiter? The situation is something quite out of my line.”

“I am staying here,” said Nicky curtly.

“Ah, indeed? How very piquant, to be sure! Crawley, I do trust that you have rung that bell, for if I stand in this disagreeable wind you know I shall take cold, and my colds always descend upon my chest. How thoughtless it was in you to have handed me down from the chaise until the door had been opened! Ah, here is that deplorable henchman! Yes, Barrow, it is I indeed. Take my hat—no, Crawley had best take my hat, perhaps. And yet, if he does so, who is to assist me out of my greatcoat? How difficult all these arrangements are! Ah, a happy thought. You have laid my hat down, Crawley! I do not know where I should be without you. Now my coat, and pray be careful! Where is a mirror? Crawley, you cannot have been so foolish as to have packed all my hand mirrors! No, I thought not. Hold it a little higher, I beg of you, and give me my comb! Yes, that will serve. Barrow, you may announce me to your mistress!”

“Ay, justabout I may!” said the retainer, glowering at him, “It queers me what brings you here, sir, but I’ll tell you to your head you ain’t wanted!”

“Ah, and now that you have told me, announce me, Barrow!” replied Francis affably. “And pray do not bring that dog in, dear Nicholas! I have the greatest dread of dogs, and I know you would not wish to upset me. Really an antipathy, you know! Is it not strange? They say that a liking for dogs is such an English characteristic, and I am sure I am quite English. Cats, now! There is something so admirable in a cat, don’t you agree? No, of course you do not! Barrow, am I to be kept standing in this drafty hall for very much longer, because if so I must have my coat on again?”

Barrow gave vent to his feelings in a snort, but walked over to the parlor and flung open the door, saying with bitter ceremony, “The Honorable Francis Cheviot, ma’am!”

Elinor, who was seated at the escritoire by the window, turned a startled face, and rose quickly. “The—?”

“Yes, it’s Francis Cheviot,” said Nicky sulkily. “But what he wants here I don’t know!”

Francis trod delicately across the room toward his hostess, a hand held out, and his countenance wreathed in smiles. “My dear Mrs. Cheviot, how do you do? Ah, what a foolish question! How can you do in this sad hour? Allow me to offer you my sincerest condolences upon this unhappy event!”

Rather bewildered, she gave him her hand, curtsying slightly. He bowed over it with punctilious grace. She said, stammering a little, “How do you do? I beg your pardon—I was not expecting—”

“Not expecting me?” he said, in a shocked voice. “My dear Mrs. Cheviot—or may I call you cousin?—my dear Cousin, who can have been giving you such a false, unkind portrait of me? I am sure it was not Nicholas! That little rusticity of manner which I am persuaded will be polished away in time, hides a heart of gold, you know! No, no, I must hold the dear boy absolved! But my poor Cousin Eustace—you cannot have supposed I should absent myself from his obsequies! I never neglect those gestures which cost one so little, after all! But I am quite put out of countenance by finding Nicholas here! It is not that I am not delighted to meet him. In fact, I am transported. But I do not know just how I should conduct myself toward him. You see, I am a mourner, and he—dear me, what delicate ground I seem to be on!”

“I wish you will stop humbugging on forever!” snapped Nicky. “You never cared a button for Eustace!”

“Now, this is not just, Nicholas! This Is not like you! Poor dear Eustace! Such a deplorable character! The very worst of bad ton! Always a source of pain to me, but do not let us speak ill of the dead! Death makes the worst of men instantly respectable, you know. Ah, dear Mrs. Cheviot, I should have explained that I am here in a dual role! Yes, indeed: cousin and uncle combined. How odd it seems! I do trust I can carry it off with grace.”

“Lord Bedlington—does not come to the funeral?” Elinor faltered, quite dazed by all this gentle eloquence.

“Alas! His kind compliments, dear Cousin—his deepest regrets—I am the bearer of his most heartfelt apologies! Prostrate!”

“Eh?” gasped Nicky.

Francis sighed. “I left him laid upon his bed, in the greatest anguish. His old enemy, you know: gout, dear boy! The agitation he has suffered—or perhaps it may have been that horridly cold drive, who can say?—brought on one of his most severe attacks. Impossible for him to venture out of his house! So here I am, in my dual role. I do trust—not unwelcome?”

