“Lord Carlyon’s manners are certainly well-bred, but—”
“Oh, my love, I perceived at a glance that he was used to move in the first circles! And the beeswax lying on the table, and an old rag, and my merino so crushed! I was almost overpowered! And what he could want with me I knew no more than Polly, but, that was soon told. You may imagine my astonishment! I fear he must have supposed me to have less than common sense, for I was obliged to beg him to repeat the whole before I could credit it!”
“I do not wonder at it! You must have been excessively shocked to hear what a dreadful tangle I was got into!”
“I own my first reflections upon the event were of so agitating a nature that I was obliged to sit down plump upon title nearest chair. But all was soon explained! And then to learn that I was to come into Sussex the very next day to be with you! I was left with my head in such a whirl I scarcely knew what I was about or how I should contrive!”
“Poor Becky, you have been shamefully used!” Elinor said warmly. “I would not for the world have had you pack up in such uncomfortable haste! But I might have known how it would be! He is the most abominable creature and thinks everyone’s convenience must give way to his!”
“Oh, no, my love, indeed I do not know how you can talk in such a way! Only fancy his calling to take me up into his own chaise, and sitting beside me all the way just as though I had been a person of the first consequence! Alas, dear Mrs. Cheviot, you must know as well as I how seldom it is that one meets with any extraordinary civility when one is only a governess!”
“Yes, indeed I do know, but—”
“Every observance was shown me! The most distinguishing notice! And such kind attentions! And I in so much agitation that every faculty was in danger of becoming suspended! I am sure he must think me the most antiquated fidget, for what must I do but forget my netting box! I am quite ashamed to think that I should have exclaimed that I believed I had not brought it, for his lordship without the least show of being vexed instantly ordered the postilions to turn back! And a glass of ratafia and a macaroon on the road, though I assured him I was not accustomed to take anything in the middle of the day!”
“I will allow him to be thoughtful in such matters as that, but—”
“And such a well-informed mind, my love! I did not look for him to put himself to the trouble of tailing to me, I’m sure, but he was all that was most amiable! You may judge of my relief to know that you were in the care of one whom I could so truly respect!”
“Becky, let me make it plain to you that I am not in Carlyon’s care! How I came to let myself be thrust into this imbroglio I cannot imagine! And now to hear you, whom I have all my life believed to be a model of propriety, talking as though a piece of good fortune had come to me, puts me out of all patience! For it is quite shocking, Becky!”
“Indeed, my love, I do partake of your sentiments, but depend upon it you did right to trust his lordship to be the best judge of your actions.”
“Did right to let myself be married and widowed within a couple of hours? How can you say so?”
“To be sure, when you speak of it in such terms as that it does sound a trifle unusual,” Miss Beccles admitted. “But I have never been able to support the thought of your being condemned to the life I have been obliged to lead. And you know, my dear Elinor—if I may still call you so, though I know I should not—from all his lordship was condescending enough to tell me it does seem as though it is a merciful dispensation of Providence that the young man is dead. Not that one would wish to say anything unkind, but I cannot think that he was quite the thing, and I dare say must have made you a sad husband. How often has one been forced to observe that the most tragic events are for the best!”
It was plainly useless to expect the little governess to enter into her feelings on the matter so Elinor left her to her unpacking and went downstairs to discover what Carlyon meant to do next. She found that he had put on his coat again and was upon the point of departure. As she descended the stairs he looked up and said, “The door is now fast, ma’am, and I do not anticipate that you need feel any further alarm. Remember, I beg, that all is as yet no more than conjecture! We should be ill advised to refine too much upon what has happened until we are given more positive proof that our suspicions are well grounded. I shall be visiting you in the morning with my cousin’s lawyer. Meanwhile, I have procured a wedding ring for you, which I trust may fit your finger more nearly than that signet of mine.”
He held it out to her so that she was obliged to take it and to give him back his own. He seemed to have judged the size of her finger with tolerable accuracy. She slipped the ring on but demanded, ‘“My lord, how long do you mean to keep me in this house?”
