Charity Girl Page 2

  'Bless you, Pedmore, do you think I don't know it?' said the Viscount, smiling affectionately at him. 'You must think I'm a lunkhead! Where shall I find my mother?'

  'In her drawing-room, my lord.'

  The Viscount nodded, and ran lightly up the broad stairway. His mother greeted his entrance to her sanctum with a warm smile, and a hand held out to him. 'Come in, dearest!' she said. 'Have you been having a dreadful peal rung over you?'

  He kissed her hand. 'Lord, yes!' he said cheerfully. 'He rattled me off in famous style! In fact, he has informed me that he doesn't wish to see my face again.'

  'Oh, dear! But he doesn't mean it, you know. Yes, of course you do: you always understand things without having to have them explained to you, don't you?'

  'Do I? It seems very unlikely! And I don't think it can be true, for both you and old Pedmore seem to believe that I must need reassurance! I don't, but I claim no extraordinary powers of understanding for that! No one who was not a confirmed sapskull could suppose – being intimately acquainted with Papa! – that his violent attacks spring from anything but colic and gout! I feared the worst when I saw him partake so lavishly of the curried crab at dinner last night; and my fears were confirmed when he embarked on the second bottle of port. Pray don't think me captious, Mama, but ought he to regale himself quite so unwisely?'

  'No,' replied Lady Wroxton. 'It is very bad for him, but it is quite useless to remonstrate with him, for it only puts him out of temper to be offered the wholesome dishes Dr Chettle pre-scribes, when he has expressed a desire for something most indigestible, and you know what he is, Ashley, when he is thwarted! And when he flies into one of his odd rages!'

  'I know!' said the Viscount, smiling.

  'It is even worse for him when he does that, because he becomes exhausted, and then falls into a fit of dejection, and says that he is burnt to the socket, and has nothing to do but to wind up his accounts. And it is quite as bad for the household, for even Pedmore, who is so very devoted to us, doesn't like to have things thrown at him – particularly when it chances to be mutton-broth.'

  'As bad as that?' said the Viscount, considerably startled.

  'Oh, not always!' his mother assured him, in a comfortable voice. 'And he is in general very sorry afterwards, and tries to make amends for having behaved with so little moderation. I daresay he will be a trifle twitty tonight, but I have the greatest hope that tomorrow he will be content to eat a panada, or a boiled chicken. So you have no need to look so concerned, dearest: very likely it will be several weeks before he indulges himself again with his favourite dishes.'

  'I am concerned for you, Mama, far more than I am for him! I don't know how you are able to bear your life! I could not!'

  'No, I don't suppose you could,' she responded, looking at him in tolerant amusement. 'You weren't acquainted with him when he was young, and naturally you were never in love with him. But I was, and I remember how gay, and handsome, and dashing he used to be, and how very happy we were. And we still love one another, Ashley.'

  He was frowning a little, and asked abruptly: 'Does he subject you to that sort of Turkish treatment, Mama?'

  'Oh, no, never! To be sure, he does sometimes scold me, but he has never thrown anything at me – not even when I ventured to suggest that he should add some rhubarb and water to his port, which is an excellent remedy for a deranged stomach, you know, but he would have none of it. In fact, it put him into a regular flame.'

  'I'm not surprised!' said the Viscount, laughing at her. 'You almost deserved to have it thrown at you, I think!'

  'Yes, that's what he said, but he didn't throw it at me. He burst out laughing, just as you did. What made him suddenly so vexed, dearest? Did you say something to make him pucker up? I know you haven't done anything to displease him, for he was delighted to see you. Indeed, that is why we had the dressed crab, and he made Pedmore bring up the best port.'

