Charity Girl (14 page)

   'Oh, the black sheep of the family! Before your time! Before mine too, if it comes to that, but I remember all the talk that went on about him, and in particular the things Papa said of him, and every other Steane he had ever heard of ! Which is why I don't want him to get wind of Cherry !'

   'Is that the girl's name?' asked Simon. 'Queer sort of a name to give a girl!'

   'No, her name is Charity, but she prefers to be called Cherry. I met her when I was staying at Hazelfield. I don't propose to take you into the circumstances which led me to bring her to London in search of her grandfather, but you may believe I was pretty well forced to do so. She was living with her maternal aunt, and being so shabbily treated that she ran away. I met her trying to walk to London, and since nothing would prevail upon her to let me take her back to her aunt what else could I do but take her up?'

   'A regular Galahad, ain't you?' grinned Simon.

   'No, I am not! If I'd dreamed I should be dipped in the wing over the business I wouldn't have done it!'

   'You would,' said Simon. 'Think I don't know you? What, by the way, did the black sheep do to cause a scandal?'

   'According to my father, just about everything, short of murder! Nettlecombe cast him off when he eloped with Cherry's mother, but what forced him to fly abroad was being found out in Greeking transactions. Took to drinking young 'uns into a proper state for plucking, and then fuzzed the cards.'

   Simon opened his eyes very wide. 'Nice fellow!' he com mented. 'What has become of him?'

   'Nobody seems to know, but since nothing has been heard of him for some years he is generally thought to be dead.'

   'Well, it's to be hoped he is,' said Simon. 'If you don't mind my saying so, dear boy, the sooner you palm the girl off on to her grandfather the better it will be. You haven't a tendre for her, have you?'

   'Oh, for God's sake – !' Desford exclaimed. 'Of course I haven't!'

   'Beg pardon!' murmured Simon. 'Only wondered!'

Before the brothers parted that evening Simon had tucked into his pocket the Viscount's cheque, and had asked him in a soft, mischievous voice if he meant to go to Newmarket, for the July Meeting. The Viscount answered that he had meant to go, but now saw little hope of it. 'Ten to one I shall still be hunting for Nettlecombe,' he said. 'But if you are going I rather fancy I can put you on to a sure thing: Mopsqueezer. Old Jerry Tawton earwigged me at Tatt's last week, and he's in general a safe man at the corner.'

   Simon gripped his hand, smiling warmly at him, and said: 'Thank you, Des. Dash it, you
are a
trump!'

   Slightly surprised, Desford responded: 'What, for passing on Jerry's tip? Don't be such a gudgeon!'

   'No, not for that, and not even for this,' said Simon, patting his pocket. 'For not reading me any elder-brotherly jobations!'

   'Much heed you would pay to them if I did!'

   'Oh, you never know! I might!' Simon said lightly. He picked up his hat, and set it at a rakish angle on his fair locks. He hesitated for a moment, and then said: 'I shall go back to London tomorrow, and shall be fixed there until I go to Newmarket. So, if you do find yourself in a hobble, and think I might be able to help, come round to my lodgings, and – and I'll do my best for you!' He added, returning to his insouciant manner: 'You've no notion how nacky my best is! Goodbye, dear boy!'

   The Viscount left Inglehurst some twenty minutes later relieved of at least one of his worries. Lady Silverdale, thanks largely to her dislike of Lady Bugle, and in some measure to Cherry's modest demeanour, seemed inclined to look favourably upon her uninvited guest. It was perhaps fortunate that she did not think Cherry more than passably pretty. 'Poor child!' she said. 'Such a pity that she should be a little dab of a thing, and dress so dowdily! Hetta, my love, it would be only kind, I think, to make her rather more presentable; and I have been wondering whether, if you gave her that green cambric which we decided was not the colour for you, she might make herself a dress. Just a simple round dress, you know! And she must have her hair cropped, for I cannot endure untidy heads.'

   Henrietta being very willing to encourage her parent in these charitable schemes, the Viscount took his leave of both ladies, and went away feeling that, at least for the present, her hostess would treat Cherry kindly.

