Grand Sophy Page 32

  ‘I will have my horse saddled at once!’ he announced, in a voice of stern resolution. ‘I can tell you, it will be wonderful if I do not call Charlbury out! I am not, in general, an advocate of the barbarous custom of duelling, but circumstances, you know, alter cases, and such conduct must not go unpunished! I will be off home on the instant, and shall be with you again in the least time possible!’

  He barely stayed to grasp both their hands before hurrying from the room. Cecilia, fairly weeping with annoyance, began to upbraid Miss Wraxton, but this lady, losing not a jot of her self-possession, replied: ‘It was unfortunate that he should have been aware of Miss Stanton-Lacy’s elopement, perhaps, but it could do no good to leave that suspicion in his mind. I own, the presence of a man of sense will be a comfort to me, and if, my dear Cecilia, his chivalrous nature should prompt him to renew his offer for your cousin’s hand, it would be a solution to all our difficulties, and, I must add, a great deal more than she deserves!’

  ‘That prosy bore!’ Cecilia exclaimed.

  ‘I am aware that Lord Bromford’s merits have consistently been undervalued in this house. For my part, I have found him a sensible man, feeling just as he ought upon serious subjects, and having a great deal of interesting information to impart to those who are not too frivolous to attend to him.’

  Unable to control her swelling emotions, Cecilia ran out of the room, more than half inclined to take her mother fully into her confidence.

  But Lady Ombersley, finding that Amabel’s pulse was too rapid, was so wholly absorbed in the sufferer as to have little attention to spare for anyone else. Knowing the delicate state of her parent’s nerves, Cecilia forbore to add to her anxieties. She told her merely that a message from Lacy Manor had taken Sophy post-haste into Surrey, but that since she felt it to be unfitting for her cousin to remain in a deserted house alone, she was setting out, either to bear her company or to persuade her to return to London. Upon Lady Ombersley’s showing some astonishment, she divulged that Sophy had quarrelled with Charles. This distressed Lady Ombersley, but scarcely surprised her. Too well did she know her son’s bitter tongue! She would not have had such a thing happen for the world, and must, she said, have gone after Sophy herself had not Amabel seemed so unwell. She did not like to think of her daughter’s travelling alone, but upon hearing of Miss Wraxton’s resolve to go with her was able to be tranquil again, and to give her permission for the journey.

  Meanwhile, Miss Wraxton, busily writing in the library, was unable to resist the temptation of inscribing a note to her betrothed, as well as to her Mama. Now, at last, Charles should be brought to acknowledge the moral turpitude of his cousin, and her own magnanimity! She gave both notes to Dassett, with instructions for their immediate delivery; and was presently able to climb into the Ombersley travelling-chaise in the happy consciousness of having punctiliously performed her duty. Not even Cecilia’s pettishness had the power to allay her self-satisfaction. Never had Cecilia shown herself so out of temper! She replied to her companion’s moralizings with the briefest of monosyllables, and was even so unfeeling, when the rain began to fall, as to refuse point-blank to have the third seat in the chaise pulled out to accommodate Lord Bromford, riding unhappily behind the vehicle, with his coat collar turned up, and an expression on his face of the most acute misery. Miss Wraxton represented to her the propriety of desiring one of the out-riders to lead his lordship’s horse, while his lordship travelled in comfort within the chaise; but all Cecilia could find to say was that she hoped the odious man would contract an inflammation of the lungs, and die of it.

  Scarcely an hour later, Dassett was as nearly put out of countenance as it was possible for a person of his dignity and experience to be by the arrival in Berkeley Square of a second post-chaise. This, also a hack-vehicle, was drawn by four sweating horses, and was caked in mud up to the axles. A number of trunks and portmanteaux were piled on the back, and on the roof. A soberly-dressed individual first jumped down, and ran up the steps of the Ombersley mansion to set the bell pealing. By the time the door had been opened by a footman, and Dassett stood ready to receive guests upon the threshold, a much larger figure had descended in a leisurely way from the chaise, and, after tossing a couple of guineas to the postilions, and exchanging a jovial word with them, trod unhurriedly up the steps to the door.

  Dassett, who afterwards described his condition to the housekeeper, as fairly flummoxed, found himself unable to do more than stammer: ‘Go-good-evening, sir! We – we were not expecting you, sir!’

  ‘Wasn’t expecting myself,’ said Sir Horace stripping off his gloves. ‘Devilish good voyage! Not a day above two months at sea! Tell your people to see all that lumber of mine carried into the house! Her ladyship well?’