“Oh, no!” Elinor said quickly. “How could you think—Pray, will you not be seated, sir? You are staying—that is, I expect you are putting up at—”

“You are all goodness, Cousin! My father did indeed encourage me to hope that I should find a welcome at Highnoons. But do not put yourself out, I beg of you! I dare say I shall be very comfortable in whatever bedchamber you choose to bestow me, as long as the chimney does not smoke—yes, I retain the most hideous memories of my last visit to this house—and the aspect is not north. My physician warns me particularly against cold rooms, you know, for my constitution is not at all robust.”

She knew not what to say, for the dictates of civility forbade her to utter the only reply that rose to her mind. Nicky, whose notions were not so nice, said bluntly, ‘“You will scarcely stay here, Cheviot! The inn at Wisborough Green has several decent rooms.”

Francis answered him with unshaken urbanity, “I should not dare to take so great a risk, for you must know that I have not brought my own sheets with me, and I make it a rule never to stay at an inn without them. One can never be certain that the beds have been properly aired. Dear me, I am quite overcome to think I should be putting Mrs. Cheviot to inconvenience!”

Elinor felt herself obliged to disclaim, and to say that she would give instructions to have a room prepared for him. He thanked her and said that he should be happy in the Yellow Room.

“Well, you will not!” said Nicky incorrigibly; “That is Mrs. Cheviot’s room!”

“Ah, then, on no account would I wish her to remove from it!” Francis said. “It really makes not the smallest difference to me, so do not, I beg of you, Cousin, dream of giving it up! That would put me quite put of countenance. Put me in poor Eustace’s bedchamber! It is a trifle somber, perhaps, but I shall not regard that.”

Elinor found Nicky’s eyes fixed on her face with so much meaning in them that she felt the color rise to her cheeks, and got up out of her chair, murmuring that she Would tell Mrs. Barrow, Nicky at once followed her; saying hastily that he must take care Bouncer was safely inside the house. He carefully shut the parlor door behind him and said to Elinor in an urgent undervoice, “We must not leave him alone on any account, Cousin Elinor! By Jupiter, Ned was right! He has come here to find that paper, there can be no doubt! But we shall be a match for him! Did you ever see such frippery fellow?”

“Oh, Nicky, I own I cannot like him! He quite frightens me indeed! I wish you will persuade him to remove to the Hall!”

“Frightens you? What, a fellow that would screech if a mouse crossed his path? You cannot be serious! I am sure Ned would say we must allow him to remain here. Only fancy, Cousin, if he should know where Eustace hid that paper, and lead us to it! I should not at all wonder if it is in Eustace’s bedchamber, for you must have remarked his suggestion that he should have that room. Doing it rather too brown, I thought! I’ll tell you what! Do you lock up that room, and have the chamber next to mine prepared! Then if he tries any of his tricks during the night I must hear him. It would be beyond anything great if I should catch him red-handed, and before ever Ned hears of his being here!”

“Nicky, I shall go distracted! I wish you will send a message to your brother, informing him of this arrival! Not,” she added bitterly, “that he is likely to be of the least comfort to me, for he is as bad as you are and will very likely say it is a happy circumstance or something just as heartless!”

“Well, I should not wonder at it if he did. The only thing is that I shall be hard put to it to be civil to the fellow! Do you know he would have killed Bouncer with that swordstick of his if I had not been there? A fellow that likes cats above dogs! Cats!”Nicky uttered, with awful scorn.

“He is like a cat himself. Oh, I wish he had not come here! Or I either!”

“Fudge! It is famous sport!” Nicky said, and went back into the parlor.

The guest, so far from searching the room, was still seated gracefully beside the fire, one slim, gray-swathed leg crossed over the other. He smiled sweetly at Nicky and made a gesture with his long-handled quizzing glass toward the silver tassels on his Hessians. “Observe!” he said. “I should not say so, for it is an inspiration of my own, but really I am quite lost in admiration. Silver tassels, dear boy, not gold, thus delicately preserving the mourning note. I shall wear black pantaloons for the ceremony, of course. I hesitated for long before I permitted Crawley to help me into these gray ones, for one would not wish to betray the least disrespect, but I think the relationship just remote enough to allow of my wearing them, do not you? I do flatter myself that my black neckcloth strikes precisely the correct note, however. Or do you think it makes me look like a military man?”

