The Nonesuch

by Georgette Heyer

  ‘Very unlikely,’ he agreed. ‘Still more unlikely that he would have disgorged a penny of it for Tiffany’s benefit. I’ll say this for Laurie: he had her measure from the outset.’

  ‘Indeed? It would be interesting to know, then, why he has been so assiduous in his attentions to her!’

  He smiled. ‘Oh, that was to detach her from Julian! He came after the fair, but it was quite a good notion.’

  ‘Your own, in fact!’ she said, somewhat tartly. ‘I find it very hard to believe that Mr Calver takes the smallest interest in Lord Lindeth’s happiness.’

  ‘Oh, he doesn’t! He knows, however, that I do; and unless I’m much mistaken his scheme was to win my gratitude. Poor Laurie! It was some time before he realized that his labour was thrown away. Still, it kept him occupied, and did neither of them any harm.’

  ‘I think it utterly unscrupulous!’ said Miss Trent indignantly. ‘It would have done a great deal of harm if Tiffany had fallen in love with him!’

  ‘On the contrary, it might have done a great deal of good. It’s high time that young woman suffered a shake-up. To own the truth, I rather hoped she might develop just enough tendre for him to enable her to bear more easily the shock of finding that Lindeth had offered for Miss Chartley. Not for her sake, but for yours. I can readily imagine what you will be made to suffer, my poor girl!’

  She disregarded this, but asked eagerly: ‘Has he done so? Oh, I am so glad! I hope you don’t dislike it, Sir Waldo?’

  ‘Not at all. An unexceptionable girl, and will make him an admirable wife, I daresay.’

  ‘I think that too. She has as little worldly ambition as he, and quite as sweet a disposition. But his mother? Will she like it?’

  ‘No, not immediately, but she’ll come round to it. She has all the worldly ambition Julian lacks, and has lately been doing her utmost to interest him in various diamonds of the first water. However, I fancy she has begun to realize that it’s useless to try to bring him into fashion. In any event, she is by far too fond a parent to cast the least rub in the way of his happiness. Julian informs me, moreover, that Mrs Chartley is related to one of my aunt’s oldest friends. His description of this lady – unknown to me, I’m thankful to say! – wouldn’t lead one to suppose that my aunt would regard the relationship as an advantage, but he seems to think it will. As far as I remember, he said she was a regular fusty mug – but I daresay he exaggerated!’

  A ripple of laughter broke from her. ‘What a boy he is! Tell me, if you please: when did this event take place, sir?’

  ‘This morning. I had the news from him barely half-an-hour before I received Laurie’s message.’

  ‘Then I know why Tiffany ran away,’ said Miss Trent, with a despairing sigh. ‘She was at the Rectory this morning, and they must have told her. You may say she’s abominable – and, of course, very often she is! – but one can’t but pity her, poor child! So spoiled as she has been all her life, so pretty, and so much petted and admired – ! Can’t you understand what it must have meant to her, coming, as it did, after the ball last night?’

  He glanced down at her. ‘The ball last night? What happened to overset her then?’

  ‘Good God, surely you must have noticed?’ she exclaimed. ‘All those foolish boys who have been dangling after her ever since I brought her to Staples clustered round Miss Chartley – almost showed Tiffany the cold shoulder!’

  ‘No, I didn’t notice,’ he answered. ‘I was in the card-room, you know. But I can readily understand her feelings upon being shown a cold shoulder: I was shown one myself, and I assure you I am filled with compassion.’ Again he glanced down at her, his smile a little wry. ‘That, Miss Trent, is why I sought refuge in the card-room.’

  Twenty

  She turned away her face, aware of her rising colour. He said reflectively: ‘I can’t recall that I was ever so blue-devilled before.’

  She knew that it was unwise to answer him, but she was stung into saying: ‘That, Sir Waldo, is – as you would say yourself – doing it rather too brown! You do not appear to me to be suffering from any want of spirits!’

  He laughed. ‘Oh, no! Not since it occurred to me that you were blue-devilled too!’

  ‘To be thrown into a ditch is enough to blue-devil anyone!’ she retorted.

  ‘What, twice ?’ he exclaimed. ‘I had no notion that such an accident had befallen you on the way to the ball !’

