“No—but I have frequently observed that gentlemen who are addicted to sporting pursuits are prone to despise those whose interests are quite different.” She added quickly: “It is very understandable, I daresay!”
“I should rather call it intolerably conceited,” he replied. He regarded her quizzically. “Furthermore, ma’am, I have a notion that it is you who despises those of uswho are addicted to sport?”
“That’s to say I’m intolerably conceited,” she countered, smiling. “I am afraid I deserved it!”
They were interrupted by the Rector, who came up with Charlotte at that moment. He suggested that Sir Waldo should return to the house with them, but this was declined. Sir Waldo took his leave of the ladies, and went off with the Rector towards the stables.
Charlotte was plainly bursting to discuss the unexpected encounter, but Ancilla checked her, begging her to reserve her remarks until they should be out of earshot of her very penetrating voice. She was obedient, and listened docilely enough to a warning against any indiscreet utterance; but Ancilla knew her too well to place much reliance on her assurance that she would mind her tongue. As soon as she became excited, she would blurt out whatever thought came into her head, infallibly incurring Mrs Chartley’s deep, if unexpressed, disapproval. Mrs Chartley was a kindly woman, but her sense of propriety was strict. It was with relief that Ancilla saw her charge carried off by her friend and contemporary, Miss Jane Chartley, who came running down the stairs as soon as they had entered the house. No doubt the Rectory schoolroom would be regaled with Charlotte’s opinion of the Nonesuch, but at least her governess would not be put to the blush by her forthright speech and far from retiring manners.
In the event, when she was ushered into the parlour, Ancilla found Patience alone. She was busy with some white work, hemming a seam with the tiniest of stitches, but she gladly laid it aside when she saw Ancilla. She was quite as eager to discuss the Nonesuch as Charlotte, but being a very well brought-up girl she was much less precipitate, and spent as much as five minutes talking on indifferent topics before saying: “I must tell you that we have had such an interesting visitor this morning, Miss Trent. Papa took him to see the Church: I wonder, did you meet him there?”
“Sir Waldo? Yes, we did. Indeed, we walked back together, all four of us, and parted at the gate. Your papa went off with him then to the stables.”
“Oh, yes! He rode over to call on Papa, and then Papa brought him in to introduce him to Mama and me, and he was with us for quite half-an-hour. What did you think of him? Were you surprised? I own, I was—and Mama too, I think! All the gentlemen have been talking so much about his being such an out-and-out Corinthian that I had pictured something quite different—though I’ve never seen a Corinthian, of course. You have, I expect: is that what they are really like? Do you think he is one?”
“There can be no doubt he is: a very famous one! As for whether all Corinthians are like him, I can’t tell, for I was never acquainted with one.”
Patience said shyly: “I fancy you don’t care for that set, and I must say I never thought I should either, for one hears such things about them! But he is not in the least what I had imagined! Not proud, or—or what Dick calls a dashing blade! He was so easy, and unaffected, and well-informed; and he seems to feel just as he ought about serious matters: he and Papa talked a little of the dreadful hardships the poor people have been suffering, and I could see how pleased Papa was with him. What did you think of him, Miss Trent?”
“Oh, a diamond of the first water!” replied Ancilla promptly. “His air, one of decided fashion; his manners most polished; his address—perfection!”
Patience looked at her. “You didn’t like him?”
“On the contrary! I thought him very amiable.”
“Ah, that signifies that you think his manners amiable, but not—not his disposition!”
“My dear Miss Chartley, I know nothing about his disposition!”
“No, but—Oh, I think I must tell you! It can’t be wrong to do so! Sir Waldo hasn’t mentioned the matter, even to Papa, and we believe he would as lief it were not known, because he told Wedmore that Mr Calver had privately desired him, when the precise state of his affairs should have been ascertained, to make provision for his old servants. Even Papa doesn’t believe Mr Calver did anything of the sort! The Wedmores are to have a pension which will make them comfortable beyond anything they had hoped for: Mrs Wedmore came to tell Honeywick yesterday! You may imagine how much she was overcome—how thankful!”
“Indeed! I am very glad to know that Sir Waldo has done what he should.”