“No,” said Nicky frankly. “Nothing could!”

“Ah, how delightful of you, dear boy! Really, you have so much relieved my mind!” Francis said, beaming upon him. “Now, tell me! Must I look my last on Eustace’s face, or do I not indulge my optimism too much in trusting that his coffin is already nailed down?”

“Of course it is!”

“I am so thankful. Death is extremely painful to me, and although I am determined not to omit the least—Ah, not, I do trust, in this house?”

“No. It lies in a chapel.”

“Again you relieve my mind. I brought my vinaigrette with me, of course, and Crawley knows how to revive me, but I confess I should have been excessively loath to have slept under the same roof with a coffin. My sensibilities have always been extremely acute and I dare say I should have suffered a spasm.

But now, unless I should have taken a chill on the drive, I do trust we have nothing to dread. It is not to be, I collect, a lengthy cortege?”

“Carlyon has arranged for it to be as private as may be,” replied Nicky.

“One cannot but sympathize with him,” murmured Francis. He watched Nicky color up, and added apologetically, “I have never known myself to be so maladroit! Really, I intended not the smallest offense, dear Nicholas! Poor Eustace, alas, was not beloved in this neighborhood! But I do hope sufficient carriages have been bespoken, for he had some friends, you know. I feel persuaded that they must honor his obsequies with their presence. Indeed, I have myself advised Louis de Castres of this sad event, and I do not doubt of seeing him here tomorrow.”

Nicky fairly gasped at this effrontery and could only gaze at him openmouthed.

“You must be acquainted with Louis?” said Francis; mildly surprised. “A charming creature! One of my oldest friends!”

“Yes,” said Nicky. “Yes, I fancy I have met him!”

Elinor came back into the room just then with Miss Beccles and under cover of the necessary introduction Nicky escaped, to cool his heated head in the gardens. Since town hours were not kept at Highnoons, it was soon time to be dressing for dinner, and the uneasy party separated, Francis to deliver himself into the hands of his valet, Miss Beccles to superintend the laying of the table so that they might not all be shamed before such a fine gentleman, and Elinor to seek put Nicky, once more to implore him to send the groom up to the Hall with a message for Carlyon.

This he would by no means do, insisting that Carlyon’s assistance was not needed to deal with such a paltry fellow as Francis, and she went off to her own room quite out of charity with him.

The party which presently sat down to dinner was, with the exception of Miss Beccles who dignified the occasion by wearing her best lavender silk, as funereal as the most exacting critic could have desired. Francis had arrayed himself in a black coat and satin knee breeches which looked more fit for Almack’s Assembly Rooms than a country house. Elinor wore her black silk, and Nicky, not to be outdone by Francis, had put himself into a similar attire to his, though not, he enviously realized, of such extremely fashionable cut.

Nothing could have exceeded the affability of the guest, but Miss Beccles would not be lured into contributing her mite to the conversation. Elinor labored under a sense of indefinable alarm, and Nicky’s attempts to conceal his dislike of Francis only served to emphasize it. Elinor wondered how they were to get through a whole evening. When she and Miss Beccles withdrew to the parlor, Miss Beccles confided to her that she owned she could not quite like the tone of Mr. Cheviot’s conversation and very much feared he was not a good man.

“I think him a dreadful man!” Elinor said.

“Well, my love, since you say so, I shall not scruple to tell you that I thought that tale he told about Mr. Romeo Coates—such an odd name, too!—rather too warm, and not at all the sort of thing your dear Mama would have wished you to be listening to.”

“I wish he had not come here! I am afraid of him!”

“My dear Mrs. Cheviot! Oh, dear, dear! My love, lock your door! Or, no! I will sleep on the couch in your room!”

Elinor could not help laughing. “Oh, no indeed, Becky! I am very sure he has no designs upon my virtue! But now that I have spent a couple of hours in his company I cannot doubt the justice of Carlyon’s suspicions. He is the very man to be doing some wicked, treacherous thing! We must not leave him alone in the house an instant! If only that odious boy would have sent to advise Carlyon! And beyond all else, how in the world are we to pass the evening? I was never so uncomfortable in my life!”