  'Good God, in my honour, was it? Of course, I dared not tell him so, but I'm not at all fond of port, and I had to drink the deuce of a lot of it. As for what vexed him, it was certainly nothing I said, for not an unwise word passed my lips! I can only suppose that the crab and the port were responsible.' He paused, thinking of what had passed in the library, the frown returning to his brow. He turned his eyes towards his mother, and said slowly: 'And yet – Mama, what made him hark back, after all this time, to the match he tried to make between Hetta and me, when I was twenty?'

  'Oh, did he do so? How unfortunate!'

  'But why did he, Mama? He hasn't spoken of it for years!'

  'No, and that is what one particularly likes about him. He has a shockingly quick temper, but he never sinks into the mops, or rubs up old sores. The thing is, I fear, that it has all been brought back to his mind because he has been told that at last dear Henrietta seems likely to contract a very eligible alliance.'

  'Good God!' exclaimed the Viscount. 'You don't mean it! Who's the suitor?'

  'I shouldn't think you know him, for he has only lately come into Hertfordshire, and I fancy he very rarely goes to London. He is old Mr Bourne's cousin, and inherited Marley House from him. According to Lady Draycott, he is an excellent person, of the first respectability, a thousand agreeable talents, and most distinguished manners. I haven't met him myself, but I do hope something may come of it, for I have the greatest regard for Henrietta, and have always wished to see her com fortably established. And, if Lady Draycott is to be believed, this Mr – Mr Nethersole – no, not Nethersole, but some name like that – seems to be just the man for her.'

  'He sounds to me like a dashed dull dog!' said the Viscount.

  'Yes, but persons of uniform virtues always do sound dull, Ashley. It seems to me such an odd circumstance! However, we must remember that Lady Draycott is not wholly to be relied on, and I daresay she has exaggerated. She thinks everyone she likes a pattern-saint, and everyone she doesn't like a rascal.' Her eyes twinkled. 'Well, she says you are a man of character, and very well conducted!'

  'Much obliged to her!' said the Viscount. 'To think she should judge me so well!'

  She laughed. 'Yes, indeed! It is a striking example of the advantage of having engaging manners. What a sad reflection it is that to have powers of captivation should be of much more practical use than worthiness!' She leaned forward to pinch his chin, her eyes full of loving mockery. 'You can't bamboozle me, you rogue! You are a here-and-thereian, you know, exactly as I am persuaded Papa told you! I wish you might form a tendre for some very nice girl, and settle down with her! Never mind! I don't mean to tease you!'

  She withdrew her hand, but he caught it, and held it, saying, with a searching look: 'Do you, Mama? Did you, perhaps, wish me to offer for Hetta, nine years ago? Would you have liked her to have been your daughter-in-law?'

  'What a very odd notion you have of me, my love! I hope I am not such a pea-goose as to have wished you to marry any girl for whom you had formed no lasting passion! To be sure, I have a great regard for Hetta, but I daresay you would not have suited. In any event, that has been past history for years, and nothing is such a sad bore as to be recalling it! I promise you, I shall welcome the bride you do choose at last with as much pleasure as I shall attend Hetta's wedding to the man of her choice.'

  'What, to the pattern-card whose name you can't remember? Are the Silverdales at Inglehurst? I haven't seen Hetta in town for weeks, but from what she told me when we met at the Castlereaghs' ball I had supposed that she must by now have been fixed at Worthing, poor girl!'

  'Lady Silverdale,' said his mother, in an expressionless voice, 'finding that the only lodging she could tolerate in Worthing was not available this summer, has recollected that the sea-air always makes her bilious, and has chosen to retire to Inglehurst rather than to seek a lodging at some other resort.'

  'What an abominable woman she is!' said the Viscount cheerfully. 'Oh, well! I daresay Hetta will be better off with her pattern-card! I'll drop in at Inglehurst tomorrow, on my way back to London, and try
to discover what this fellow, Nether what's-it, is really like!'

  Slightly taken aback, Lady Wroxton said, in mild expostulation: 'My dear boy, you cannot, surely, question Hetta about him?'

