The Nonesuch (20 page)

He was shortly to be still more gratified. The news that the Nonesuch had another cousin staying with him, and one who was an out-and-out dandy, rapidly spread, and was productive of a spate of notes directed to Sir Waldo, and carrying the assurances of the various hostesses to whom he and Lindeth were engaged that they would be most happy to include Mr Laurence Calver amongst their guests.

Laurence affected unconcern, but he was secretly as much exhilarated as surprised by his sudden and unexpected rise to importance. In London, amongst men of more natural parts and longer purses than his, it was almost impossible to make a hit: particularly (as he had often and resentfully thought) if one had the misfortune to be overshadowed by so magnificent a cousin as the Nonesuch, who, besides being universally acknowledged as Top-of-the-Trees, commanded as much liking as admiration. Far too frequently had Laurence been presented to strangers as Sir Waldo Hawkridge’s cousin; and although he had not scrupled to use this relationship to gain the entrance to certain exclusive circles it galled him very much to know that he was accepted merely because of the respect in which Waldo was held. He would have repudiated with scorn any suggestion that he should seek fame in a rural district remote from the hub of fashion; but having been compelled by circumstance to visit his cousin he did not find it at all disagreeable to have become a star in this lesser firmament. Elderly and bucolic gentlemen might look upon him with disfavour; their hard-riding sons were welcome to make Waldo their model: to be admired or despised by dotards and schoolboys were matters of equal indifference to him while he was courted by the ladies, and enjoyed the exquisite satisfaction of knowing that his hair-style, his neckties, and many of his mannerisms were being copied by several aspirants to dandyism. His success made it possible for him to bear, with tolerable equanimity, his cousin’s tacit refusal to allow him to reopen the discussion which had brought him to Yorkshire. He had only once attempted to do so. He had been foiled, and he had thought that he had been a trifle too precipitate, perhaps, and must allow Waldo more time for consideration. He meant to have another touch at him after a discreet interval; meanwhile he was very well pleased to bridge the gap with whatever entertainments were offered him.

His appearance at the Colebatches’ ball transcended all expectations, and quite eclipsed the local smarts. The beautiful arrangement of his pomaded locks, the height of his shirt-points, the intricacies of his neckcloth, the starched frill which protruded between the lapels of his tightly-fitting coat, with its short front and its extravagantly cutaway tails, the fobs and the seals which hung from his waist, and even the rosettes on his dancing-pumps, proclaimed him to be a Tulip of the first stare. His bow was much admired; if he was not precisely handsome, he was generally held to be good-looking; and when he led Tiffany Wield on to the floor for the first waltz even the most hostile of his critics acknowledged him to be a most accomplished dancer. The Squire went further, setting Sir Ralph Colebatch off into an alarming choking fit by growling in his ear: ‘Damned caper-merchant!’

The eyes that followed his progress round the room might have remained fixed in his direction had they not been drawn off by a less agreeable but far more startling sight.

‘
Look!
’
ejaculated Mrs Banningham to Mrs Mickleby, in throbbing accents.

The Broom Hall party had arrived just as the opening set of country-dances had come to an end. Having greeted his hostess, Sir Waldo passed on, pausing to exchange a word or two with various acquaintances, unhurried, but scanning the room searchingly as he moved from group to group. His height enabled him to see over many heads, and it was thus that he discovered Miss Trent, who was seated beside Mrs Underhill against the wall on one side of the room. She was wearing a ball-dress of pale orange Italian crape, trimmed with lace, and cut low across the bosom; and instead of the demure braids she considered suitable for a companion-governess she had allowed her natural ringlets to fall becomingly from a knot placed high on her head. She looked very much younger, and, in Sir Waldo’s eyes, beautiful.

He made his way towards her, reaching her as the musicians were about to strike up. A smile, and a brief how-do-you-do Mrs Underhill, and he was bowing to Miss Trent, and saying: ‘May I have the honour, ma’am?’

He had told her that he should ask her for the first waltz, but she had expected him rather to invite her to dance with him later in the evening. She hesitated, feeling that she ought not to be the first lady to stand up with him. ‘Thank you, but – Miss Colebatch? Should you not –’

‘No, certainly not!’ he replied. ‘That’s Lindeth’s privilege.’