“Well, my love,” said Miss Beccles doubtfully, “if you think he might like it, I could offer to play at backgammon with him.”

Happily, she was not obliged to do so. Hardly had the gentlemen entered the parlor than all the bustle of an arrival was heard in the hall, and within a very few minutes the door was opened to admit Carlyon, his brother John, and a lady and gentleman who bore all the air of being in the first rank of fashion.

The lady, who came in on Carlyon’s arm, was decidedly younger than Elinor. She was extremely pretty, with such golden ringlets and such sparkling blue eyes that it did not need Nicky’s shout of “Georgy!” or Carlyon’s quiet introduction to “My sister, Lady Flint,” to inform Elinor of her identity. She rose at once, blushing and curtsying, and found her hand seized between two warm little ones, and heard herself addressed in a sweet, mischievous voice.

“Mrs. Cheviot! My new cousin! Oh, you are such a heroine! I made Carlyon bring me to see you! This is Flint, my husband, you know! Oh, Nicky!”

Elinor’s hand was dropped. The engaging creature was off in a mist of gauze to throw her arms round Nicky’s neck, then to bestow hand and smile on Francis, and, upon Elinor’s murmuring her companion’s name, a handshake on Miss Beccles. She chattered all the while, explaining that she was on her way into Hampshire to spend a few weeks with the Dowager, but could not rest until she had discovered all the truth of what John had been telling her. Nothing would do but Flint must bring her not so very much out of their way, after all, to spend a night with Carlyon. While she rattled on in this style, her husband, a sensible looking man some years her senior, stood watching her in fond admiration, and Nicky pelted her with questions which she never paused to answer.

Carlyon took advantage of her vivacity to draw near to Elinor and to explain that his sister, having heard John’s account of her marriage, had had such a desire to meet her that he had set dinner forward an hour so as to be able to drive the whole party over to drink tea at Highnoons. “I would not bring them to dinner,” he said. “It must have incommoded you. I trust we are not now unwelcome?”

“No, indeed!” she returned, in a low voice. “I have been wishing all the evening that Nicky would but have sent over to advise you of that gentleman’s arrival!”

“It is certainly interesting,” he said, glancing toward Francis, who was conversing with Flint.

“I knew you would say so, provoking creature!”

“Where is Bedlington?”

“Prostrate! With the gout!”

He looked thoughtful, but made no answer.

“For heaven’s sake, my lord, what would you have me do?”

“I will discuss it with you at a more convenient opportunity.”

“Meanwhile he may prowl about the house all night in search of you well know what!”

“I hardly think so. Is not Nicky’s dog with you? Let him roam at large!”

There was no time for more. Lady Flint came fluttering up to them, determined to make the further acquaintance of her new cousin. It was soon made plain that John had told her nothing of the strange events which had taken place in the house. It was the marriage which had captivated the lively lady’s fancy. She soon drew Elinor to the sofa and sat down beside her there, engaging her in conversation, interrupted every now and then by her throwing a word to one of her brothers or to Francis, with whom she seemed to be on excellent terms. But presently, upon some” pretext, she flitted up with Elinor to her bedchamber and said to her with her pretty air of candor, “Carlyon said we should put you out of countenance, so many of us, and arriving without the least warning! But you do not regard it, do you? Oh, when I saw that notice in the Morning Post, you may suppose how ready I was to drop! I sent at once to Mount Street, to John! I declare, I would have made my poor Flint storm the Home Office I was in such a fever to know more! Tell me—do not think me impertinent, though to be sure I am!—how came you to do it?”

Elinor replied with a little reserve, “Indeed, I scarcely know! Lord Carlyon persuaded me, but I must suppose myself to have been out of my senses.”

Her ladyship gave a little gurgle. “Dearest Carlyon! How I shall tease him! But what is this story of housebreakers? I declare it is like a romance! How happy it must have made Nicky to be shot at! I have a very good mind to make Flint stay here for an age, for I was never so diverted in my life! But I dare say it will not do. I am in the family way, you know, and my poor dear Flint has taken such crotchets into his head! I was never so well, I vow! But nothing will do but I must go into the country, and ten to one Carlyon will aid and abet him. Do you like him?”

