She raised her eyebrows. “You know it, sir?”
“Indeed I do. You are sweet seventeen, and not a day older,” he pronounced solemnly.
“Oh!” she exclaimed with a little chuckle. “I do believe, Mr. Colby, that you are the most shameless flatterer!”
“I speak only what appears to me to be true. I can’t think now why I should have asked you if you had spent a season in London. Obviously you are by far too young to have already made your come-out.”
“Now you’re doing it too brown,” she warned him, her eyes twinkling. “Were I as young as you pretend, I would not venture abroad without my chaperone.”
“But you’ve brought one, I collect? A Mrs. — what was it now — a Mrs. Ford, I think?”
“Fordyce,” corrected Henrietta.
“Ah, yes, Fordyce. A lady of estimable years and high moral tone, no doubt.”
“You are quite out, sir,” she laughed. “Mrs. Fordyce is of my own age — somewhat older than seventeen, I must own — and we are lifelong friends. I am staying with her at present.”
He nodded. “The lady lives in Bath with her husband, one supposes. So, after all, you are well chaperoned, Miss Melville.”
“Not unless we chaperone each other, for there’s no husband in the case. Mrs. Fordyce is a widow.”
“The Widow of Bath,” he repeated mockingly. “It was Chaucer, was it not, who wove a story around one such? But perhaps you’re not of a literary turn of mind, Miss Melville.”
“Within reason, though I had only the usual hamble-scramble kind of education that is thought suitable for females.”
“And rightly so. What a pity it would be to wrinkle the fair charmers’ brows with overmuch study of prose when they might browse light-heartedly in the Book of Life,” he replied, with a comical sententiousness that made Henrietta chuckle once more.
“Mr. Colby, I fear that you are sadly lacking in the ability to take matters seriously,” she said amiably.
“Indeed I am, ma’am. It’s a heinous fault, but I trust you’ll overlook it.”
He made an attempt to look contrite but spoilt it by breaking into a laugh. He gestured toward the window, where Fortescue, giving his umbrella a vigorous shaking, had just come into view.
“It’s just stopped,” he announced, entering. “Mrs. Fordyce was in the carriage when I got there, and bids you not to go through the rain on any account, as she don’t mind waiting.”
“Since it’s stopped, I’ll go at once,” said Henrietta, rising from her chair.
“I’ll escort you,” said Fortescue. “You’ll be glad of an umbrella, in any case, because of all the confounded drips from the awnings and so forth. You coming, Colby, or are you making a purchase here?”
“No, I shall look in at another time. Perhaps Miss Melville would prefer my umbrella, as yours is deuced wet, old fellow.”
Henrietta expressed her thanks to the jeweller for giving her shelter, and the trio were bowed out courteously. Once in the street, Colby raised his umbrella and offered Henrietta his arm, leaving Fortescue to walk on the outside. As she placed her gloved hand on Colby’s sleeve, she felt a little tingle of excitement. He was the kind of man, she thought, who could scarcely fail to raise a spark of interest in any woman.
A few minutes’ walking brought them to the waiting carriage. As they drew level with it, Louisa opened the door and leaned out.
“Did I not tell you, Henrietta, that it would surely rain if you ventured out?” she began. “Foolish creature, you should have —” She broke off abruptly, staring at Henrietta’s escort, who had lowered the umbrella and was about to assist his charge into the coach.
“May I make Mr. Colby known to you, Mrs. Fordyce?” said Fortescue punctiliously.
Colby helped Henrietta into the coach, executed a graceful bow, and fixed his eyes in an intent look upon Louisa.
“Mrs. Fordyce and I have already met,” he said in an ambiguous tone. “I trust I see you well, ma’am?”
“Oh — yes — thank you,” stammered Louisa, with none of her usual assurance. “I think — perhaps we should not keep the horses standing longer.”
“I look forward to renewing our acquaintance,” said Colby smoothly. “Miss Melville, it has been a pleasure.”
Fortescue, too, took his leave of the ladies, and the carriage moved away.