“Yes, and of course it was expected that he would. You may say that he is so wealthy that it means no more to him than it would mean to me to give a penny to a beggar, but what strikes one so particularly is the manner of it. It was done with a delicacy that shows Sir Waldo to be a man of sensibility, not above considering what must have been the feelings of two such faithful people when they discovered how little their service had been valued!”
Ancilla acknowledged it; but murmured wickedly: “He has won your heart, I see! He has great address!”
“Oh, no!” cried Patience, quite shocked. “How can you—? Oh, you are funning, but indeed you should not! I hope my heart is not so easily won!”
Ancilla smiled at her. “I hope it may not be—and certainly not by a Corinthian! Don’t look distressed! I was only funning, of course: I don’t fear for you!”
Recovering her complexion. Patience said: “We shall none of us have time to lose our hearts: he doesn’t mean to settle at Broom Hall, you know.”
“I should suppose not: he would find it very slow. Does he mean to sell the place?”
“We don’t know. He didn’t tell us what he means to do; and, naturally, one would not ask prying questions.” She looked up, as her mother came into the room, and smiled, saying: “I have been telling Miss Trent how agreeable we think Sir Waldo Hawkridge, Mama; gossiping, you will say!”
“I suppose we all gossip about him,” Mrs Chartley replied, shaking hands with Ancilla. “How do you do, Miss Trent? Yes, I must own that I was very pleasantly surprised in Sir Waldo. After the tales we have heard about the Nonesuch I had not expected to find that this Tulip of the Ton, instead of being a great coxcomb, is a man who wants neither sense nor feeling. I thought his manners particularly good, too: he has an air of well-bred ease, and no pretension—and as for his leading our sons astray, nonsense! I hope they may copy him! Indeed, I find myself regretting that Dick is at school, for he would be all the better for a little polish!”
“Town bronze, ma’am? Oh, no!” Ancilla protested.
“Oh, not a la modality! I meant only that it would do him a great deal of good to perceive that a man may be sporting-mad without advertising the circumstance.”
She said no more about Sir Waldo, and Ancilla made no attempt to bring the conversation back to him. His name was not mentioned again until Charlotte, seated beside her in the phaeton, uttered in awed accents: “Well! To think we should have been the first to meet Sir Waldo, and to talk to him! Oh, Miss Trent, wasn’t it nuts for us?”
Ancilla burst out laughing, but protested as well. “Charlotte! Do you wish to see me turned off without a character, you abominable girl? Nuts for us,indeed!”
“As though Mama would! No, but wasn’t it? Tiffany will be as angry as a wasp!”
Knowing that it would be useless to expect Charlotte to refrain from exulting over her cousin, Ancilla held her peace. She was justified by the result: Tiffany received the news with indifference; for while Charlotte had been making the acquaintance of the Nonesuch she had met and dazzled Lord Lindeth.
Whether the encounter had been by accident or by her own design was a point she left undisclosed. She had refused to accompany her cousin and governess that morning, voting the object of the expedition slow work, and declaring that nothing would prevail upon her to sit bodkin in a carriage designed to carry no more than two persons. Instea
d, she had had her pretty bay mare saddled, and had ridden out alone, declining the escort of the groom expressly hired to attend her. Since there was nothing unusual about this he made no attempt to dissuade her from conduct unbefitting her years and station, merely remarking to Courtenay’s groom that one of these days, mark his words, Miss would be brought home with her neck broke, ramming her horses along the way she did, and thinking herself at home to a peg, which the lord knew she wasn’t.
