“But, Katie,” began Oliver Seaton, hesitantly, “do you think we should —”
His glance fell on Crendon, who was eyeing him curiously, and he said no more, but reached up his hand to Catherine to help her dismount from the curricle. In this he managed to forestall the Captain, who had been about to jump down, but who now resumed his seat with a faintly disgruntled air.
“As you are neighbours,” he said, as he once more took up the reins, “I imagine Mrs. Hailsham can have no possible objection to my leaving you in Mr. Seaton’s care for a short time.” He nodded casually. “I will return here for you in a quarter hour, then.”
He wheeled, and disappeared down the lane in a cloud of dust. Catherine looked after him and laughed.
“I do believe he was put out at my wanting to speak with you! How absurd!”
“Who is the fellow?” asked Oliver, forgetting his new role and falling into the old childhood one of playmate and protector. “Is he a particular friend of yours, Katie?”
“He’s one of John’s officers. Why, no, not to say particular — I only met him a few days since.”
“Then I wonder that Fanny permits you to go gallivanting round the countryside with him,” he said, sternly.
“Oh, fiddle! Fanny says it’s quite proper, so there’s no need for you to concern yourself with that.”
“I forgot,” he replied, contritely. “I have been used in the past to advise and in some sort control all you girls, for you have no brother, and we were thrown a great deal together. But all that is changed, now, of course; you are all grown up, and I haven’t the smallest right —”
“Oh, stuff and nonsense!” exclaimed Catherine, with more emphasis than elegance. “Don’t be so — so confoundedly humble, Oliver! It quite sickens me, when I think what an autocrat you used to be when we were in the nursery!”
“Humility is —”
“I know, yes,” she cut in, impatiently. “You are about to inform me that it is a Christian virtue. Only pray do not, Oliver, or I shall scream! I’m not sure, you know,” she added, reflectively, “that I could ever marry a clergyman.”
He grinned. “Well, if it’s any consolation to you, I may say that I’m quite sure you should not do so. The good ladies of the parish might find you a little disconcerting, to say the least. But I’m sure you didn’t want to talk to me about that. Didn’t you say there was something urgent?”
“Well, yes, naturally I said that, for Captain Crendon’s benefit. Actually, I thought you might wish to talk to me — to ask me how Louisa did, I mean.”
A change came over his face. “You are quite right; the moment I saw you, I wanted to ask after her, even though I know very well I should not.”
“I don’t see why not,” remarked Catherine, puzzled.
“After the promise we made to your parents? A promise which” — he sighed heavily — “has already been broken once.”
“Oh, what rubbish you do talk, Oliver!” she exclaimed, in disgust. “Accidental meetings are bound to occur — and, anyway, you didn’t promise never to speak to me, or Nell, or any of the rest of us!”
“You could say so; and yet if I use meetings with the rest of you to glean news of” — his voice faltered for a moment — “of Louisa, I am not keeping the spirit of my promise.”
“Oh, well, if you’re determined to be so noble, I have nothing to say to you!” replied Catherine, in a huff. “Lou told us that you’d said she was to do her best to forget you. She was making wretched enough work of it at first, but I may as well tell you that she made some headway yesterday evening, at the Grand Rose Ball!”
She was sorry the moment she had said it. A change came at once over Oliver’s face; it was as though the sun had suddenly been overcast with heavy cloud.
“What do you mean?” he asked, in a strangled voice.
“Oh, nothing! I — I was being spiteful, I suppose,” she answered with reluctant honesty. “You do so vex me when you persist in being high-minded all the time.”
“That I perfectly understand — it was always so when we were children. But there was something in what you said — some underlying truth — I know; it was not simply retaliation.”
Catherine shrugged. “Oh, nothing but that Lou danced with somebody else for the first time in I don’t know how many months. And why should she not? We have all been nagging at her to come out of the vapours and try to enjoy herself a little.”
“May I ask who was the man?” he said, quietly.