   When he left the house Cherry was sunk in profound slumber, from which the noise of his chaise-wheels under her window, and the trampling of hooves on the gravel, did not even disturb her dreams. She was so tired after the exertions and the agitations of the day that she hardly stirred until one of the housemaids came in to draw back the curtains round her bed, expressing, as Cherry opened her drowsy eyes and stretched like a kitten, the hope that she had slept well, and informing her that it was a beautiful morning. In proof of this statement she drew back the window-blinds, making Cherry blink at the sudden blaze of sunlight that flooded the room. Cherry sat up with a jerk, remembering all the events of the previous day, and asked to be told what time it was. Upon hearing that it was eight o'clock, she gave a gasp of dismay, and exclaimed: 'Oh, goodness! Then I must have slept for twelve hours! However did I come to do such a thing?'

   The housemaid, perceiving that she was about to scramble out of bed, told her that there was no need for her to hurry herself, since my lady never came downstairs to breakfast, and Miss Hetta had given orders that she was not to be disturbed until eight o'clock. She then set a burnished brass can of hot water down beside the little corner washstand, begged Miss to ring the bell if there was anything else she required, and went away, pausing in the doorway to say that breakfast would be served in the parlour at ten o'clock.

   Cherry was left to take stock of her surroundings. She had been too much exhausted when Hetta had put her to bed to pay much heed to them, the only things which had impressed themselves on her having been very soft pillows, and the most comfortable bed in which it had ever been her lot to lie; but now, hugging her knees, she stared about her in awe and wonderment. She thought it the most elegant bedchamber imaginable, and would have been amazed had she known that Lady Silverdale was most dissatisfied with the hangings, which she said had faded so much that they now looked detestably shabby. Her ladyship had also detected a slight stain on the carpet, where some careless guest had spilt some lotion. But Cherry did not notice this, or that the hangings were faded. Miss Fletching's Seminary for Young Ladies had been furnished neatly but austerely; and at Maplewood Cherry had shared a room with Corinna and Dianeme, who were not considered by their mama to be old enough to justify the expenditure of any more money on them than was strictly necessary. Consequently, their room was furnished with a heterogeneous collection of chairs and cupboards which had either been judged too shabby for the rooms where they had originally stood, or bought dog-cheap in a saleroom. And even Aunt Bugle's bed was not hung with curtains of silk damask, thought Cherry, almost fearfully stroking them.

   She slid out of bed, and made a discovery: someone had not only unpacked her portmanteau, but had also ironed the creases out of the two dresses she had brought with her. This seemed to her such a dizzy height of luxury that she almost supposed her-self to be still asleep and dreaming.

   When she entered the breakfast-parlour, conducted to it by Grimshaw at his most stately, she found Henrietta making the tea, and was greeted by her in so kind and friendly a way that she lost the terror with which Grimshaw had inspired her, and said impulsively: 'I think I was so stupid last night that I didn't tell you how very, very grateful I am to you, and to Lady Silverdale, for being so excessively kind to me! Indeed, I don't know how to thank you enough!'

   'Nonsense!' said Henrietta, smiling at her. 'I lost count of the times you thanked me last night! I think it was the last thing you said, when I blew out the candle, but as you were three parts asleep I might be mistaken!'

   By the time they rose from the table Henrietta had succeeded in charming Cherry out of her nervous shyness, and had won enough of her confidence to make her feel sincerely sorry for her. It was plain that she had not been encouraged to confide in her aunt; and although she spoke affectionately of Miss Fletching Henrietta did not think that their relationship had been closer than that of kind and just mistress, and grateful pupil. Cherry answered her questions with a good deal of reserve, and seemed at first to expect to be snubbed; but when she realized that she stood in no such danger she became very much more natural, and chatted away as easily as she had done on her journey to London. But much persuasion was needed to prevail upon her to accept the length of green cambric, and when she did at last yield, it was on condition that she should be allowed to pay for it – not with money, but with service. 'I have been used to being em ployed,' she assured Henrietta. 'So
pray, Miss Silverdale, tell me what yo
u would wish me to do!'

   'But I don't wish you to do anything!' objected Henrietta. 'You are our guest, Cherry, not a hired servant!'