  Dassett, helping him to struggle out of his caped great-coat, said that her ladyship was as well as could be looked for.

  ‘That’s good,’ said Sir Horace, walking over to a large mirror, and bestowing an expert touch or two upon his cravat. ‘How’s my daughter?’

  ‘I – I believe Miss Sophy to be enjoying excellent health, sir!’

  ‘Ay, she always does. Where is she?’

  ‘I regret to inform you, sir, that Miss Sophy has gone out of town,’ replied Dassett, who would have been pleased to have discussed the mystery of Sophy’s disappearance with almost anyone else.

  ‘Oh? Well, I’ll see her ladyship,’ said Sir Horace, displaying, in the butler’s opinion, an unnatural want of interest in his only child’s whereabouts.

  Dassett took him up to the drawing-room, and left him there while he went in search of her ladyship’s maid. Amabel having just dropped off to sleep, it was not many minutes before Lady Ombersley came hurrying into the drawing-room, and almost cast herself upon her brother’s manly bosom. ‘Oh, my dear Horace!’ she exclaimed. ‘How glad I am to see you! How sorry to think – But you are safely home!’

  ‘Well, there’s no need for you to ruin my necktie, just because of that, Lizzie!’ said her undemonstrative relative, disengaging himself from her embrace. ‘Never been in any danger that I knew of ! You don’t look very stout! In fact, you look quite knocked-up! What’s amiss? If it’s stomach trouble, I knew a fellow once, ten times worse than ever you were, who got himself cured by magnetism and warm ale. Fact!’

  Lady Ombersley made haste to assure him that if she looked knocked-up it was only through anxiety; and began at once to tell him about Amabel’s illness, dwelling fondly on Sophy’s goodness through this trying period.

  ‘Oh, Sophy’s a capital nurse!’ he said. ‘How do you go on with her? Where is the girl?’

  This question flustered Lady Ombersley quite as much as it had flustered Dassett. She faltered that Sophy would be so sorry! If only she had guessed that her Papa was on his way to London she would surely not have gone.

  ‘Yes, Dassett said she was gone out of town,’ responded Sir Horace, disposing his large limbs in an easy chair, and crossing one shapely leg over the other. ‘Never expected to find any of you here at this season, but, of course, if one of the children is ill, that explains it. Where’s Sophy gone to?’

  ‘I think – I was busy with Amabel when Cecilia told me, but I think she said that dearest Sophy had gone down to Lacy Manor!’

  He looked surprised. ‘What the deuce should take her there? The place ain’t fit to live in! Don’t tell me Sophy’s putting it to rights, because I’m by no means sure – However, never mind that!’

  ‘No, no, I don’t think she had any such idea! At least – Oh, Horace, I don’t know what you will say to me, but I very much fear that Sophy has run away from us because of something that happened today!’

  ‘Shouldn’t think so at all,’ said Sir Horace coolly. ‘Not like my little Sophy to enact you a Cheltenham tragedy. What did happen?’

  ‘I do not properly understand it: I was not here! But Cecilia seemed to think that – that Sophy and Charles had fallen out! Of course, I know he has a dreadful temper, but I am persuaded he can
not have meant – And Sophy has never before taken the least notion when he – Because it is not the first time they have quarrelled!’

  ‘Well, don’t put yourself in a taking, Lizzie,’ recommended Sir Horace, maintaining his placidity without effort. ‘Fallen out with Charles, eh? Well, I thought she would. Daresay it will do him good. How’s Ombersley?’

  ‘Really, Horace!’ said his sister indignantly. ‘One would suppose you not to have a scrap of affection for dear Sophy!’

  ‘You’re out there, old lady, for I’m devilish fond of her,’ he returned. ‘That don’t mean I’m going to make a cake of myself over her tricks, though. Daresay she wouldn’t thank me. You may depend upon it she’s up to some mischief !’

  As Dassett came in at this moment, with suitable refreshment for the traveller, the conversation had to be suspended. When he had withdrawn, Lady Ombersley resumed it, saying: ‘At least I am able to assure you that you will see Sophy tonight, for Cecilia has gone with Miss Wraxton to bring her back!’

  ‘Who’s Miss Wraxton?’ enquired Sir Horace, pouring himself out a glass of Madeira.

  ‘If you ever listened to a word anyone says to you, Horace, you would know that Miss Wraxton is the lady Charles is about to marry!’