“Oh — Viscount Pamyngton. It was only civil, you know,” she added, hastily, “that he should ask us to dance, for Lady Nevern and Mama are such old friends. He danced with Fanny, too, later on; and he asked me, though I was not disengaged at the time.”
He was silent for a moment. Catherine watched him uneasily.
“Pamyngton,” he said at last, heavily. “Yes, I know that your parents have long desired a match with him for one of you girls.”
“Now, pray don’t be jumping to conclusions, Oliver! As a matter of fact, Lord Pamyngton has been paying attentions to me, not to Lou — that is, as far as he can be truly said to have paid anyone serious attentions at all. He is merely amusing himself.”
She saw at once that this was quite the wrong thing to have said. A deep frown darkened Oliver’s face.
“Amusing himself, is he?” he said, grimly. “We’ll see about that! If another man — one more eligible in a worldly sense than I — were to find favour in Louisa’s eyes, then perforce I must give up all thought of her. But only if that man can offer her a true, steadfast devotion such as I — poor wretch that I am — feel for her! If any man seeks to amuse” — his voice trembled with anger — “amuse himself with a girl who is as far above — but never mind about that! Depend on it, he will have me to reckon with!”
Catherine clapped her hands. “Oh, bravo, Oliver! How I love you when you are unchristian!”
He gave a reluctant smile. “At times you’re a minx, young woman.”
“So Fanny says. But one cannot be serious all the time.”
“No, and we all realize the good qualities that underlie that frivolous exterior of yours.”
“Well, I’m glad you think so, at any rate, though I’m far from certain of it myself. But no matter. Would you like me to take some message to Lou?”
He shook his head. “I must not do that, sorely as I am tempted. And I think it will be better, Katie, if you say nothing of this meeting today. The only thing is —”
He broke off, frowning.
“Yes, what?” she prompted him, impatiently. “We haven’t very long now, Oliver. Captain Crendon will soon be back, and I mustn’t keep him waiting.”
He pulled out his watch and stared at it, still frowning. “Yes, you are right. There’s only one thing, Katie; one service you could render me, if you would.”
“Anything, of course. Just say what it is.”
“I would like further news of how this man Pamyngton conducts himself towards Louisa. Do you suppose that you and I could meet again from time to time?”
“But where?” she asked, helplessly. “You can’t come to West Street, and I can’t come here very often. By the way, Oliver, what are you doing here in the first place? I forgot to ask you that.”
“I have a post as tutor here at the Vicarage,” he explained, briefly. “I took it thinking to set a distance between Louisa and myself — you see with what result. But as to where we can meet, now —”
He paused to consider this point, while Catherine waited, now and then glancing along the road to see if there was any sign of Crendon’s curricle. At last Oliver Seaton seemed to arrive at a decision.
“I cannot come to you in Brighton, for any meeting place there would be too public. The only thing, then, is for you to come here to me. It’s a quiet place, and we’re unlikely to be observed by anyone who knows us. I will hire a hackney and give the jarvey instructions to pick you up somewhere not too far from your sister’s house — say outside the
Ship Inn, on the sea front. But how to decide a day and hour that will be convenient for us both? I must confess that puzzles me. The best time for me is the evening, for then I am free from my duties; but I dare say that is the busiest time of day for you, in the bustle of a Brighton season.”
“Oh, I dare say I could contrive something, if you are set on it. But I assure you, Oliver, there is no need. Lord Pamyngton does not show any undue interest in Lou, nor she in him. There’s nothing but civility between them, upon my word. I was but talking foolishly — you know very well how it is with me when you put my back up!”
