The Reluctant Widow

by Джорджетт Хейер

  Elinor replied with a little reserve, “Indeed, I scarcely know! Lord Carlyon persuaded me, but I must suppose myself to have been out of my senses.”

  Her ladyship gave a little gurgle. “Dearest Carlyon! How I shall tease him! But what is this story of housebreakers? I declare it is like a romance! How happy it must have made Nicky to be shot at! I have a very good mind to make Flint stay here for an age, for I was never so diverted in my life! But I dare say it will not do. I am in the family way, you know, and my poor dear Flint has taken such crotchets into his head! I was never so well, I vow! But nothing will do but I must go into the country, and ten to one Carlyon will aid and abet him. Do you like him?”

  “Indeed,” Elinor said, quite taken aback, “Lord Flint appeared to me a most amiable—”

  “Stupid! Not Flint! Carlyon!”

  Elinor was vexed to feel herself coloring. She replied stiffly, “Certainly. I am sure his manners and address are such as must universally please.”

  There was a pout, an arch look. “Oh—! Sad stuff! Do you quarrel with him? Does he make you very cross?”

  “If you must have the truth,” said Elinor, “he is the most odious, overbearing, inconsiderate, abominable man I ever met!”

  She was instantly embraced. “Famous! How often I have said the same! You will deal admirably together. I am glad I have seen you. Oh, but it is enough to make oneself wish to be a widow to see you look so very becoming in that black dress! How shocking of me to say so, for you must know that I dote on Flint! Does Francis Cheviot stay long with you? I was so much surprised!”

  “Only a night, I fancy. It is a little awkward, but he comes as proxy for his father, for—for the funeral.”

  The delicate brows rose. “Ah, you do not like him! But there is no harm in Him, you know, and you may meet him forever! I always invite him to all my parties. Everyone does so, for he is the most amusing creature, and such good ton! Mr. Brummell says that his tailor makes him. Was there ever anything so unkind? He is very good company, and always knows just which colors will set one off best and how one should furnish one’s new drawing room.”

  Elinor returned some noncommittal answer, and’ after some more of this inconsequent chatter Lady Flint allowed herself to be escorted downstairs again. It was soon time for the party from the Hall to be off, if they were to reach home before morning, so as soon as tea had been drunk and adieus spoken, the carriage was called for. There was no opportunity for Elinor to hold private converse with Carlyon. She could only throw him a very speaking glance as they stood in the hall, and this was received only with a slight smile. She was obliged to go through her part as hostess with a smiling face, and could only whisper as he shook her hand in farewell, “How dare you leave me with that creature?”

  “My dependence is on Bouncer,” he returned.

  He followed his brother-in-law out of the house, allowing her no time to retort, and was soon in the carriage and driving away from Highnoons.

  “My dear Carlyon, she is charming!” Georgiana said, out of the darkness beside him.

  “A very well-bred young woman,” pronounced Flint.

  “She is a Rochdale of Feldenhall.”

  “It is very strange. I do not pretend to understand it.”

  “Dearest Flint, where would be the sport if one could?” demanded his wife. “But, Ned, you did not tell me how very handsome she is! She has a great deal of countenance, and dignity too—far more than I have, I am sure.”

  “Which is to say more than none at all!”

  “Very true! It is not in my line: never was! But there is some mystery you have not told me about! It is too’ provoking!”

  “It exists in your own head.”

  “No! John is so silent!”

  “John is always silent.”

  “Pooh! I am not such a fool as to be put off so! Something I have discovered, but not the whole. I wish I had not to go into Hampshire!”

  He turned the subject with some reference to her projected stay with her mother-in-law. She was diverted, and the conversation turned no more upon Highnoons until the party was set down at the Hall. It was then that John, detaining Carlyon when he would have entered one of the saloons in the wake of his sister, said, “By God, you were right, Ned! What’s to do now?”

  “I believe we should have expected to see him here.”

  “Ay! But what has he done with poor old Bedlington? How has he persuaded him to remain in London? And what does he intend?”

  “To find your memorandum, I collect.”

  “You are damned cool, upon my word!”