The latter part of this criticism Tiffany would have much resented; but she would have been rather pleased than annoyed at the accusation of ramming her horses along, which she considered to be exactly the style to be expected of one who took pride in being a hard-goer. Accustomed, as a little girl, to career all over the countryside on her pony, she had not as yet learnt to accept chaperonage; and although she was willing to ride with Courtenay, or with Ancilla, she found the presence of her groom irksome, and dispensed with it whenever she could. On this occasion she had an excellent reason for doing so: the Squire had let fall the information that young Lord Lindeth was going to fish the stream that ran through the grounds of the Manor; and Tiffany, by no means reconciled to her exclusion from Mrs Mickleby’s dinner party, had every intention of making his acquaintance. Miss Trent might be right in thinking that the party would not suit her, but even less did it suit her to be the last lady of consequence in the neighbourhood to meet the distinguished newcomers. No more than her aunt did she doubt that Mrs Mickleby’s omission of her name from the elegant dinner-card sent to Mrs Underhill sprang from a jealous fear that her own two daughters would be cast into the shade by the appearance on the scene of an accredited beauty. Well! Mrs Mickleby, no doubt hopeful that Mary or Caroline would contrive to attract the interest of a titled gentleman, should discover that one at least of her exalted guests was in no mood to make either of these damsels the object of his gallantry. Lord Lindeth, if the beautiful Miss Wield could contrive it, was going to think the party very flat, when he looked in vain for her amongst the guests.
It was an easy matter to find Lord Lindeth. The stream he was fishing wound through a stretch of open country. Tiffany saw him from a distance, and cantered easily in his direction, neither so close to the stream as to make it apparent that she wished to attract his attention, nor so far from it that he would not hear the thud of the mare’s hooves. It was a little unfortunate that his back should be turned towards her, but she felt sure that he would look round when he heard her approach. She reckoned without her host: Lord Lindeth was casting into a likely pool; he had got a rise; and he gave not the smallest sign of having heard the sound of a ridden horse. For a moment it seemed as though Miss Wield’s careful strategy must be thrown away. She was a resourceful girl, however, and as soon as she realized that he was wholly absorbed in his sport she let her whip fall, and reined in, uttering a distressful exclamation.
That did make him look round, not so much interested as vexed. It was on the tip of his tongue to request the intruder to make less noise when he perceived that the rude interruption had come from a lady.
“Oh, I beg your pardon!” Tiffany called. “But would you be so very obliging, sir, as to give me my whip again? I can’t think how I came to be so stupid, but I’ve dropped it!”
He reeled in his line, saying: “Yes, of course—with pleasure, ma’am!”
She sat still, serenely awaiting his approach. He laid his rod down, and came towards her. There was a slight look of impatience on his face, but this speedily vanished when he was near enough to see what a vision of beauty had accosted him. Instead of picking up the whip he stood staring up at Tiffany, frank admiration in his gaze.
She was dressed in a flowing habit of sapphire-blue velvet, a lace cravat round her neck, and a curled ostrich plume caressing her cheek. It did not occur to Julian that this undeniably becoming costume was scarcely the established country-mode; he thought only that never in his life had he beheld a more staggeringly lovely girl.
An enchanting smile made him blink; Tiffany said contritely: “I am so sorry! I interrupted you—but I can’t mount without a block, so you see ....!”
He found his tongue, saying quickly: “No, no, you didn’t, I assure you!”
A gleam shone in her eyes. “But I know very well I did!”
He laughed, flushing a little: “Well, yes! But you needn’t be sorry: I’m not!”
“Oh, and you looked so vexed!”
“That was before I saw who had interrupted me,” he retorted audaciously.
“But you don’t know who I am!”
“Oh, yes, I do. Diana!”
“No, I’m not!” she said innocently. “I’m Tiffany Wield!”
“Tiffany! How pretty! But you make me remember an old poem: Queen and huntress, chaste and fair—though I rather fancy it was about the moon, not the goddess. But I know the title is To Diana,and the refrain, or whatever it’s called, is Goddess, excellently bright!So—!”
“I don’t think I ought to listen to you,” she said demurely. “After all, sir, we haven’t been regularly introduced yet!”
“There’s no one to perform that office for us,” he pointed out. “Do you care for such stuff?”
“No, not a scrap, but my aunt thinks I should! And also that I should never converse with strange gentlemen!”
“Very true!” he answered promptly. “May I present Lord Lindeth to you, Miss Wield?—he is most anxious to make your acquaintance!”
She gave a trill of laughter. “How do you do? How absurd you are!”
“I know—but what else was to be done in such a case? I was afraid you would gallop away!”
“So I shall—if you will be so very obliging as to pick up my whip for me, sir!”
He did so, but stood holding it. “I’m tempted to keep it from you!”