“I fear I cannot answer you until I learn more precisely how matters stand.”
“I dare say you would not be in the least moved if you came tomorrow and found us all lying dead in our beds!” she said bitterly.
“On the contrary, I should be a good deal surprised.”
She could not help laughing. “Odious creature! Very well, I see you have a heart of stone and I waste my time in useless entreaties! What would you have me do, sir?”
“My advice to you, you found so unpalatable that I hesitate to repeat it, Mrs. Cheviot.”
“Oh, yes! you would have me decked out in black crape! I am not such a hypocrite!”
“I do not know what will be proper for you to wear, but I must point out to you that it is in the highest degree likely that my cousin’s uncle, Lord Bedlington, will come into Sussex to attend the funeral, if not the inquest, and he will certainly wait on you. Your wearing colors will occasion some remark.”
“You have a reasonable answer for everything, my lord. It is what one particularly dislikes in you! Pray, what am I to say to Lord Bedlington?”
“I will engage to say all that is needful. It will be best for him to suppose that you had been for long betrothed to my cousin. As for last night’s affair, Nicky assures me that he allowed Greenlaw to suppose that he had been shot by a common housebreaker. I have already desired the Barrows to tell the same tale. Our care must now be not to do or say anything that could betray our suspicions.”
“Very true! How shocking if we should frighten any spies away!”
“Yes, I think you must see that it would be shocking indeed,” he agreed, smiling and putting out his hand. “I shall leave you now. If you should be nervous, I recommend you to let Nicky’s dog roam at will over the house during the night. He could certainly give tongue at the approach of any stranger.”
“How little one guesses what one may come to!” she remarked, turning her head to look at Bouncer who was enjoying a satisfactory roll on the hearthrug. “Never did I think I should live to be grateful to that horrid animal!”
He laughed, shook hands, and went away. Bouncer stood up, shook himself, and wagged his tail expectantly.
“If it’s your dinner you are thinking about,” said Elinor severely, “you had best come and be civil to Mrs. Barrow.”
He pranced ahead of her down the long stone-paved corridor that led to the kitchens. Nothing could have exceeded his affability there, but only Elinor’s persuasion induced Mrs. Barrow to bestow a plate of scraps on him. She said that he had already had the shoulder of mutton designed for Elinor’s own dinner. But the sagacious hound listened to Elinor’s reproaches with an expression compound of innocence and such gnawing hunger that she found it hard to believe such a thing of him, and insisted that he should be fed. There was nothing in the manner in which he disposed of his portion to lend the least color to the allegation made against his character.
The evening passed tranquilly. Miss Beccles, who had lost no time in getting upon good terms with Mrs. Barrow, made a panada for the invalid which he pronounced to be first rate; Elinor lost to him all the vast sums she had won at piquet on the previous night; and Bouncer suddenly achieved popularity with Mrs. Barrow by catching a large rat in the larder, whither he had r
epaired in search of something to maintain his strength during the night watches. Mrs. Barrow was moved to bestow on him a large ham bone. He subsequently hid this under Elinor’s bed, and his recollection of its whereabouts in the middle of the night and insistent demands to be admitted into her room were all that occurred to spoil her rest that night.
The morning found her spirits fast recovering their tone. Nicky seemed to be much amended, and the presence of Miss Beccles was at once so comfortable and so calming that she received the news that his lordship’s carriage was at the door ready to carry her to Chichester with a docility surprising in one so high-spirited. The two ladies set off in this luxurious vehicle and spent an agreeable few hours shopping, returning in the afternoon with so many bandboxes piled up on the seat before them that Nicky said he wondered they had not thought to hire a wagon or even Pickford’s van.
It would have been useless for Elinor to have attempted to pretend that her mind was of too elevated an order to rejoice in the possession of new clothes, and she lost no time in running up to her room to try on the dove gray muslin with black ribbons, and the handsome black silk trimmed with lace and a treble flounce. She was just trying the effect of a very pretty lace cap with lappets that tied under her chin with a black bow when she heard Bouncer set up a great barking in the hall. The next moment Nicky was thumping on her door, and telling her to make haste and come downstairs, for a post chaise had just driven up to the door.