  “No: interested, and as yet unsure of my ground. The case is plainly desperate, and I must indulge the hope that he will betray himself. Hush! do not speak of this before Georgy!”

  She had come out of the saloon and was advancing toward them. “I shall go to bed. How odious it is in you to be talking secrets!”

  “No such thing!” said John. “Where’s Flint? I want a word with him!”

  She watched him stride off toward the saloon and turned her eyes back to her eldest brother, a roguish look in them. “Oh, Ned!”

  “Well, and now what?”

  A dimple peeped. “Gussie and Eliza would be agog if I told them, but I don’t know that I shall. But I thought you past praying for!”

  “Nonsense! What can you mean?”

  She put her arms round his neck and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “You are the best of kind, provoking brothers, and I won’t tease you—not a bit! But I think you are very sly!”

  Chapter XIV

  The visitors having all departed, Elinor was thankful to find that Francis Cheviot was ready to retire for the night, provided he might be assured that every door and window was secured against intruders. To Nicky’s mingled skepticism and scorn, the story of a thief’s having broken into the house seemed to have taken strong possession of his mind. He believed himself to be incapable of closing his eyes all night if the least possibility existed of anyone’s being able to enter the house, and debated the advisability of commanding his valet to sit up with a loaded gun. “If only I might trust him not to discharge his piece upon a mere false alarm!” he said. “But he is the stupidest fellow! If he did not know to such a nicety how to polish my boots I must have turned him off years ago! How difficult it is to decide what to do for the best! Would it be a comfort to us to know him to be standing guard over our slumbers? But then, if he were to take fright at a shadow and wake us all with firing at it, how shocking that would be! My nerves, I know, could scarcely support it, and I must suppose, my dear Cousin, that yours would not readily recover from it.”

  “There is no need for the poor man to be kept up all night,” she responded calmly. “Bouncer is an excellent watchdog, and we have formed the habit of allowing him to roam over the house at will. At the least sound of stirring in the house he would give the alarm.”

  “I should think he would!” corroborated Nicky, with an impish smile. “Why, when Miss Beccles only opened her door last night he set up such a barking as roused even old Barrow!”

  “Did he, indeed?” said Francis politely. “I do trust I shall not be thought unreasonable if I solicit Miss Beccles not to open her door tonight. If I am awakened out of my first sleep I find it very hard to drop off again, and to be lying awake all night, you know, cannot but harm the most robust constitution.”

  Miss Beccles assured him that she would not do so, and the party went out into the hall, where the bedroom candles were set out on the table. Bouncer was lying on the mat by the door, and Francis put up his quizzing glass to scrutinize him. He sighed. “A singularly ill-favored hound!” he said.

  “Much you know about it!” snapped Nicky, who could not brook criticism of his favorite.

  Either his tone or the dog’s natural antipathy to Francis provoked Bouncer into uttering a subdued growl. He was in doubt how this would be received, but when no rebuke greeted it, he got up and barked aggressively at Francis.

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sp; Francis shuddered. “Pray hold him, dear Nicholas!” he begged. “What a shocking character mine must be! They say dogs can always tell, do they not? I do trust that is yet another of the fallacies one is forever discovering!”

  “Oh, he will not bite you while I am here!” said Nicky cheerfully.

  “Then do, I beg of you, accompany me up the stairs!” said Francis.

  This was done, arid Francis delivered into the tender care of his valet. Nicky confided to Elinor that he should sleep with one ear open and only hoped that Francis would come out of his room, for he was willing to bet a monkey Bouncer would indeed savage him. Upon this pious aspiration, he took himself off to his own room, there to drop into the deep and sound sleep of youth, from which, Elinor shrewdly judged, nothing less than a cataclysm would rouse him.

  But Miss Beccles, for whom Bouncer had no terrors, could not be satisfied, and horrified Elinor by stealing into her room hardly half an hour after the valet’s footsteps had been heard retreating to the wing which housed the servants, with the information that she had made it impossible for Francis to leave his bedchamber that night.

  “What can you possibly mean, Becky?” Elinor demanded, sitting up, and pushing back the bed curtains.