   'No,' said Cherry, flushing, and lifting her determined chin. 'It is only your kindness which makes you say that, and – and it gives me such a warm
feel in my heart that I couldn't be happ
y if you didn't permit me to make myself useful here. I can see, of course, that you have a great many servants, but there must be hundreds of things I could do for you, and for Lady Silverdale, that perhaps you would not ask the servants to do! Run ning errands – fetching things – searching for things you have mislaid – darning holes in your stockings – oh, all the things which I daresay you do for yourselves, and think a dead bore!'

   Since Henrietta had yet to discover anything her parent would hesitate to ask her servants to do for her she could not help laughing, but she naturally did not tell Cherry why she laughed. All she said was: 'Well, I'll do my best to oblige you, but I think it only right to warn you that if you encourage me to shuffle off every dull task it is my duty to perform you will rapidly turn me into the most indolent, selfish creature imagin able!'

   'No. That I know I
couldn't
do!' said Cherry, mistily smiling at her.

   She spent most of the morning happily engaged in cutting out the green cambric, and tacking the pieces together. In this she had the expert assistance of Miss Hephzibah Cardle, my lady's own dresser, whose spinsterish form and acidulated countenance could have led no one to suppose that she combined a rare talent for turning her mistress out complete to the last feather with a jealous adoration of that singularly unappreciative lady. Her services to Miss Steane were prof fered with extreme reluctance, and would not have been proffered at all if her ladyship had not commanded her to do what she could to give Miss Steane a new touch. Professional pride overcame less admirable feelings, and even led her (to save my lady the expense of sending for her own hairdresser, she said) to trim Miss Steane's unruly locks into a more manageable, and very much more becoming style, which won for her one of my lady's rare encomiums. But although nothing could have been more prettily expressed than Cherry's gratitude for her kind offices she could not like her. She found only one sympathizer in the household: Mrs Honeybourne, the stout and goodnatured housekeeper, might declare that Miss was a sweet young lady; the maids and the two footmen, and even the cross-grained head-gardener smiled indulgently upon her, but Grimshaw regarded her with dislike and suspicion. He and Miss Cardle were convinced that she was an artful humbugger, bent on insinuating herself into my lady's and Miss Hetta's good graces by palavering them, and playing off all manner of cajoleries. 'If you was to ask me for my opinion, Miss Cardle,' he said portentously, 'I should feel myself bound to say that I consider she is cutting a wheedle. And what I think of my Lord Desford's conduct in foisting her on to my lady is something I wouldn't demean myself by divulging.'

   Happily for Cherry's peace of mind the punctilious civility with which both these ill-wishers treated her precluded her from realizing how bitterly they resented her presence at Inglehurst. Within three days of her arrival she had lost her apprehensive look, and was unfolding shy petals in the warmth of a hitherto unknown approval. To be greeted with a smile, when she entered a room; to be addressed as 'dear child' by Lady Silverdale; to be fondly scolded by that lady for running an unnecessary errand; to be encouraged by Miss Silverdale to roam about the grounds at will; and to be treated as though she had been an invited guest, and not the unwanted incubus she felt herself to be, were such hitherto unexperienced circumstances that she was pas sionately anxious to repay her kind hostesses by every means that lay within her power. It did not take her more than a day to realize that there was little she could do for Henrietta, but much she could do for Lady Silverdale; and since she had never previ ously encountered Lady Silverdale's like she did not for a moment suspect that that lady's plaintive voice and caressing manner concealed a selfishness and a determination to have her own way far more ruthless than the cruder methods employed by Aunt Bugle. Where Lady Bugle would have imperiously com manded her to go in search of something she had mislaid, and reward her, when she brought the object to her, by wondering what in the world had taken her so long to find it, Lady Silverdale would initiate the search by saying, at the outset: 'Oh dear, how stupid of me! I've lost my embroidery-scissors! Now, where can I have left them? No, no, dear child! Why should
you
suffer for
my
carelessness?' And when Cherry, after an exhaustive search, found the missing scissors, and presented them, Lady Silverdale would say: 'Oh, Cherry, you dear child! You shouldn't have troubled yourself!'