“Indeed I do, Katie, but I cannot feel entirely easy now that you’ve put the notion into my head. I know it’s asking a great deal of you, and perhaps it is wrong of me to persuade you to a course of what is, after all, deception —”
“Oh, if you’re to moralize again, I have done!” exclaimed Catherine, in disgust. “For my part, I think it would be a splendid lark! Yes, I will meet you, by all means, but do not send for me, for how will you know if I can manage to come? It would be best, perhaps, for you to be here at a fixed time — say between eight and nine o’clock in the evening — and for me to come if I am able. I can take a hackney myself from the stand in North Street, which is only a step from Fanny’s. And if I don’t arrive by nine o’clock, you will know I couldn’t get away. How will that be? Now, how often will you want me to come? And don’t say every day, for that would be impossible, besides being a great waste of time!”
They had just settled to try and meet on that day week, when the sound of carriage wheels and hoofs invaded their peace, and the curricle drew up beside the village green.
Chapter Eleven
DITCHED
“I trust you enjoyed your little chat,” remarked Crendon, with studied politeness, as he turned the curricle homewards.
“Well, yes — that is to say, I was glad to have an opportunity of talking to Oliver. It was very good of you to wait for me. I do hope you did not find it too much of a bore.”
“Not at all,” he replied, in a sarcastic tone. “I am never bored when I drive out with a pretty woman, even if she does leave me for another beau.”
She laughed. “Oliver’s no beau of mine, Captain Crendon.”
“What, did you use the time to quarrel with him? What a waste of an opportunity!”
“No, I assure you,” she protested. “Oliver Seaton means nothing to me, nor I to him. He’s in love with my sister Louisa, on the contrary; but my parents won’t consent to their marriage.”
“Is the fellow a rake, or something?” he asked, carelessly.
“Good gracious! Oliver! Why, he’s a clergyman!”
“What has that to say to anything?”
She regarded him uncertainly for a moment, then gave a reluctant laugh. “I suppose you’re in jest again. No, you see the trouble is that Oliver has only a small income and no expectations that one knows of so my parents think him unsuitable as a husband, while liking and respecting him as a man.”
“What about your sister? Has she not some means on which they could live?”
“Oh, yes,” replied Catherine, surprised. “She is well provided for, as, indeed, we all are. But you see, that only makes things worse from Oliver’s point of view.”
“How so? If she has money enough for both they may wed without your parents’ blessing. That is, unless they have the power to cut your sister off from her fortune.”
Catherine shook her head. “No. It is arranged so that our fortune goes with us when we marry. But that isn’t the point — Oliver’s not the man to live on his wife’s money. Unless he was in possession of an income which matched hers, he would feel that he was nothing better than a fortune-hunter.”
“What’s so wrong with that? Fortune-hunting without love may be a reprehensible thing, perhaps; but where there exists an equal amount of affection between the two parties, what matters it which has the money?”
“You can’t truly think so,” Catherine protested. “Everyone despises a fortune-hunter — that much you must acknowledge.”
“Devil a bit,” he replied, with a laugh. “Those who chance to be on the lookout for a means of repairing their own pockets will never despise a successful fortune-hunter. On the contrary, they envy him for having brought off what they would give quite a few years of their life-span to achieve.”
“I must tell you, Captain Crendon,” she said, in a distant tone, “that you have some very odd notions of which I don’t altogether approve.”
“What you mean, my dear Miss Catherine, is that I never scruple to say outright what most people are at pains to conceal. But let us leave the subject, since evidently we can’t agree. You shall think your Mr. Seaton a paragon, and I will continue to consider him a slow-top. How will that do?”
She relaxed into a smile. “Oh, well I must confess that I did have something the same notion of him, though not for the same reasons. But I see now I was wrong — he has not completely abandoned all hope of winning my sister. We have engaged in a little conspiracy, he and I.” She assumed an air of mystery.
“I ought not to ask you about it, I know,” he said, sarcastically, “but you are so evidently longing to tell me, that I see no point in further subterfuge. Pray do unburden yourself, Miss Catherine, and I vow to be as silent as the proverbial grave.”
“How horridly you do put things!” she exclaimed, pouting. “Just for that, I shall not tell you.”