“It’s old Bedlington, Cousin, for I craned out of my window and had the plainest view of him! Lord, I wonder what he will say when he finds you here! I wish Ned were here still to enjoy the jest!”
She ran to the door and opened it. “Oh, Nicky, what shall I say to him? Where is your brother?”
“Oh, he is gone back to the Hall! He and Finsbury took all Eustace’s papers away with them and wasted I do not know how much time trying to discover what his keys might fit. I dare say the most of them belong to things in Cork Street—he had rooms there, you know. Oh, and Ned told me to say that he begged pardon, but had forgot to inform you that he took the liberty of paying off Eustace’s valet when he went to Cork Street yesterday because you will scarcely need him, and he is a mean sort of a fellow, up to every trick. By Jove, Cousin Elinor, if that gown is not the most bang-up thing I ever saw! You look all the crack!”
“Nicky, pray come downstairs with me!” she begged. “I am quite at a loss to know what I shall say to Lord Bedlington!”
“Well, I don’t mind owning I would give a monkey only to see his face,” said Nicky frankly. “But Ned said, if he should chance to arrive here I was not to show myself on account of the awkwardness of its being my fault that Eustace is dead.”
“Good God, yes, indeed! I had quite forgotten that circumstance! My dependence must be all on Becky. Is my cap quite straight?”
He assured her that it was and she went down the stairs, taking some comfort in the imposing rustle of her silk skirts, but pale enough from fright to pass for an inconsolable widow.
Barrow had ushered the visitor into the front parlor, where Miss Beccles was engaged in disposing the chairs more comfortably round the newly kindled fire. Mrs. Cheviot, softly entering the room, was in time to hear her assuring his lordship with unshaken placidity that Mrs. Cheviot would be downstairs directly.
“Here she is, indeed!” she said, catching sight of Elinor. “My dear Mrs. Cheviot, here is my Lord Bedlington come to pay you a visit of condolence!”
Elinor curtsied, wondering at her meek little chaperon’s effrontery.
“Mrs. Cheviot!” ejaculated Bedlington. “Upon my word, I do not know what to say! I am quite at a loss!”
He passed his handkerchief across his face as he spoke, and she was able to steal a look at him. He was a portly gentleman of some fifty years, of medium stature and a round face in which small blue eyes were habitually open to their widest. He wore very tight inexpressibles and very high and rigidly starched shirt points which made it hard for him to turn his head, and when he bowed, a slight creaking betrayed that a swelling paunch was confined by stays. The yellow lining to his coat and the prince’s buttons which embellished it proclaimed his office.
“My dear ma’am—this shocking intelligence—my poor nephew! I was so much upset I was obliged to have half a pint of blood taken from me!” he uttered.
“Ah, a wise precaution, my lord!” nodded Miss Beccles. “I have the greatest faith in the good effects of judicious cupping.”
He turned to her eagerly. “There is nothing like it!” he assured her. “My dear friend, his Royal Highness the Prince Regent, swears by it, you know! I do not know how many pints he has not had taken from him! But this is not to the point! My poor nephew! Ah, no one but myself had a value for the boy!”
Elinor thought it prudent to keep her gaze discreetly lowered.
His lordship applied his handkerchief to his eyes again. “Carried off so young!” he sighed. “I had always a kindness for him, for you must know he was so like my dear brother it could not but affect me profoundly! But I do not properly understand—in short, ma’am, I had no notion he was married! Indeed, I doubted that it could be so, but I perceive—It is very strange!”
“My marriage to Mr. Cheviot, sir,” said Elinor, in a low tone, “took place when he lay upon his deathbed. Our—our betrothal was a secret known only to—known only to my Lord Carlyon!”
He looked much struck. “Known to Carlyon! You amaze me, ma’am! I had not supposed—He cannot have known of this marriage!”
She replied with more firmness, “You are mistaken: I owe my marriage solely to Lord Carlyon’s exertions to bring it about.”