“Indeed,” Elinor said, quite taken aback, “Lord Flint appeared to me a most amiable—”

“Stupid! Not Flint! Carlyon!”

Elinor was vexed to feel herself coloring. She replied stiffly, “Certainly. I am sure his manners and address are such as must universally please.”

There was a pout, an arch look. “Oh—! Sad stuff! Do you quarrel with him? Does he make you very cross?”

“If you must have the truth,” said Elinor, “he is the most odious, overbearing, inconsiderate, abominable man I ever met!”

She was instantly embraced. “Famous! How often I have said the same! You will deal admirably together. I am glad I have seen you. Oh, but it is enough to make oneself wish to be a widow to see you look so very becoming in that black dress! How shocking of me to say so, for you must know that I dote on Flint! Does Francis Cheviot stay long with you? I was so much surprised!”

“Only a night, I fancy. It is a little awkward, but he comes as proxy for his father, for—for the funeral.”

The delicate brows rose. “Ah, you do not like him! But there is no harm in Him, you know, and you may meet him forever! I always invite him to all my parties. Everyone does so, for he is the most amusing creature, and such good ton! Mr. Brummell says that his tailor makes him. Was there ever anything so unkind? He is very good company, and always knows just which colors will set one off best and how one should furnish one’s new drawing room.”

Elinor returned some noncommittal answer, and’ after some more of this inconsequent chatter Lady Flint allowed herself to be escorted downstairs again. It was soon time for the party from the Hall to be off, if they were to reach home before morning, so as soon as tea had been drunk and adieus spoken, the carriage was called for. There was no opportunity for Elinor to hold private converse with Carlyon. She could only throw him a very speaking glance as they stood in the hall, and this was received only with a slight smile. She was obliged to go through her part as hostess with a smiling face, and could only whisper as he shook her hand in farewell, “How dare you leave me with that creature?”

“My dependence is on Bouncer,” he returned.

He followed his brother-in-law out of the house, allowing her no time to retort, and was soon in the carriage and driving away from Highnoons.

“My dear Carlyon, she is charming!” Georgiana said, out of the darkness beside him.

“A very well-bred young woman,” pronounced Flint.

“She is a Rochdale of Feldenhall.”

“It is very strange. I do not pretend to understand it.”

“Dearest Flint, where would be the sport if one could?” demanded his wife. “But, Ned, you did not tell me how very handsome she is! She has a great deal of countenance, and dignity too—far more than I have, I am sure.”

“Which is to say more than none at all!”

“Very true! It is not in my line: never was! But there is some mystery you have not told me about! It is too’ provoking!”

“It exists in your own head.”

“No! John is so silent!”

“John is always silent.”

“Pooh! I am not such a fool as to be put off so! Something I have discovered, but not the whole. I wish I had not to go into Hampshire!”

He turned the subject with some reference to her projected stay with her mother-in-law. She was diverted, and the conversation turned no more upon Highnoons until the party was set down at the Hall. It was then that John, detaining Carlyon when he would have entered one of the saloons in the wake of his sister, said, “By God, you were right, Ned! What’s to do now?”

“I believe we should have expected to see him here.”

“Ay! But what has he done with poor old Bedlington? How has he persuaded him to remain in London? And what does he intend?”

“To find your memorandum, I collect.”

“You are damned cool, upon my word!”

“No: interested, and as yet unsure of my ground. The case is plainly desperate, and I must indulge the hope that he will betray himself. Hush! do not speak of this before Georgy!”

She had come out of the saloon and was advancing toward them. “I shall go to bed. How odious it is in you to be talking secrets!”

“No such thing!” said John. “Where’s Flint? I want a word with him!”

She watched him stride off toward the saloon and turned her eyes back to her eldest brother, a roguish look in them. “Oh, Ned!”

“Well, and now what?”

A dimple peeped. “Gussie and Eliza would be agog if I told them, but I don’t know that I shall. But I thought you past praying for!”

“Nonsense! What can you mean?”

She put her arms round his neck and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “You are the best of kind, provoking brothers, and I won’t tease you—not a bit! But I think you are very sly!”