Black Sheep (7 page)

“No, I don’t. Why should I?” he asked, mildly surprised.

“Because you might find it easier to flummery me!”

“But I don’t want to flummery you!”

“Just as well!” she retorted. “You wouldn’t succeed! I am more than eight-and-twenty, Mr Calverleigh!”

“Well, that seems like a child to me. How much more?” She was by now extremely angry, but for the second time she was obliged to choke back an involuntary giggle. She said unsteadily: “Talking to you is like—like talking to an eel!’

“No, is it? I’ve never tried to talk to an eel. Isn’t it a waste of time?

She choked. “Not such a waste of time as talking to you!”

“You’re surely not going to tell me that eels find you more entertaining than I do?” he said incredulously.

That was rather too much for her: she did giggle, and was furious with herself for having done so. “That’s better!” he said approvingly.

She recovered herself. “Let me ask you one question, sir! If
I
seem like a child to you, in what light do you regard a girl of seventeen?”

“Oh, as a member of the infantry!”

This careless reply made her gasp. Her eyes flashed; she demanded: “How old do you think my niece is, pray?”

“Never having met your niece, I haven’t a notion!”

“Never having—But—Good God, then you cannot be Mr Calverleigh! But when I asked you, you said you
were!
”

“Of course I did! Tell me, is there a nephew of mine at large in Bath?”

“
Nephew?
A—a Mr Stacy Calverleigh!”

“Yes, that’s it. I’m his Uncle Miles.”

“
Oh
!” she uttered, staring at him in the liveliest astonishment.

“You can’t mean that you are the one who—” She broke off in some confusion, and added hurriedly: “The one who went to India!”

He laughed. “Yes, I’m the black sheep of the family!” She blushed, but said: “I wasn’t going to say that!”

“Weren’t you? Why not? You won’t hurt my feelings!”

“I wouldn’t be so uncivil! And if it comes to
black sheep
—!”

“Once you become entangled with Calverleighs, it’s bound to,” he said. “We came to England with the Conqueror, you know. It’s my belief that our ancestor was one of the thatchgallows he brought with him. There were any number of ‘em in his train.”

A delicious gurgle of laughter broke from her. “Oh, no, were there? I didn’t know—but I never heard anyone claim a
thatch-gallows
for his ancestor!”

“No, I don’t suppose you did.
I
never met any of us
came-over-with-the-Conquest
fellows who wouldn’t hold to it, buckle and thong, that his ancestor was a Norman baron. Just as likely to have been one of the scaff and raff of Europe. I wish you will sit down!”

At this point, Abby knew that it behoved her to take polite leave of Mr Miles Calverleigh. She sat down, offering her conscience a sop in the form of a hope that Mr Miles Calverleigh might be of assistance to her in circumventing the designs of his nephew. She chose one of the straight-backed chairs ranged round the table, and watched him dispose his long limbs in another, at right-angles to her. His attitude was as negligent as his conversation, for he crossed his legs, dug one hand into his pocket, and laid his other arm along the table. He seemed to have very little regard for the conventions governing polite conduct, and Abby, in whom the conventions were deeply inculcated, was far less shocked than amused. Her expressive eyes twinkled engagingly as she said: “May I speak frankly to you, sir? About your nephew? I do not wish to offend you, but I fancy he is more the black sheep of your family than you are!”

“Oh, I shouldn’t think so at all!” he responded. “He sounds more like a cawker to me, if he’s making up to a girl who won’t come into her inheritance for eight years!”

“I have every reason to think,” said Abby frostily, “that my niece is not the first heiress he has—as you phrase it!—
made up
to!”

“Well, if he’s hanging out for a rich wife, I don’t suppose she is.”

Her fingers tightened round the handle of her parasol. “Mr Calverleigh, I have not yet met your nephew. He came to Bath while I was away, visiting my sisters, and was called to London, on matters of business, I am told, before I returned. My hope is that he has realized that his—his suit is hopeless, and won’t come back, but
your
presence in Bath quite dashes that hope, since I collect you must have come here in the expectation of seeing him.”