“Well, I’m damned!” exclaimed Fortescue. “Met the charming widow before, have you? Not in Bath, I presume; you’ve scarce had time.”
“No, it was on one of my travels,” replied the other evasively, and quickly went on to speak of other matters.
Meanwhile, Henrietta was asking the same question of her friend, with no more result.
“I met Mr. Colby — in Ireland,” replied Louisa, somewhat unsteadily. “He was — acquainted with my husband, but —” She seemed unable to continue.
“But?” prompted Henrietta with a tentative smile.
“Oh, I don’t wish to speak of him,” returned Louisa petulantly.
“Then we won’t do so, love, though I must say I find him a most charming man. There, I have done, never fear! Are we bound for the Pump Room?”
“Would you mind very much if we went straight home, Hetty? I have a little headache. Nothing much, but there’s always such a clatter in the Pump Room.”
Henrietta agreed at once, expressing concern. When they were seated at home in the parlour, she was able to study her friend’s face and found it paler than usual. She suggested that Louisa lie down for a while.
“No, no, it is nothing, I assure you. I shall be perfectly recovered if only I may sit quietly for half an hour. I am so sorry to have spoilt your morning.”
“Goose! As if a lost visit to the Pump Room could ruin my morning. Now, do you sit quietly, and I will read my book without saying another word.”
Accordingly, she picked up a novel she had begun reading and was soon engrossed in it. Louisa, however, far from sitting quietly, sprang up out of her chair within minutes and began to pace restlessly.
After a little while, Henrietta looked up from her book.
“My love, why do you not keep still? It can’t possibly improve your headache to go on in this way! I tell you what, do you happen to have a Dr. James’ powder in the house? I always found them most efficacious whenever my sisters had the headache.”
To Henrietta’s consternation, Louisa began to laugh in a hysterical way.
“Powders!” she gasped, in between the outbursts. “P-p-powders! Oh, what g-g-good can a p-powder do? If only it sh-should be as s-simple as that!”
Henrietta seized her firmly by the shoulders and shook her vigorously.
“Louisa! Stop it at once! At once, do you hear me?”
Louisa’s hysteria subsided after a moment, and releasing herself from her friend’s grasp, she dropped into a chair and burst into tears.
Henrietta knelt beside her, taking the shaking form into a comforting embrace.
“My love, whatever is amiss to upset you so? Only tell me, dearest Louisa, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to help you!”
For a few moments Louisa clung to her friend, sobbing violently. Presently, she ceased and gently disengaged herself from Henrietta’s arms, wiping away the traces of tears from her face.
“No one can help me,” she said in a more composed voice, “but I dare say I shall manage.”
“If only you would tell me what the trouble is! You must know you can trust me. Recollect our girlhood, and all the secrets we shared! I haven’t changed so much, I assure you.”
“Oh, I know you haven’t, my dear. No one could wish for a truer, kinder friend. But there are some things —” She broke off, leapt to her feet and took a turn or two about the room, then went on, in a lighter tone. “Forgive me for enacting such a Cheltenham tragedy, my love! You know there are times when a female is prone to attacks of the vapours. Pray think no more of it, for it’s merely a health matter. We will eat our luncheon, and afterward you shall choose som
e diversion for the rest of the day.”
Henrietta had also stood up and was regarding her friend in some perplexity. Obviously something other than female indisposition was responsible for Louisa’s outburst, but she saw that there was nothing further to be done at present to win her friend’s confidence.
Later, when they were just sitting down to their customary midday meal of cold meats and fruit, a footman entered and handed Louisa a note. Henrietta saw that the superscription was in a bold, flowing hand, which Louisa, judging from her expression, recognised at once. She jumped up from the table with a muttered apology and quitted the room.
It was some time before she returned, apologising again for interrupting the meal.
“That’s no matter,” said Henrietta. “I trust, though, you’ve not received bad news?”
“Bad news? Oh, you mean the letter. No, that was merely a little matter of business. Pray do have some of this pressed tongue, Hetty. It’s one of Mrs. Rudge’s specialties.”