‘Oh! Yes, of course. But there are many other ladies who have a claim to –’

‘No,’ he interrupted. He smiled down at her, holding out his hand. ‘With you or no one! Come!’

‘That’s right, Sir Waldo!’ said Mrs Underhill, beaming up at him. ‘Don’t you take no for an answer, that’s my advice to you! And as for you, my dear, just you say
thank you kindly
,
sir
,
and no more nonsense!’

Ancilla could not resist. She rose, giving Sir Waldo her hand. Her eyes laughed into his. ‘Thank you kindly, sir!’ she repeated obediently.

His right hand lightly clasped her waist; he said, as he guided her round the room: ‘That woman is a constant refreshment to me!’

‘Indeed!’ she said, quizzing him. ‘How quickly your opinions change, sir! I seem to recall that when you last spoke of her it was in very different terms!’

‘I did her an injustice. I now recognize that she is a woman of great good sense. How well you dance!’

It was true, but very few of the onlookers derived any pleasure from the spectacle. Matrons who had brought their daughters to the ball felt their bosoms swell with wrath as they watched Tiffany Wield’s companion (or whatever she called herself) gliding over the floor in the Nonesuch’s arms, not finding it necessary to mind her steps, but performing the waltz gracefully and easily, and apparently enjoying an amusing conversation with him while she did it.

The Rector was one of those who watched with approval. He said to his wife: ‘Now, my love, we see how unexceptionable this new dance is! Charming! charming, indeed!’

‘Well, I cannot quite like it, but I own that it is very pretty when it is danced correctly,’ she replied. ‘I understand that Mr Calver is the best dancer here, but for my part I prefer Sir Waldo’s more restrained style. Miss Trent, too, dances as a lady should, but you may depend upon it that as soon as ever they become familiar with the steps Tiffany Wield, and Lizzie Colebatch, and the Mickleby girls will turn it into a romp. I should be sorry indeed to see a daughter of mine led into such impropriety.’

He laughed gently. ‘It would reflect sadly on her upbringing, would it not? I fancy we need feel no apprehension! She is dancing very prettily. It may be my partiality, but I am of the opinion that, saving only Miss Trent, she performs the waltz better than any other lady present.’

‘Yes,’ agreed his wife, ‘but Arthur Mickleby is too clumsy a partner for her.’

She saw that Mrs Underhill was quite alone, and went to her, sitting down beside her, and saying: ‘What do you think of the waltz, Mrs Underhill? My husband is in raptures over it, and thinks me very old-fashioned for not liking it as much as he does!’

‘Well, I wouldn’t like to be seen dancing it myself,’ said Mrs Underhill, ‘but I’m sure I never saw anything so pretty as the way Sir Waldo and Miss Trent glide and twirl about the room so elegantly! What has me in a puzzle is how she knows when he means to go down the room, and when he means to go round and round, for he don’t seem to push her or pull her, which you’d think he’d be obliged to, and which he certainly would be, if it was me he had his arm round!’

Mrs Chartley smiled. ‘They certainly dance very well together.’

‘Ay, don’t they?’ nodded Mrs Underhill, watching them complacently. ‘So well-matched as they are, Miss Trent being so tall, and the both of them so handsome! When she came down-stairs this evening, with her hair dressed the way you see it, and that gown on, which she says she’s had laid up in lavender ever since she left the General’s house, though little would you think it, “Well,” I said to her, “I declare I’ve never seen you in greater beauty!” I said. And no more I have.’ She lowered her voice, and added conspiratorially: ‘What’s more, Mrs Chartley, I wasn’t the only one to be knocked bandy! Oh, no! “With you or no one!” he said, when she was telling him he should ask another lady to stand up with him!’

‘Sir Waldo?’ asked Mrs Chartley, startled.