  “My love, I bethought me of the clothesline!” whispered the little governess impressively. “I have securely attached it to the handle of his door and to the handle of dear Mrs. Nicky’s door too!”

  “Becky!” Elinor exclaimed. “No, no, you must not! I am sure Bouncer is guard enough! Only think if Mr. Cheviot should discover it! I should never be able to look him in the face again!”

  “Dear old fellow!” said Miss Beccles, fondly regarding the faithful hound who had followed her into the room and now sat on his haunches with his ears laid flat and an expression on his face of vacuous amiability. “I am sure he is not a nasty fierce dog, are you, Bouncer?”

  Bouncer at once assumed the mien of a foolishly sentimental spaniel and began to pant.

  “Becky, when the servants discover it in the morning, only conceive how it must look!”

  “Yes, my love, but I am always awake before the servants are stirring, and I shall undo the line, of course. Do not be in a pucker, my dear Mrs. Cheviot! I only thought you would wish to know that I have made all safe. Come, Bouncer, good doggie!”

  She glided away again, leaving Elinor to toss and turn on her pillows, rehearsing the lame explanations she might be called upon to make in the morning to a justly offended guest. But the only disturbance consequent upon Miss Beccles’ brilliant stroke was caused by Nicky who, waking betimes and ascribing this unusual circumstance to some noise which must have penetrated to his consciousness, jumped out of bed and tried stealthily to open his door. The clothesline held fast, and Nicky, concluding very naturally that his imprisonment was due to Francis Cheviot’s wicked wiles, instantly set up a shout for help. The first to answer the call was Bouncer, who tore up the stairs, and after flinging himself unavailingly at his master’s door, set to work to release him by a process of furious excavation.

  Miss Beccles, only pausing to cast a shawl over her nightdress, ran out, and seizing Bouncer by his collar, agitatedly begged Nicky to hush! Neither he nor Bouncer paid any heed to this admonition, and it was not until she had with trembling fingers untied her knots and the commotion had brought not only Elinor but Barrow also to the spot, that the imprecations of the prisoner and the excited barking of the dog abated. The matter being hurriedly explained to Nicky he instantly went off into a shout of laughter, quite sufficient to have roused anyone who had contrived to remain asleep through the previous hubbub.

  Elinor was in an agony of apprehension, but no sound of stirring came from the guest’s chamber.

  “Well, it queers me why anyone should take and do such a tedious silly thing!” said Barrow, staring in surprise at the clothesline. “A hem setout it’ll be if Mr. Francis comes to hear tell of it!”

  “Barrow, you will please not to mention the matter to any!” Elinor said distractedly. “Miss Beccles took a notion—that is, it was all nonsense, of course! For heaven’s sake, do not let us be standing here!”

  Barrow looked from one to the other with such an expression of astonishment on his face that Nicky marched him back to his own wing, favoring him on the way with an explanation which caused him to say with withering scorn, “Mistress hasn’t got no call to suspicion the likes of Mr. Francis! As like as ninepence to nothing, he is!”

  “What did you say to Barrow?” demanded Elinor, upon Nicky’s return.

  He grinned at her. “I’ll not tell you. You would be ready to eat me!”

  “Hateful boy! What was it?”

  “No, it would make you blush.”

  “Oh!” she gasped indignantly. “Odious!”

  “Well, I don’t know what else I could have told him!”

  “Well, never mind!” She sank her voice to an even lower note and pointed toward Francis Cheviot’s door. “He cannot have slept through such a noise! Why has he not come out or called to us to know what is the matter?”

  “Hiding under his bed belike,” responded Nicky caustically,

  “He is bound to remark upon it!”

  “I’ll fob him off,” Nicky promised.

  In spite of this assurance, it was in the expectation of suffering a considerable degree of embarrassment that the widow descended presently to the breakfast parlor. But her uninvited guest put in no appearance, and Barrow explained with a sniff of disapproval that Crawley had carried up a tray to his bedchamber. Mr. Cheviot, had said Crawley loftily, never left his room until noon.