  ‘Well, why didn’t you say so?’ said Sir Horace, sipping his wine. ‘Can’t expect me to carry a lot of names in my head! I remember now, though: girl you said was a dead bore.’

  ‘I never said any such thing!’ retorted Lady Ombersley. ‘To be sure, I cannot quite like – But it was you who said she sounded to you like a dead bore!’

  ‘If I said it, you may depend upon it I was right. Quite a tolerable wine, this. Now I come to think of it, you told me Cecilia was in a way to be married too: Charlbury, ain’t it?’

  Lady Ombersley sighed. ‘Alas, it went off ! Cecilia could not be brought to accept him. And now Charles has ceased to object so very much to Augustus Fawnhope, and although Ombersley says he will never countenance it, I daresay he will. You may as well know Horace, that Lord Charlbury has been showing Sophy a great deal of most distinguishing attention.’

  ‘Has he, by Jupiter?’

  They were interrupted by the sound of an impatient step on the stair, to be following an instant later by the hasty entrance into the room of Mr Rivenhall, who held an open sheet of letter-paper in one hand, and had not stayed even to divest himself of his driving-coat before dashing upstairs in search of his mother.

  Mr Rivenhall was looking extremely forbidding, and also a little pale. After stabling the chestnut that afternoon, he had first gone off to Bond Street, to work off some of his fury in a sparring-bout with Gentleman Jackson, and had then repaired to White’s, where he had spent an hour playing billiards, and fighting an impulse to go back to Berkeley Square, to tell his provoking cousin that he had not meant a word of it. It was when he left the billiard-room that he encountered his friend Mr Wychbold. Mr Wychbold, obedient to his orders, asked him whither Miss Stanton-Lacy was bound; and upon his replying curtly: ‘Nowhere, to my knowledge,’ said, not without an inward qualm: ‘Yes, she is, dear boy! Saw her driving off in a post-chaise and four. What’s more, she had Charlbury with her.’

  Mr Rivenhall stared at him. ‘Driving off in a post-chaise and four? You are certainly mistaken!’

  ‘Couldn’t have been!’ said Mr Wychbold, sustaining his rôle manfully.

  ‘Foxed, then. My cousin is at home!’ he added, as his friend seemed inclined to argue the matter: ‘What’s more, Cyprian, I’ll thank you not to spread such a tale about the town!’

  ‘No, no, shouldn’t dream of doing so!’ Mr Wychbold made haste to assure him.

  Mr Rivenhall then went off to the subscription-room, with the intention of playing a rubber or two of whist. The tables were all made up, and it was while he stood watching the play of a hand, his eyes on the cars, and his mind dwelling obstinately and uneasily on Mr Wychbold’s ridiculous delusion, that Miss Wraxton’s note was brought to him. The perusal of it had the effect of instantly killing any desire to play whist, and of sending him off to Berkeley Square without one word of excuse to those who had invited him to take part in the next rubber. He let himself into the house, found Sophy’s letter to him laid upon the table in the hall, read it, and straightway went up the stairs two at a time in search of Lady Ombersley.

  ‘Perhaps, Mama, you may be able to explain to me –’ he began to say, in a furious voice, and then broke off short, perceiving that she was not alone. ‘I beg your pardon! I did not know –’ Again he broke off, as Sir Horace raised his quizzing-glass, the better to observe him. ‘Oh!’ he said, a wealth of sinister meaning in his voice. ‘So it’s you, is it, sir? Famous! You could not have come at a better moment!’

  Shocked at the most unrespectful tone he had adopted, Lady Ombersley ventured on a feeble protest. ‘Charles! Pray – !’

  He paid no heed to her, but strode forward into the room. ‘You will no doubt like to know, sir, that your precious daughter has gone off with Everard Charlbury!’ he announced.

  ‘Has she?’ said Sir Horace. ‘What has she done that for, I wonder? I’ve no objection to her marrying Charlbury! Good family; handsome property!’

  ‘She did it,’ said Mr Rivenhall, ‘to infuriate me! And as for her marrying Charlbury she will do no such thing!’

  ‘Oh, won’t she?’ said Sir Horace, keeping his glass levelled on his nephew’s face. ‘Who says so?’

  ‘I say so!’ snapped Mr Rivenhall. ‘What is more, she has not the smallest intention of such a thing! If you do not know your daughter, I do!’