‘Sir Waldo!’ corroborated Mrs Underhill, with immense satisfaction. ‘Mind you, it didn’t come as any surprise to me! A pea-goose I may be, which Mr Underhill was used to call me – joking me, you understand! – but I’ve got eyes in my head, and I don’t need to wear spectacles either! Nor I’m not such a pea-goose as to think it’s for the pleasure of
my
company that Sir Waldo comes to Staples as often as he does. I
did
think it was Tiffany he was dangling after, but it ain’t. Not but what he flirts with her: that I can’t deny. But, to my way of thinking, it’s no more than playfulness. It’s Miss Trent who brings him to Staples.’

Mrs Chartley was disquieted by this confidence; and after a moment’s hesitation, said: ‘That he should feel some degree of preference for Miss Trent is very understandable. To a certain extent they belong to the same world – the London world – and no doubt they have acquaintances in common. Then, too, she is not a girl, but a woman of five or six-and-twenty, with a well-informed mind, and the habits of easy intercourse which come with increasing years. She doesn’t want for sense, but when a man of Sir Waldo’s address and experience makes a woman the object of his gallantry –’

‘Lor’, ma’am, whatever are you thinking of?’ broke in Mrs Underhill. ‘It’s not marriage with the left hand he has in his mind! Not with her uncle being a General!’

‘No, indeed! You mistake me! I meant only to say that it would be unwise to – to encourage Miss Trent to cherish what I am persuaded must be false hopes. Forgive me, dear ma’am, but I feel you are refining too much upon a mere flirtation!’

Mrs Underhill smiled indulgently at her. ‘Ay, well, he who lives the longest will see the most!’ she prophesied.

As she had looked forward to the ball with mixed feelings, so did Ancilla look back upon it. It had been with misgiving that she had accepted Lady Colebatch’s invitation, believing, with a sense of guilt, that in doing so she was allowing her desire to overcome the principles she had laid down for herself when she had first stepped deliberately out of her own sphere to become a schoolteacher.

It had been a hard decision to reach, for although her family was not affluent it was respected, and she had been accustomed all her life to move in the first circles of Hertfordshire. Her father’s death, coupled as it had been with unlucky investments, had left the family, not in penury, but in uncomfortably straitened circumstances, and no doubt existed in the minds of all those who were acquainted with the Trents that it was incumbent upon Ancilla to relieve her eldest brother of the burden of providing for her by contracting a suitable marriage. It was generally agreed that although she was then in her twenty-fourth year, and had no fortune, her case was not hopeless. She was very good-looking, with an air of distinction that always attracted attention; she was accomplished; her disposition was charming; though she was not vivacious she had a lively mind, and a witty tongue; and if she had rather too much reserve, and a composure that made her seem sometimes a little cold, her graceful manners always ensured her a welcome at any social function. It was a thousand pities she had not liked any of her admirers well enough to encourage their advances; but it was hoped that now, when she had been out for more than four years and must be fearful of dwindling into an old maid, she would not spurn a respectable offer.

That was what her aunt had hoped, when she had invited her to London for a whole season. Lady Trent, who was sincerely attached to her, had really done her best for her, introducing her to the ton, taking her to Almack’s, and even presenting her at one of the Queen’s Drawing-Rooms, but it had been to no avail. Ancilla would not marry where she did not love; and until she encountered the Nonesuch her heart had never experienced the smallest flutter.

Unwilling to marry, and resolved neither to add to the expenses of her brother’s household nor to hang upon her uncle’s sleeve, she had made her difficult decision, against the loudly expressed wishes of her family, and in the full realization that if she became a schoolmistress she would, to all intents and purposes, have renounced the world. It had been a hard duty, but she saw it as inescapable; and when she had accepted the post offered her by Miss Climping she had put the social life which she enjoyed behind her, and moulded herself into the form of a governess. By the time she had been fortunate enough to exchange her situation at Bath for the highly paid and privileged one which she now held she had thought herself inured to the disadvantages of her position. It had not been long before that position had become far more agreeable than she had ever supposed possible; but however much her kind employer might urge her to think herself one of the family, discretion, and a strong sense of propriety had prevented her from stepping across the invisible line she had drawn for herself. Her place was in the background, ready to fill a social need, but never putting herself forward. If Mrs Underhill were indisposed, she was perfectly willing to escort Tiffany to a party, where she took her place amongst the chaperons; but when, as had occasionally happened, she had herself received an invitation she had been steadfast in her refusal.