“Oh, no!” he assured her. “Whatever put that notion into your head?”

She blinked. “I assumed—well,
naturally
I assumed that you had come in search of him! I mean,—so close a relative, and, I understand, the only member of your immediate family still living—?”

“What of it? You know, fiddle-faddle about families and close relatives is so much humbug! I haven’t seen that nephew of mine since he was a grubby brat—if I saw him then, which very likely I didn’t, for I never went near my brother if I could avoid it—so why the devil should I want to see him now?”

She could think of no answer to this, but it seemed to her so ruthless that she wondered, remembering that he had been packed off to India in disgrace, whether it arose from feelings of rancour. However, his next words, which were uttered in a thoughtful tone, and quite dispassionately, lent no colour to her suspicion. He said: “You know, there’s a great deal of balderdash talked about family affection. How much affection have you for
your
family?”

Such a question had never before been put to her; and, since it was one of the accepted tenets that one loved and respected one’s parents, and (at the least) loved one’s brothers and sisters, she had not previously considered the matter. But just as she was about to assure this outrageous person that she was devoted to every member of her family the unendearing images rose before her mind’s eye of her father, of her two brothers, and even of her sister Jane. She said, a little ruefully: “For my mother, and for two of my sisters, a great deal.”

“Ah, I never had any sisters, and my mother died when I was a schoolboy.”

“You are much to be pitied,” she said.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so!” he replied. “I don’t like obligations.” The disarming smile crept back into his eyes, as they rested on her face. “My family disowned me more than twenty years ago, you know!”

“Yes, I did know. That is—I have been told that they did,” she said. She added, with the flicker of a shy smile: “I think it was a
dreadful
thing to have done, and—and perhaps is the reason why you don’t wish to meet your nephew?”

That made him laugh. “Good God, no! What concern was it of his?”

“I only thought—wondered—since it was his father—”

“No, no, that’s fustian!” he expostulated. “You can’t turn me into an object for compassion! I didn’t like my brother Humphrey, and I didn’t like my father either, but I don’t bear them any grudge for shipping me off to India. In fact, it was the best thing they could do, and it suited me very well.”

“Compassion certainly seems to be wasted on you, sir!” she said tartly.

“Yes, of course it is. Besides, I like you, and I shan’t if you pity me.

She was goaded into swift retort. “Well, that wouldn’t trouble me!”

“That’s the barber!” he said appreciatively. “Tell me more about this niece of yours! I collect her mother’s dead too?”

“Her mother died when she was two years old, sir.”

There was an inscrutable expression in his face, and although he kept his eyes on hers the fancy struck her that he was looking at something a long way beyond her. Then, with a sudden, wry smile, he seemed to bring her into focus again, and asked abruptly: “Rowland did marry her, didn’t he?—Celia Morval?”

“Why, yes! Were you acquainted with her?”

He did not answer this, but said: “And my nephew is dangling after her daughter?”

“I am afraid it is more serious than that. I haven’t met him, but he seems to be a young man of considerable address. He has succeeded in—in fixing his interest with her—well, to speak roundly, sir, she imagines herself to be violently in love with him. You may think that no great matter, as young as she is, but the thing is that she is a high-spirited girl, and her character is—is determined. She has been virtually in my charge—and that of my eldest sister—from her childhood. Perhaps she has been too much indulged—granted too much independence. I was never used to think so—you see, I was myself—we all were!—brought up in such subjection that I vowed I wouldn’t allow Fanny to be crushed as we were. I even thought—knowing how much I was used to long for the courage to rebel, and how bitterly I resented my father’s tyranny—that if I encouraged her to be independent, to look on me as a friend rather than as an aunt, she wouldn’t
feel
rebellious—would allow herself to be guided by me.”