She held out her hand. “No, please!”
He gave it to her. “Only funning!” It struck him that it was strange that so young and lovely a girl should be quite unattended, and he said, glancing about him in a puzzled way: “Is no one with you, Miss Wield? Your groom, or—or—”
“No one! It’s so stuffy to have a groom at one’s heels! Do you think it very improper?”
“No, indeed! But if anything were to happen—some accident—”
“I’m not afraid of that!” She shortened the bridle. “I must go now. Thank you for coming to my rescue!”
“Oh, wait!” he begged. “You haven’t told me where you live, or when I shall see you again!”
“I live at Staples—and who knows when you will see me again?” she replied, her eyes glinting down into his. “I’m sure I don’t!”
“Staples,” he said, committing it to memory. “I think I know—oh, I should have told you that I’m at Broom Hall, with my cousin, Waldo Hawkridge! Yes, and we are to dine at the Manor the day after tomorrow—some sort of a party, I believe! Shall I see you there?”
“Perhaps—perhaps not!” she said mischievously, and was off before he could demand a more positive answer.
Chapter 5
Lord Lindeth, who had greeted with disapprobation the news that he was to be dragged out to a dinner-party, returned to Broom Hall after his encounter with Miss Wield in quite a different frame of mind. The first thing he did was to run through the various visiting-cards which had been bestowed upon his cousin; the next was to burst into the library, where Sir Waldo was frowning over his deceased cousin’s rent-books, demanding: “Waldo, are you acquainted with anyone called Wield?”
“No, I don’t think so,” replied Sir Waldo, rather absently.
“Do pay attention!” begged Julian. “From Staples! Isn’t that the place with the wrought-iron gates, beyond the village? They must have called, but I can’t find any card!”
“Presumably they haven’t called, then.”
“No, but—Of course, the name might not be Wield: she spoke of her aunt,and I suppose—But there’s no card bearing that direction that I can find!”
Sir Waldo lo
oked up at this, a laugh in his eye. “Oho! She?”
“Oh, Waldo, I’ve met the most ravishing girl!” disclosed his lordship. “Now, think! Who lives at Staples?”
“Miss Wield, I collect.”
“Yes, but—Oh, don’t be so provoking! Surely you must know who owns the place.”
“I can see not the smallest reason why I must know—and I don’t.”
“I wish you may not have lost the card! You would suppose her uncle must have called, wouldn’t you?”
“Well, I haven’t so far given the matter any consideration,” said Sir Waldo apologetically. “Perhaps he doesn’t approve of me?”
Julian stared at him. “Nonsense! Why shouldn’t he?”
“I can’t imagine.”
“No, nor anyone else! Do stop talking slum, and try to be serious!”
“I am serious!” protested Sir Waldo. “Quite perturbed, in fact! I have sustained an introduction to someone who, unless I am much mistaken, does disapprove of me.”
“Who?” demanded Julian.
“A female whose name I can’t recall. A remarkably good-looking one, too,” he added reflectively. “And not just in the common style, either.”
“She sounds a maggotty creature to me!” said Julian frankly. “Not but what I think you’re shamming it! Why should she disapprove of you?”
“I rather fear, my fatal addiction to sport.”
“What a ninnyhammer! No, but, Waldo, do think! Are you perfectly sure no one from Staples has been here?”
“Not to my knowledge. Which leaves us quite at a stand, doesn’t it?”
“Well, it does—except that she may be at the party. She didn’t precisely say so, but—Lord, what a fortunate thing it was that we stayed with the Arkendales on our way here! I might not else have brought my evening rig with me!”
This ingenuous observation made Sir Waldo’s lips twitch, for Julian’s reception of the news that his journey north was to be broken by a visit to the home of one of the highest sticklers in the country would not have led anyone to foresee that he would presently think himself fortunate to have undergone a stay which he had stigmatized as an intolerable bore. Similarly, when he knew that he had been included in Mrs Mickleby’s invitation to Waldo he had denied any expectation of enjoyment, saying that if he had guessed that he had fled from the London scene only to be plunged into a succession of country dinner-parties he would not have accompanied his cousin.
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