Until the arrival on the scene of the Nonesuch. Within a fortnight of their first meeting – or had it been within a minute? – he had destroyed her calm, undermined her resolution, and utterly demolished her comfort. She had believed herself to be a rational woman, with a well-regulated mind and a temperate disposition; but since his coming into Yorkshire she had swung from breathless happiness to doubt and despondency. Her heart had never previously opposed her mind: they seemed now to be in eternal conflict, the one warning her to take care, the other urging her to throw care and discretion to the wind.

Mind had suffered a severe set-back over the invitation to Lady Colebatch’s ball. The correct Miss Trent, who had long since outgrown her love of dancing, desperately wanted to go to the ball.
Just this once!
she pleaded.
What harm can there be in it
,
when Mrs Underhill particularly wishes me to accept? I have too much sense to let it turn my head!
Her well-regulated mind replied uncompromisingly:
You have none at all. You want to go to this ball because Sir Waldo will be there
,
and if you had a grain of sense you would hint him away before he has ruined your peace.

Heart had won. She had gone to the ball, meaning to behave with the utmost circumspection; but no sooner had she dressed her hair in her former style than circumspection fled. She felt young again, as excited as a girl going to her first party, a little reckless.

The recklessness, encouraged by the lights and the laughter, and the music, had grown. She had retained enough prudence to demur when Sir Waldo had asked her to dance the first waltz with him, but none thereafter, she thought. She had felt the exquisite happiness of knowing herself to be sought after by the man of her choice; and when he had asked her to waltz with him a second time she had not hesitated. He had taken her in to supper, too; and when they had gone into the garden to watch the firework-display it had been he who had fetched her shawl, and put it round her shoulders. So heedless had she been, so lost in enchantment, that she had not spared a thought for what might be the opinions of the matrons who watched her so jealously, and was shocked when an acid comment from Mrs Banningham made her realize that she was considered by that lady, and some others too, to be setting her cap at the Nonesuch. She knew it to be spite, but she felt ready to sink; and when Lady Colebatch had said to her, laughingly: ‘All this dangerous flirting with Sir Waldo – ! Fie on you, Miss Trent!’ her enjoyment was at an end, and her fears and doubts again assailed her.

She knew herself to be inexperienced in love, and guessed that Sir Waldo was not. It was beyond question that he was strongly attracted to her, but whether he had anything but flirtation in mind she could not tell. When their eyes met, and he smiled, she thought that surely he could not look at her and smile just so if the feeling he had for her was not deeper and more enduring than a mere passing fancy. Then she remembered that she was not the only woman to be charmed by his smile; and wondered if she was flattering herself in believing that that particular smile was one which no one but she had seen. But it was rumoured that he had had many loves: she supposed that a squire of dames must necessarily possess the power of making one believe that he was very much in love with one.

Almost as painful as these doubts was the thought that by allowing the Nonesuch to single her out she, who had so often preached propriety to Tiffany, should herself have set the neighbourhood in a bustle. Her conduct must have been very bad, she thought, for even Courtenay had remarked on it, saying, with a grin: ‘Lord, ma’am, won’t Tiffany be as mad as fire to see the Nonesuch making up to you!’

But it had not entered Tiffany’s head that any man, far less a man of Sir Waldo’s consequence, could feel the smallest tendre for a governess. In talking over the ball she had spoken quite casually of Sir Waldo’s having danced two waltzes with Miss Trent, and disclosed, as a very good joke, that some of the old cats had taken snuff at it, because they fancied him to be dangling after her. ‘You and
Sir Waldo
,
Ancilla – !’ she gurgled, ‘I was very nearly in whoops, as you may imagine! Of all the absurdities!’

‘I don’t think it would be at all absurd!’ stated Charlotte belligerently. ‘Not nearly such an absurdity as for anyone to suppose that he was dangling after
you
! I suppose you’re jealous because he didn’t ask you to stand up with him first of all!’