“And she doesn’t?” he asked sympathetically.

“Not in this instance. But until your nephew bewitched her she did! She’s the dearest girl, but I own that she can be headstrong, and too impetuous.” She paused, and then said ruefully: “ Once she makes up her mind it is very hard to turn her from it. She—she isn’t a
lukewarm
girl! It is one of the things I particularly like in her, but it is quite disastrous in this instance!”

“Infatuated, is she? I daresay she’ll recover,” he said, a suggestion of boredom in his voice.

“Undoubtedly! My fear is that she may do so too late! Mr Calverleigh, if your nephew were the most eligible bachelor in the country I should be opposed to the match! She is by far too young to be thinking of marriage. As it is, I need not, I fancy, scruple to tell you that he is
not
eligible! He bears a most shocking reputation, and, apart from all else, I believe him to be a fortune-hunter!”

“Very likely, I should think,” he nodded.

This cool rejoinder made it necessary for her to keep a firm hand on the rein of her temper. She said, in a dry voice: “
You
may regard that with complaisance, sir, but I do not!”

“No, I don’t suppose you do,” he agreed amiably.

She flushed. “And—which is of even more importance!—nor does my brother!”

This seemed to revive his interest. A gleam came into his eyes. “What, does he know of this?”

“Yes, sir, he does know of it, and nothing, I assure you, could exceed his dislike of such a connection! It was he who told me what had been happening here, in Bath, during my absence, having himself learnt of it through someone who chances to be a close friend of his wife. He posted up to London from Bedfordshire to appraise me of it. Pray do not think I exaggerate when I say that I have seldom seen him more profoundly shocked, or—or heard him express himself with so much violence! Believe me, sir,
nothing
could prevail upon him to give his consent to your nephew’s proposal!”

“I do—implicitly!” he replied, the light of unholy amusement in his eyes. “What’s more, I’d give a monkey to have seen him! Lord, how funny!”

“It was not in the least funny! And—”

“Yes, it was, but never mind that! Why should you fall into a fuss ? If the virtuous James forbids the banns, and if my nephew is a fortune-hunter, depend upon it he will cry off!” He saw the doubt in her face, and said: “You don’t think so?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know. It may be that he hopes to win James over—”

“Well, he won’t do that!”

“No. Unless—Mr Calverleigh, I have reason—
some
reason—to fear that he might persuade her into an
elopement!
Thinking that once the knot was tied my brother would be obliged—”

She stopped as he broke into a shout of laughter, and said indignantly: “It may seem
funny
to you, but I promise you—”

“It does! What a subject for a roaring farce! History repeats itself—with a vengeance!”

Wholly bewildered, she demanded: “What do you mean? What can you
possibly
mean?”

“My pretty innocent,” he said, in a voice of kindness spiced with mockery, “did no one ever tell you that I am the man who ran off with your Fanny’s mother?”

Chapter IV

It was a full minute before Abby could collect her startled wits enough to enable her to speak, and when she did speak it was not entirely felicitously. She exclaimed: “Then I was right! And
you
are it!”

With every appearance of enjoyment, he instantly replied: “ Until I know what
it
signifies, I reserve my defence.”

“The skeleton in the cupboard! Only I told Selina it would prove to be no more than the skeleton of a mouse!”

“You lied, then! The skeleton of a black sheep if you wish, but
not
that of a mouse—even a black mouse!”

Her voice quivered on the edge of laughter. “No, indeed! How—how
very
dreadful! But how—when—Oh, do, pray,
tell
me!”

“You shock me, Miss Abigail Wendover!—you know, I
do
like that name!—Who am I to divulge the secret which has been so carefully guarded?”

“The skeleton, of course!”

“But skeletons don’t talk!” he pointed out.

Preoccupied with her own thoughts, she paid no heed to this, but said suddenly: “
That
was why James flew into such a stew! Now, isn’t it
like
James
not to have told me the truth?”