  ‘It didn’t. Last night,’ she said carefully, ‘I was not feeling at all the thing. I had the headache.’

  ‘Again?’ he said, in a voice of deep concern. ‘My dear Miss Trent, I’m persuaded you should consult a physician about these recurrent headaches of yours!’

  She did her best to stifle it, but he caught the sound of the tiny choke of laughter in her throat, and said appreciatively: ‘Do you know, I think that of all your idiosyncrasies that choke you give, when you are determined not to laugh, is the one that most enchants me. I wish you will do it again!’

  Only the recollection that he must of necessity be expert in the art of seduction prevented her from complying with this request. Appalled to discover that in despite of upbringing and principles her every fibre was responsive to the Nonesuch’s wicked charm, she said, apparently addressing the ears of his leaders: ‘Sir Waldo, circumstance compelled me to accept a seat in your carriage. When I consented to go with you to Leeds, I trusted that chivalry – a sense of propriety – would prohibit you from entering again upon this subject.’

  ‘Did you?’ he said sympathetically. ‘Only to find your trust misplaced! Well, that is a great deal too bad, and one must naturally shrink from shattering illusions. At the same time – where did you pick up such a ridiculous notion?’

  The Reverend William Trent, whose mind was of a serious order, had several times warned his elder sister that too lively a sense of humour frequently led to laxity of principle. She now perceived how right he was; and wondered, in dismay, whether it was because he invariably made her laugh that instead of regarding the Nonesuch with revulsion she was obliged to struggle against the impulse to cast every scruple to the winds, and to give her life into his keeping.

  ‘What is it that troubles you, my heart?’ he asked gently, after a short pause.

  The change of tone almost overset her, but she managed to say, though faintly: ‘Nothing!’

  ‘No, don’t say that. What did I do to bring about this alteration in your sentiments? I’ve racked my brain to discover the answer – searched my memory too, but quite in vain. God knows I’m no saint, but I don’t think I’m more of a sinner than any other man. Tell me!’

  She realized from these words that they must be poles apart. She thought it would be useless to enter upon any discussion, even if she could have brought herself to broach a subject of such delicacy. She said, with as much composure as she could command: ‘Sir Waldo, pray leave this! I don’t wish to be married.’

  ‘Why not?’

  She ought to have guessed, of course, that he would disconcert her. Casting wildly in her mind for an excuse, she produced, after a betraying pause: ‘I am an educationist. No doubt it seems strange to you that I should prefer to pursue that profession, but – but so it is!’

  ‘My dear girl, so you might, with my goodwill!’

  ‘You would hardly wish your wife to be employed as a teacher in a school!’

  ‘No, certainly not, but if superintending the education of the young is your ambition I can provide you with plenty of material on which to exercise your talents,’ he said cheerfully.

  For a moment she could hardly believe her ears. She turned her head to stare at him; and then, as she saw the familiar glint in his eyes, wrath at his audacity surged up in her, and she gasped: ‘How dare you?’

  The words were no sooner uttered than she regretted them; but she had at least the satisfaction of seeing
the glint vanish from his eyes. It was succeeded by a look of astonishment. Sir Waldo pulled up his team. ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said blankly.

  Furiously blushing, she said: ‘I should not have said it. I didn’t intend – Pray forget it, sir!’

  ‘Forget it! How could I possibly do so? What the devil did I say to make you rip up at me? You don’t even know what I was talking about, for I haven’t yet told you my dark secret! Do you remember that I promised I would do so?’

  ‘I do remember,’ she replied, in a stifled voice. ‘You said that you would make a clean breast of it, but it is unnecessary. I know what your – your dark secret is, Sir Waldo.’

  ‘Do you indeed? Which of my cousins took it upon himself to enlighten you?’ he asked grimly. ‘Laurie?’

  ‘No, no! He has never mentioned it to me, I promise you! Don’t ask me more!’

  ‘I need not. Julian, of course! I might have known it! If ever there was a prattle-box – ! But I can’t for the life of me understand why –’

  She broke in rather desperately on this. ‘Oh, pray – ! He asked me particularly not to tell you! It was very wrong of me to have said what I did. He thought I knew – he meant no harm! I don’t think he dreamed that I should not look upon it as – as lightly as he does himself – as you do! You told me that you believed I had too liberal a mind to disapprove. You meant it as a compliment, but you were mistaken: my mind is not so liberal. I am aware that in certain circles – the circles to which you belong – such things are scarcely regarded. It is otherwise in my circle. And my family – oh, you would not understand, but you must believe that I could not marry a man whose – whose way of life fills me with repugnance!’