Throughout the meal, she chattered away at a great rate, and though Henrietta suspected the animation was a trifle forced, she found her friend more composed than before. Perhaps, after all, the previous outburst had been due to a temporary bout of the humours.
They decided to pass the afternoon in a visit to Almeria, and set out as soon as luncheon was over. Almeria was fortunately at home and delighted, as always, to see them. They found her browsing over some recent copies of La Belle Assemblée, consulting the fashion plates with a view to having some of the designs copied for her own wardrobe. They were all quite willing to assist her, and so spent a lively afternoon debating the merits of various designs. But at five o’clock, Louisa suddenly said that they ought to be going.
There could be no reason for this that Henrietta could see, unless her friend felt that a quiet evening at home might be beneficial. It was not for her to argue, however, so she and Louisa departed with assurances of meeting Almeria again soon.
“I am sorry if you would have preferred to stay, Hetty, but we have been racketing about so much of late, that I thought perhaps you would not object if we were to remain quietly at home for once.”
“Not at all. Indeed, there are some letters I must write if I am not to alienate all my relatives,” replied Henrietta agreeably.
“And I think I shall rest in my room until it’s time for dinner,” said Louisa with a sigh.
“You don’t still feel unwell, my dear?”
“Oh, no, merely a little fatigued. A short rest will soon set me up again. I’ll come down just before dinner, and in the meantime you’ll be able to write your letters in peace.”
Henrietta looked anxiously after her as she mounted the stairs. It was quite unlike Louisa to complain of feeling tired; her energy always seemed boundless.
She tried to dismiss her worry, however, and made her way into the parlour where a small oak writing table was set against a window looking out on to Pulteney Street. There she settled down to write a letter to her sister Cecilia. For some time she wrote fluently, then inspiration failed, and she took to gazing abstractedly out of the window. When she at last recalled her errant attention to the task in hand, daylight was fast fading.
She rose to light the candles, but hearing outside the squeak of an unoiled iron gate, she again glanced at the window, in time to see a cloaked and hooded figure emerging from the gate that led down to the servants’ basement. The figure gave one quick, backward glance before stepping hurriedly into the street and turning in the direction of Sydney Place.
Henrietta stood stock still in amazement. It was Louisa.
Where on earth could she be going at this time of day on foot, and why had she made no mention of her errand? Obviously she was leaving the house by the servants’ exit and keeping closely wrapped to escape recognition.
As these thoughts raced through Henrietta’s mind, she was seized by a strong feeling of uneasiness. Louisa’s behaviour had been altogether so odd over the past few hours that perhaps she ought not to be allowed to venture out of doors alone. With some thought of stopping her, Henrietta hurried from the parlour. No servants were about in the hall, so she quietly let herself out of the front door and started in pursuit.
The lamplighter had not yet reached that part of the street, and consequently a friendly gloom shielded her from inquisitive onlookers who might otherwise have wondered at seeing a lady without either cloak or bonnet rushing in such an unseemly way down Pulteney Street.
Henrietta walked briskly. Turning into Sydney Place, she hesitated and looked anxiously about for any sign of Louisa. At last she espied the cloaked figure close by the Sydney Gardens.
She was on the point of moving forward to cross the road in pursuit, when her progress was arrested by the sight of a second figure moving out of the shadows to join her friend. She gave a gasp of dismay. In spite of the fast-gathering darkness, Henrietta could tell at once that the second person was a man.
Uncertain what to do, she shrank back against the railings of the nearest house and watched the pair move into the shadow of the trees overhanging the gardens. They seemed to be talking earnestly together, oblivious of their surroundings.
Recovering herself, Henrietta decided that this was no place for her to remain. Although such had not been her intention, she was now in the invidious situation of spying on her friend. She retraced her steps with the same haste as before and was soon knocking at the door of the house. The footman who admitted her may have been surprised at her appearance, but he was too well trained to show it, and Henrietta’s perplexed state of mind did not allow her to feel self-conscious.