  'Lord, yes! of course I can!' said the Viscount. 'There are no secrets between Hetta and me, Mama, any more than there are between Griselda and me – in fact,' he added, subjecting this confident assertion to consideration, 'far fewer!'

  Two

  Viscount Desford left his ancestral home on the following morning without seeking another interview with his father. Since the Earl rarely left his bedchamber before noon, this was not difficult. The Viscount partook of an excellent breakfast in solitary state; ran upstairs to bid his mother a fond farewell, issued a few final directions to his valet, who was to follow him into Hampshire with his baggage, and mounted into his curricle as the stable clock began to strike eleven. By the time the echoes of its last stroke had died he was out of sight of the house, bowling down the long avenue that led to the main gates.

  The pace at which he drove his mettlesome horses might have alarmed persons of less iron nerve than the middle-aged groom who sat beside him; but Stebbing, who had served him ever since his boyhood, had a disposition which matched his square, severe countenance, and sat with his arms folded across his chest, and an expression on his face of complete unconcern. As little as he betrayed alarm did he betray his pride in the out-and-outer whom he had taught to ride his first pony, and who had become, as well as an accomplished fencer, a first-rate dragsman. Only in the company of his intimates did he say, over a heavy wet, that, taking him in harness and out, no man could do more with his horses than my Lord Desford could.

  The curricle which Desford was driving was not precisely a racing curricle, but it had been built to his own design by Hatchett, of Longacre, so lightly that it was very easy on his horses, and capable (if drawn by the sort of blood cattle his lordship kept in his stables) of covering long distances in an incredibly short space of time. In general, Desford drove with a pair only under the pole, but if he set out on a long journey he had a team harnessed to the carriage, demonstrating (so said his ribald cronies) that he was bang up to the knocker. He was driving a team of splendid grays on this occasion, and if they were not the sixteen-mile an hour tits so frequently advertised for sale in the columns of the Morning Post they reached the Viscount's immediate destination considerably before noon, and without having once been allowed to break out of a fast trot.

  Inglehurst Place was a very respectable estate owned, until his death some years previously, by a lifelong friend of Lord Wroxton's. Its present owner, Sir Charles Silverdale, had in herited it from his father when still at Harrow, and he had not yet come into his majority, or (according to those who shook sad heads over his rackety ways) shown the least desire to assume the responsibilities attached to his inheritance. His fortune was controlled by his trustees, but since neither of these two gentle-men whose lives had been devoted to the Law had any but a superficial understanding of country matters the management of the estate was shared by Sir Charles's bailiff, and his sister, Miss Henrietta Silverdale.

  The butler, a very stately personage, accorded the Viscount a bow, and said that he regretted to be obliged to inform him that her ladyship, having passed an indifferent night, had not yet come downstairs, and so could not receive him.

  'Come down from your high ropes, Grimshaw!' said the Viscount. 'You know dashed well I haven't come to visit her ladyship! Is Miss Silverdale at home?'

  Grimshaw unbent sufficiently to say that he thought Miss would be found in the garden, but his expression, as he watched Desford stride off round the corner of the house, was one of gloomy disapproval.

  The Viscount found Miss Silverdale in the rose-garden, at-tended by two gentlemen, one of whom was known to him, and the other a stranger. She greeted him with unaffected pleasure, exclaiming: 'Des!' and stretching out her hands to him. 'I had supposed you to be in Brighton! What brings you into Hertfordshire?'

  The Viscount took her hands, but kissed her cheek, and said: 'Filial piety, Hetta! How do you do my dear? Not that I need ask! I can see you're in high force!' He nodded and smiled at the younger of the two gentlemen present, and looked enquir ingly at the other.

  'I don't think you are acquainted with Mr Nethercott, are you, Des?' said Henrietta. 'Mr Nethercott, you must let me make you known to Lord Desford, who is almost my fosterbrother!'