“Impossible!” he exclaimed. “Why, it cuts up all his hopes! That is, if the poor boy made his will before he died, but I dare say he had no time.”
“On the contrary, my lord, Mr. Cheviot drew up his will in my favor.”
“You do not mean it! This is most astonishing news! A strange man, Carlyon! There is no understanding him at all! Ah, my dear, had my poor sister-in-law left things otherwise, who shall say that I should be standing here today, upon this melancholy occasion!”
She was constrained to say, “I believe my Lord Carlyon cannot be blamed for your—for my husband’s untimely death, sir.”
“Ah, I dare say not, but I shall always say that he used the poor lad with unmerited harshness! But how did it come about? I saw Eustace in town not five days since, and he was in good health! But I collect he met with some accident?”
“Yes. That is—Pardon me, but it is painful to me to be obliged to discuss—I am sure my Lord Carlyon will inform you better than I can how it was!”
“Ah, no wonder!” he sighed, taking her hand and squeezing it feelingly. “This is painful for you indeed! A secret betrothal! It is easy to see why it must have been so! Yet poor Eustace might have told me! I have always stood his friend. And you say Carlyon assisted at your marriage? Well! I am all admiration, do not pretend to understand how it can have been so! But, my dear, tell me! Who is there to support and advise you in all the business to be undertaken now? I speak to you without reserve: I fear poor Eustace’s affairs will be found to be in a sad tangle. It is well that I was able to snatch a day to journey down to visit you! You will let me relieve you of the burden—the sad duty—of settling the effects! It is proper that I should help you, ma’am, for you must know that I was greatly attached to Eustace. In spite of his youthful follies, be it understood! I do not deny that he has not always conducted himself as he should, but we shall not speak ill of the dead.”
“You are very good, sir,” she managed to say. “But I believe—that is, I know—that my Lord Carlyon is an executor of the will, and has taken all into his hands. I have nothing to do.”
He looked to be a good deal affronted by this, and reddened, exclaiming, “Without a word to me! I hope I am not one to rate my claims too high, but as poor Eustace’s nearest relative I might have expected to be consulted before Carlyon took it u
pon himself—But so it has been always! He is a man of so little sensibility that I dare say he may not even think that there are relics I must wish to possess! The Wincanton interest is all he cares for, but my poor brother was Eustace’s father, little though any of the Wincantons or the Carlyons may have regarded him! I do not care to think of Carlyon’s turning over papers that can be of no interest to anyone but my brother’s own kin! My letters to him—I believe all were preserved! I should wish them to be destroyed or handed back to me.”
She could only suggest to him that he should approach Carlyon in the matter. His little red mouth pouted disconsolately. He said that he wondered he had not been sent for and seemed to be laboring under such a sense of wounded dignity that. She found herself apologizing to him for an oversight which was none of hers. Upon learning from her that Carlyon had removed all Eustace Cheviot’s papers from Highnoons, he said something about encroaching ways which she judged it better to ignore. Miss Beccles suggested solicitously that he must need some refreshment after his drive, and while a tray of wine and cakes was sent for, he was induced to sit down by the fire. He seemed to be very much put out by the discovery that his support and advice were not needed by the widow, and she soon perceived that he was a man with a very high notion of his own consequence. She said all that was conciliatory and had the satisfaction of seeing him grow more mellow toward her. He offered to remain at Highnoons until after the funeral, and she was hard put to it to know how to decline without giving offence. He was evidently much affected by his nephew’s death and sat sighing gustily and shaking his head over it until she began to wonder whether he would ever take himself off. But in the end he did so, saying that he should drive to the Hall and demand the whole truth from Carlyon. He told Elinor that although he was much occupied with state affairs he should certainly attend the funeral, and, once more taking her hand between both of his, said that he should claim the privilege of an uncle in desiring her to allow him to put up at Highnoons for a night. Civility compelled her to assure him that he would be welcome. He thanked her and at last climbed up again into his chaise and was driven away.
The Reluctant Widow Page 15