She returned to the parlour, where the candles were now lit and the blinds drawn, but she was in no mood for finishing her letter. Instead, she sat staring into space, trying to make sense of what had occurred. Louisa’s reason for leaving the house so mysteriously was now plain. She had been keeping a clandestine meeting with a man. But why should she do so when she was at liberty to meet anyone she chose quite openly? And who was this mysterious man?
Chapter XV
On the following morning the weather was sufficiently improved for the two ladies to walk to the Pump Room. Captain Barclay, whose ever vigilant eye had been watching for their departure from the house, escorted them. Louisa seemed her usual carefree self, delighting the captain with her lively conversation on the way. Once at their destination, they soon found themselves surrounded by friends and acquaintances. Henrietta fell into conversation with Olivia Hinton-Wellow, whom she was beginning to like very much. She was not best pleased when presently the lady’s husband bore down upon them, greeting her with one of his extravagant compliments, but she brightened a little on seeing that he was accompanied by Mr. Colby. Hinton-Wellow drew Colby forward to introduce him to the ladies and seemed surprised that he was already known to Henrietta.
“Been stealin’ a march on us, eh, my dear fellow? And who can blame you for losin’ no time in making the acquaintance of one of Bath’s fairest flowers?”
He kissed his fingers to Henrietta. She achieved a strained smile in reply, and wondered why it was that she found Hinton-Wellow’s compliments so objectionable, when only yesterday she had been listening with complacency to very much the same kind of nonsense from Mr. Colby. She had no time to develop these thoughts, however, for with considerable address, Colby succeeded in separating her from the others.
“I trust you’ve suffered no ill effects from yesterday’s exposure to the elements, ma’am,” he said with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “But there, need I ask? Flowers are always the fairer for a drop of rain.”
She pursed up her lips in disgust. “Oh, pray don’t repeat such tedious nonsense, sir! Why will so many gentlemen suppose that females enjoy being subjected to fulsome flattery?”
“Because most of them do,” he returned promptly. “But am I to understand that you completely despise the gentle arts by which men seek to recommend themselves to members of your sex?”
“Yes — n
o,” she answered, then started to laugh. “Oh, I lost my sense of humour for a moment. Pray forgive me! I suppose I appreciate a compliment as well as the next female, if it is sincere. But that kind of — of patronising flattery in some way makes me feel insulted. I don’t wish to be looked upon as a pretty plaything!”
“Oh, dear,” he said with a rueful smile. “Then I fear that I must have offended you deeply yesterday.”
“No such thing, for I knew you were only funning.”
“Not even sincere,” he answered with mock humility. “Lud, ma’am, can I ever retrieve my position? Only tell me if there is a way!”
“By not talking nonsense,” she said severely.
“I promise it from this moment forward, ma’am. And as a token of your forgiveness, will you not permit me to drive you out tomorrow? I am told that there is a particularly fine view of the city from Beechen Cliff, a verdant hill that you must have noticed in the distance when walking about the town. As newcomers, it is our bounden duty to inspect all such places of beauty, so that we may give pleasure to the residents by praising their surroundings.”
He said this with such a comical air of seriousness that Henrietta was obliged to laugh again.
“You consider it should be an object with us to give pleasure to the residents?”
“Oh, undoubtedly. Their pride in the town would be deeply mortified, else.” He struck an attitude. “We drove to Beechen Cliff yesterday, upon my soul, I never saw a more beautiful spot, never looked at a more extensive view, never passed a more delightful hour, etc. etc. etc. All this is balm to a patriotic spirit, and cannot help but result in cordial invitations to dine out or take tea, according to the generosity of the hearer.”
“What a complete hand you are, Mr. Colby!” she chuckled. “And you call this sense!”
“Well, my invitation — no, supplication — to you was sense, at all events. Now, pray say you’ll honour me, Miss Melville, by accepting.”
A Conformable Wife: A Regency Romance with a spirited heroine Page 14