“As you please,” he replied, indifferently.
There was a piqued silence on her part that lasted several minutes. But he had not been wrong in thinking that she was bursting to confide her secret. Presently she looked at him out of the corner of her eye and said provocatively, “We have arranged to meet secretly in Rottingdean from time to time, so that I may tell him how Louisa goes on.”
“Have you now? But wouldn’t it be simpler for the fellow to ride over to Brighton and see for himself?”
“He can’t do that. You must know that he promised Mama and Papa that he wouldn’t try to see Lou again.”
“Very noble,” he commented, with a sneer.
“Yes, it is!” flared Catherine. “Because he loves her to distraction, which is something you could never understand, I am sure!”
“Don’t be so certain.” He turned an intense look on her which caused a slight flutter of her pulse. “But how do you propose to get to Rottingdean without your family knowing?”
“Oh, I shall think of some excuse, then creep out and take a hackney carriage.”
“To arrive at your destination covered in wisps of straw and battered half to death by a ride on broken springs?” he asked, amused. “Come, you can do better than that. I will engage to convey you there myself.”
“No, would you really?” exclaimed Catherine, eagerly. “How very kind of you! I am to go today week, between eight and nine o’clock in the evening. Could you manage that, do you think, sir? I must not put you to any inconvenience, though,” she added, suddenly remembering her manners.
“Have no fear; I’m not the man to put myself out unless I’ve a mind to do so. Yes, I think it can be arranged — we’ll speak of it again, nearer the time.”
Catherine began a delighted and slightly incoherent speech of thanks; then broke off to ask where they were going, as Crendon had that moment turned the curricle inland from the coast road.
“We have time and to spare, so I intend to take an inland route back, for a change,” he explained.
“As long as we aren’t back any later than one o’clock,” said Catherine, dubiously. “I mustn’t put Fanny in a taking, you know, or she may not agree to my driving out with you again, and then where would our little scheme be?”
“Be easy; the horses have plenty of go in ’em yet,” he scoffed. “Hold tight, and I’ll show you their paces!”
He dropped his hands, and the curricle shot forward so suddenly that Catherine was hard put to it to keep her seat. She gasped as the hedges flew past. The lane wa
s both narrow and rough, and the curricle rocked from side to side as it jolted over potholes and huge, jagged stones, throwing up a thick cloud of dust as it went.
“Oh, stop, stop!” she gasped, clinging on to the side of the vehicle.
He laughed aloud. “Never say you’re scared!”
She darted a frightened glance at his face. It wore a look of exhilaration, and his eyes glittered almost as though, Catherine thought, he was wine-taken. It crossed her mind that he might have passed the time at an inn while he was waiting for her. The thought did nothing to reassure her.
“Ye-es, I — I — am!” she managed to gasp, physical vibration combining with fright to make her stutter. “Pray do — do — stop — please —”
Her words were cut off abruptly, and the next moment she was hurled forward so that she almost fell from the carriage. Her hold on the side saved her, however, though the jerk hurt her wrists. For a moment, she felt in a daze.
Presently, she became conscious that the curricle had stopped and her companion was swearing aloud at some length, without once repeating himself. She slid back into her seat, exhausted, and realized that the vehicle had developed a dangerous list. She moistened her lips, and asked in a trembling voice what had happened.
“Damned near wrenched off a wheel and ditched into the bargain, that’s what happened, God damme!” he growled. “Hold tight, will you; I’m getting down.”
He sprang from the lop-sided vehicle, and made a brief inspection before going to the heads of the fidgeting horses.
“Devil a thing I can do with that,” he said, scowling. “Needs a blacksmith, and the nearest’s a good three miles off. Hope you’re fond of walking.”
“But — but —” stammered Catherine, not yet fully recovered, “— how far are we from home?”
“A little matter of four or five miles, ma’am,” he replied, acidly.
A Season at Brighton Page 9