  “Oh, doesn’t he, by Jove?” exclaimed Nicky. “Well, he will then, for the funeral is at noon!”

  He lost no time, after he had consumed his usual hearty breakfast, in going upstairs to break these tidings to Francis. But Francis, who was seated before the dressing table wrapped in an exotic robe and having his nails carefully pared by his valet, remained annoyingly unruffled.

  “Yes, dear boy, so I was informed, and you see how early I am up! I grudge no exertion, but how I shall contrive to be dressed in time I know not. After ten already, and I dare say we must set out quite by eleven! Crawley, we must bear in mind that should the Fates be against me, which I do trust, however, will not be found to be the case, I might be obliged to spend an hour over the arrangement of my neckcloth, and that would make me late, you know. Perhaps I should make the first attempts at once.”

  Nicky stared at the pile of black cravats, each at least a foot wide, which lay on the table. “Good God, you cannot need the half of such a stock!” he exclaimed. “Do you mean to stay here a month?”

  Francis eyed the pile anxiously. “Do you think I shall not?” he said. “I do hope you may be right, dear Nicholas, but it is by no means unknown for me to ruin a score before I have achieved just the correct folds. It would be so disrespectful to poor Eustace if I were to attend his obsequies in a clumsily tied cravat! You will have to leave me, dear boy. I find it so agitating to be watched while I am engaged on the most crucial part of my toilet. But do tell me before you go, why was I so rudely awakened this morning?”

  “Oh, so you did not sleep through the commotion?” said Nicky.

  “My dear Nicholas, I am neither deaf nor a heavy sleeper. One would have supposed a regiment of soldiers to have stormed the house!”

  “I wonder you should not have come out of your room to discover the cause!”

  Francis turned a shocked gaze upon him. “Come out of my room before I had been shaved?”he said. “Dear boy, are you mad?”

  “Oh, well!” Nicky said impatiently. “It was nothing, after all! I could not open my door. It was stuck, you know. All the doors in this house are so warped there was never anything like it! Barrow was obliged to thrust his shoulder against it, for I thought if I tugged at it the handle would very likely come off.”

  “Dear me!” said Francis mildly. “What a very violent young man you are, dear Nicholas!”

 
Nicky went off to find Elinor and to tell her that there was no making anything of Francis.

  “Do you think he can have tried to open his own door?” she asked anxiously.

  “Lord, I don’t know, but I should not be surprised! He is the smokiest fellow, and lies as fast as a dog would trot, I dare say! But only wait till I tell John of the cravats he has brought with him! John cannot bear a dandy!”

  Apparently the cravats were not that day recalcitrant, for punctually at eleven o’clock Francis descended the stairs, dressed, with the exception of a gray waistcoat, in funereal black, and followed by Crawley carrying his fur-lined cloak, gloves, hat, and ebony cane. His chaise stood at the door, and it had been arranged that he should take Nicky up with him as far as Wisborough Green where funeral carriages were to await them.

  Francis greeted his hostess with all his usual urbanity, assuring her that but for such trifling disagreeables as a mouse gnawing in the wainscoting, Bouncer’s predilection for scratching himself on the landing just outside his door, the matutinal habits of apparently a hundred cockerels, and Nicky’s unfortunate contretemps with his bedroom door, he had passed an excellent night. The only thing that threatened, in fact, to ruffle his placidity was an ineradicable fear that the wind was backing round to the northeast, in which case, he apologetically warned Elinor, it would be impossible for him to leave Highnoons that day, starting his journey as he must, at an advanced hour of the afternoon and without the hope of reaching London before night. Her civility obliged her to say what was proper, but her heart sank, and when Francis had been tenderly packed into the chaise and the door shut upon him and his impatient companion, she went off to ask the gardener what he thought of the weather. He said there was a nasty cold wind a-blowing up. She went dejectedly back to the house to give Mrs. Barrow due warning, but that competent woman was so delighted to have two girls from the village at her beck and call, not to mention the gardener’s wife whom she had been briskly bullying all the morning, that she merely asked whether her mistress preferred her to make a pheasant pie or to serve up a couple of broiled fowls and mushrooms for dinner.