  He had listened to the first part of this speech in frowning bewilderment, but by the time she reached the end of it the frown had cleared, and a look of intense amusement had taken its place. ‘So that’s it!’ he said, a quiver of laughter in his voice. He set his team in motion again. ‘I’ll wring Julian’s neck for this! Of all the leaky, chuckleheaded rattles – ! Just what did he tell you?’

  ‘Indeed, he said nothing more than you told me yourself !’ she said earnestly. ‘Only that people would be bound to disapprove of the use to which you mean to put Broom Hall! He said nothing in your dispraise, I do assure you! In fact, he said that although one of your cousins thinks it not at all the thing to – to house children of that sort in a respectable neighbourhood –’

  ‘George,’ interpolated Sir Waldo. ‘Are you sure he didn’t refer to them as Waldo’s wretched brats ?’

  ‘I believe he did,’ she replied stiffly.

  ‘You shouldn’t tamper with the text. Go on!’

  She eyed his profile with hostility. ‘There is nothing more to say. I wished merely to make it plain to you that Lord Lindeth spoke of you with as much admiration as affection.’

  ‘I daresay. Heaven preserve me from affectionate and admiring relations! Laurie couldn’t have served me a worse turn! So you won’t help me to set up schools for my wretched brats, Miss Trent?’

  ‘Schools? ’ she repeated, startled.

  ‘In course of time. Oh, don’t look so alarmed! Only one at the moment! Those of my brats who are established in Surrey are already provided for.’

  Dazed, she demanded: ‘How many children have you?’

  ‘I’m not perfectly sure. I think they numbered fifty when I left London, but there’s no saying that there may not be one or two more by now.’

  ‘Fifty? ’

  ‘That’s all. I expect shortly to double the number, however,’ he said affably.

  Her eyes kindled. ‘I collect that you think it a joking matter, Sir Waldo! I do not!’

  ‘I don’t think it anything of the sort. It is, in fact, one of the few matters which I take seriously.’

  ‘But you cannot possibly have fif –’ She broke off abruptly, her eyes widening. ‘Schools – wretched brats – carrying eccentricity too far – and only the Rector knew – ! Oh, what a fool I’ve been!’ she cried, between laughter and tears. ‘And Lindeth said, when we took that child to the infirmary, that you were the man we wanted in such a situation! But how could I guess that you were interested in orphans ?’

  ‘Easier to think that I was a loose-screw, was it?’ said Sir Waldo, who had once more halted his team. ‘Let me tell you, my girl, that I’m swallowing no more of your insults! And if I hear another word from you in disparagement of the Corinthian set it will be very much the worse for you!’

  Since he palliated this severity by putting his arm round her she was undismayed. Overwhelming relief making her forgetful of the proprieties, she subsided thankfully into his embrace, clutching a fold of his driving-coat, and saying into his shoulder: ‘Oh, no, you never will! But I didn’t find it easy to believe! Only people said such things – and you talked of making a clean breast of it – and then Lindeth! Don’t scold me! If you knew how unhappy I’ve been – !’

  ‘I do know. But what you don’t know is that if you don’t take your face out of my coat, and look at me, you will be still more unhappy!’

  She gave a watery chuckle, and raised her head. The Nonesuch, his arm tightening round her, kissed her. The phaeton jerked forward, and back again, as Sir Waldo, who had transferred the reins to his whip-hand, brought his restive wheelers under control. Miss Trent, emerging somewhat breathlessly from his embrace, said, in shaken accents: ‘For goodness’ sake, take care! If I’m thrown into a ditch a second time I’ll never forgive you!’

  ‘You must teach me sometime how to handle my cattle,’ he said. ‘I imagine your lessons – Miss Educationist! – will bear a close resemblance to Laurie’s efforts to instruct Tiffany.’

  ‘Good God! Tiffany!’ she exclaimed. ‘I had quite forgotten her! Waldo, this is no time for dalliance – and it isn’t the place, either! What William would say if he knew – ! You are an atrocious person! Since the day I met you I have become steadily more depraved. No, no, don’t! We must make haste to Leeds: you know we must! There’s no saying what Tiffany may do, if she becomes impatient.’