  Lady Ombersley, who had listened in speechless dismay to this interchange, now found enough voice to say faintly: ‘No, no, she would not run away with Charlbury! You must be mistaken! Alas, Charles, I fear this is your doing! You must have been dreadfully unkind to poor Sophy!’

  ‘Oh, dreadfully unkind, ma’am! I actually had the brutality to take exception to her stealing the young chestnut from my stables, and, without one word to me, driving him in the Park! That she is not lying with a broken neck at this moment is no fault of hers!’

  ‘Now, that,’ said Sir Horace fairmindedly, ‘was wrong of her! In fact, I’m surprised to hear of her behaving so improperly, for it is not at all like her. What should have got into her to make her do such a thing?’

  ‘Merely her damnable desire to pick a quarrel with me!’ said Mr Rivenhall bitterly. ‘I see it all now, clearly enough, and if she is not careful she will find she has succeeded better than she bargained for!’

  ‘I am afraid, my boy,’ said his uncle, an irrepressible twinkle in his eyes, ‘that you do not like my little Sophy!’

  ‘Your little Sophy, sir, has not allowed me – us! – one moment’s peace or comfort since she descended upon this house!’ said Mr Rivenhall roundly.

  ‘Charles, you shall not say so!’ cried his mother, flushing. ‘It is unjust! How can you – how can you, when you recall her goodness, her devotion – !’ Her voice failed; she groped blindly for her handkerchief.

  The colour rose also to Mr Rivenhall’s cheeks. ‘I do not forget that, ma’am. But this exploit – !’

  ‘I cannot think where you can have had such a notion! It is untrue! Sophy went away because of the intemperate language you used towards her, and as for imagining that Charlbury was with her –’

  ‘I know he was with her!’ he interrupted. ‘If I needed proof, I have it in this note she was so obliging as to leave for me! She makes no secret of it!’

  ‘In that case,’ said Sir Horace, refilling his glass, ‘she is certainly up to some mischief. Try this Madeira, my boy: I’ll say this for your father, he’s a capital judge of a wine!’

  ‘But, Charles, this is terrible!’ gasped Lady Ombersley. ‘Thank heaven I did not forbid Cecilia to go after her! Only think what a scandal! Oh, Horace pray believe I had no suspicion!’

  ‘Lord, I’m not blaming you, Elizabeth! I told you not to let Sophy worry you! Well able to take care of herself: al
ways was!’

  ‘I declare, Horace, you pass all bounds! Is it nothing to you that your daughter is in a fair way to ruining herself ?’

  ‘Ruining herself !’ said Mr Rivenhall contemptuously. ‘Do you indeed believe in such a fairy-tale, ma’am? Have you lived with my cousin for six months without getting her measure? If that Spanish woman is not also at Lacy Manor at this moment I give you leave to call me a blockhead!’

  ‘Oh, Charles, I pray you may be right!’

  Sir Horace began to polish his eyeglass with considerable assiduity. ‘Sancia, eh? I was meaning to speak to you about her, Lizzie. Is she still at Merton?’

  ‘Pray, where else should she be, Horace?’

  ‘I just wondered,’ he said, studying the result of his labours. ‘I daresay Sophy may have told you of my intentions in that direction.’

  ‘Of course she did, and I paid her a visit, as I suppose you must have wished me to do! But I must say, my dear Horace, that I cannot conceive what should possess you to offer for her!’

  ‘That’s the trouble,’ he replied. ‘One gets carried away, Lizzie! And there’s no denying she’s a devilish fine woman. In fact, it wouldn’t have surprised me to have heard she had someone else dangling after her. Pity I settled her out at Merton! But there it is! One does these things on the spur of the moment, and it is not until one has had leisure to reflect – However, I don’t mean to complain!’

  ‘Plenty of beauties in Brazil, sir?’ enquired his nephew sardonically.

  ‘I don’t want any of your impudence, my boy!’ said Sir Horace genially. ‘Fact of the matter is, I doubt if I’m a marrying man!’

  ‘Well, if it’s any consolation to you,’ said Mr Rivenhall, ‘you may know that my cousin has being doing her possible to hold Talgarth off from the Marquesa!’

  ‘Now, why the devil,’ demanded Sir Horace, roused to irritability, ‘must Sophy meddle? Talgarth, eh? Didn’t know he was in England! Well, well! He has a great deal of address, has Vincent, and, what’s more, I’ll wager he has an eye to Sancia’s fortune!’