  The two men shook hands, each swiftly weighing the other up. Cary Nethercott was rather older than Desford, but lacked the Viscount's air of easy assurance. His manners, though per fectly well-bred, held a good deal of shy reserve. He was taller and more thick-set than Desford; and while he was dressed with propriety there was no suggestion about him of the man of fashion: his coat was made of Bath cloth, but only a clodpole could have supposed it to have come from the hands of Weston, or Nugee. He had a well-formed person, regular features, and if his habitual expression was grave it was also kindly, and his rare smile held a good deal of sweetness.

  'No, I fancy we've never met,' said Desford. 'You have only lately come into the district, haven't you? My mother was speak ing of you yesterday: said you were old Mr Bourne's heir.'

  'Yes, I am,' replied Cary. 'It seems very strange that I should be, because I scarcely knew him!'

  'All the better for you!' said Desford. 'The most crotchety old rumstick I ever met in my life! Lord, Hetta, will you ever forget the dust he kicked up when he found us trespassing on his land?'

  'No, indeed!' she said, laughing. 'And we weren't doing the least harm! I do hope, Mr Nethercott, that you won't fly into a rage if I should stray on to the sacred ground of Marley House!'

  'You may be very sure I won't!' he said, smiling warmly at her.

  At this point, young Mr Beckenham's evil genius prompted him to embark on a tangled speech. He said throatily: 'For my part, I can promise Miss Silverdale that if ever she should stray on to my land I should think it hallowed ground thereafter! At least, what I mean is I should if it were my land, but that's of no consequence, because it will be, when my father dies – not that I wish him to die! – and, in any event, he would be as happy as I should be to welcome you to Foxshot, if there were the least chance of your straying on to our land! I only wish Foxshot had been situated within walking distance of Inglehurst!'

  He then perceived that Cary Nethercott was looking very much amused, and subsided into blushful silence.

  'Well said!' approved the Viscount, patting him on the shoulder. 'If you're not very much obliged to him, Hetta, you should be!'

  'Of course I am!' said Henrietta, smiling kindly upon her youthful admirer. 'And if Foxshot were not fifteen miles distant I expect I should stray on to it!'

  'In the meantime,' quietly interposed Cary Nethercott, 'I believe it is time we both took our leave, and allowed Miss Silverdale to enjoy a comfortable cose with his lordship.'

  Mr Beckenham could not gainsay it; and although Henrietta said merrily that she and his lordship were more likely to come to cuffs than to indulge in a comfortable cose she made no attempt to deter the departure. Mr Beckenham reverently kissed her hand, but his older and less demonstrative rival merely shook it, begging her to convey his compliments to her mama. He then bade the Viscount goodbye, expressing a conventional hope that he might have the pleasure of meeting him again, and took himself off.

  'Well,' said the Viscount, critically watching his withdrawal, 'he's better than I looked for! But I don't think it will do, Hetta: he ain't the man for you!'

  Miss Silverdale had very fine eyes. They were, indeed, her only claim to beauty, for her mouth was held to be too large, her high-bridged nose too aquiline, and her hair of an undistinguished brown; but her eyes dominated her face, and were responsible for the generally accepted dictum that she had a great deal of countenance. Their colour was unremarkable, being of that indeterminate colour which passes for gray, but they were subject to changes seldom to be seen in the more admired blue, or brown eyes
. If she was bored, they looked to be almost lightless, but as soon as her interest was roused they darkened, and glowed; they could sparkle in anger; or, more frequently, in amusement; and they were at all times reflective of her moods. As she turned them now upon the Viscount, they held surprise, a hint of anger, and a good deal of laughter. She said: 'Do you think so indeed? Well, if you're right what a fortunate circumstance it is that he hasn't made me an offer! Who knows but what, at my age, I might have accepted it?'

  'Don't hide your teeth with me, Hetta! It's as plain as a pikestaff that he will make you an offer! I daresay he's a very worthy man, and I can see he has good, easy manners, but he wouldn't do for you! Take my word for it!'