  ‘To be honest with you,’ said Sir Waldo, ‘I have very little interest in what she may do.’

  ‘No, but I cannot cast her off so lightly. She was left to my guardianship, and if anything were to happen to her how dreadfully to blame I should be!’

  ‘Yes, the sooner you’re rid of her the better. Is this fast enough for you, or do you wish me to spring ’em?’

  ‘Oh, no! Not that I would venture to dictate to you, dear sir! Tell me about your orphanage! Lindeth said that you squandered a fortune on your wretched brats, and, indeed, I should think you must, if you mean to support a hundred of them. Is it for infants?’

  ‘No, I don’t encroach on the Foundling Hospitals. Nor do I squander a fortune on my brats. Broom Hall, for instance, will be largely self-supporting; subsisting on rents, you know.’

  She smiled. ‘Don’t think me impertinent! – But I am not wholly devoid of intelligence! What will it cost you to bring that estate into order?’

  ‘No more than I can well afford!’ he retorted. ‘Are you fearful of finding yourself in ebb-water if you marry me? You won’t! Lindeth misled you: only half my fortune is devoted to my favourite charity! My aunt Lindeth will inform you that the whole is indecent – if she doesn’t describe it in rather stronger terms, which, in moments of stress, she is prone to do.’

  ‘My mind now being relieved of care, I wish you will tell me what prompted you to found an orphanage?’

  He said reflectively: ‘I don’t know. Tradition, and upbringing, I suppose. My father, and my grandfather before him, were both considerable philanthropists; and my mother was used to be very friendly with Lady Spencer – the one that died a couple of years ago, and was mad after educating the poor. So you may say that I grew up amongst charities! This was one that seemed to me more
worth the doing than any other: collecting as many of the homeless waifs you may find in any city as I could, and rearing them to become respectable citizens. My cousin, George Wingham, swears they will all turn into hedge-birds, and, of course, we’ve had our failures, but not many. The important thing is to enter them to the right trades – and to take care they’re not bound to bad masters.’ He stopped, and said, laughing: ‘What induced you to mount me on my pet hobby-horse? We have matters of more immediate importance to discuss than my wretched brats, my little educationist! – my mother, by the way, will welcome you with open arms, and will very likely egg you on to bully me into starting an asylum for female orphans: she’s got about a dozen of ’em already, down at Manifold. How soon may you leave Staples? I warn you, I don’t mean to wait on Mrs Underhill’s convenience, so if you’ve any notion of remaining there until Tiffany goes back to London –’

  ‘I haven’t!’ she interrupted. ‘Nor, I assure you, would Mrs Underhill ask it of me!’

  ‘I’m happy to hear it. The devil of it is that I must leave with Julian, on Monday: I told the boy I would support his cause with my aunt, and I think I must. I should have wished to have postponed my departure until I could have escorted you to Derbyshire, but as things have fallen out I shall be obliged to leave you here until Julian’s affairs are settled, and one or two other matters as well. I’ll return as soon as I can, but –’

  ‘I had as lief you did not,’ she said. ‘And liefer by far that we should tell no one at Oversett, except Mrs Underhill (whom I hope to heaven I can pledge to secrecy!), of our intentions. Think me foolish if you will, but I don’t feel I could bear it! It will be so very much disliked, you know, and – well, I need not tell you what things will be said by certain ladies of our acquaintance! Then there is Tiffany. Waldo, she mustn’t know until she has recovered a little from Lindeth’s engagement! It would be too cruel – when you encouraged the poor child by flirting with her! Besides, I shudder to think of what life at Staples would be if she knew that you had preferred me to her! We should all of us be driven distracted. I must give Mrs Underhill time to fill my post – don’t ask me to leave her in the lurch, for I couldn’t do it: I have had nothing but kindness from her, remember! But as soon as she has done so I’ll go home to Derbyshire, and we may meet there. Oh, how much I long to make you known to Mama and William! But as for escorts – ! My dear, how can you be so absurd as to suppose that at my age I should need one? The journey will be nothing – no more than fifty miles! I have only to go by the stage to Mansfield, and from there –’