‘Oh, he couldn’t!’ said Tiffany, with a saucy look. ‘Mr Calver was before him! He was obliged to wait for the second waltz with me! And poor Lindeth for the third!’

Miss Trent regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, before lowering her gaze again to the handkerchief she was hemming. She had not been so much absorbed in her own affairs as to have had no leisure to observe Tiffany’s behaviour at the ball. Being fairly well conversant with Tiffany’s methods of punishing and still further enslaving any member of her court who had displeased her, she had not been surprised when she had seen her at her dazzling best with all the admirers whose noses had been put out of joint by Lord Lindeth, raising melting eyes to Mr Calver’s face, and treating Lindeth with careless indifference. Miss Trent had been amused rather than shocked, for these tactics, she thought, betrayed Tiffany’s
extreme youth. They might answer well enough with callow boys, but they were not at all likely to inspire Lindeth with anything but disgust. She hoped they would do so, but she hoped also that they were not as blatant to others as they were to her.

To one person they were perfectly obvious. Laurence Calver’s intellect was not superior, but he had a certain quickness of perception, and a decided talent for discovering scandals and frailties. He went to the ball suspecting that his cousin Lindeth had a considerable interest in the unknown Beauty, and it did not take him long to become convinced of this, or to realize that some tiff had occurred to rupture what had no doubt been a promising
affaire.
That was very interesting, and opened out all sorts of possibilities. The girl was a minx: bang-up to the echo, of course, but not at all the thing for Lindeth. Waldo must know that, so what was he doing to prevent such a shocking alliance? Or was he at a stand? And if so would he be grateful if his other cousin were to intervene? Yes, thought Laurence: if the thing were serious, he would be. It would be very amusing, and not at all difficult: the Beauty had already thrown out unmistakeable lures to him, and he was perfectly ready to accept these. No doubt she was on the catch for Lindeth; and no doubt either that she thought to bring him to the scratch by making him mad with jealousy. Possibly she would succeed in making him jealous – and that would be amusing too – but if she supposed that by flirting outrageously with another man she would goad Lindeth into popping the question she must be as birdwitted as she was beautiful. Too vulgar by half for young Julian!

All this was pleasantly intriguing. It was satisfactory too to have discovered why Waldo was lingering in this God-forsaken district: he had set up a new flirt. Not very like him to make a female who appeared to be some sort of a
governess the object of his gallantry, but girls who were just out never took his fancy, and apart from them the only females in the neighbourhood seemed to be fussocks, like Lady Colebatch, or regular worricrows, like Mrs Banningham and the Squire’s wife.

Critically surveying Miss Trent, Laurence doubted whether she would prove a satisfactory flirt. Not striking
au fait de beauté
,
and too much of a Long Meg for his taste, but a distinguished-looking woman: nothing of the dasher about her! If Waldo didn’t take care he’d find himself riveted, and a rare kettle of fish that would be! The last of the Hawkridges leg-shackled to a nobody who earned her bread by teaching provincial schoolgirls to write and to cipher and to stitch samplers! Devilish funny that would be! But it was odd of Waldo to raise false expectations. Come to think of it, all his flirts were married women of the world, well up to snuff; and he had some pretty Gothic notions about trifling with females on the catch for eligible husbands. Still odder that he shouldn’t have seen that this Long Meg of his was badly love-bitten.

Hot on the scent of this really succulent on-dit, Laurence sought information of his younger cousin, saying casually: ‘You didn’t tell me that Waldo had set up a new flirt. Who is she?’

Julian stared at him. ‘New flirt? Waldo?’

‘Running rather sly, ain’t you?’ drawled Laurence. ‘Tall female – somebody’s governess, I collect. Lord, Julian, do you take me for a flat?’

‘Miss Trent! Good God, what next? New flirt, indeed! She’s Miss Wield’s companion: a most agreeable woman, but as for being Waldo’s
flirt
– !
You should know him better!’

‘No need to take a pet! All
I
know is that between the pair of ’em they set all the tabbies in an uproar last night!’

‘I daresay! They live on scandal-broth!’

‘But who is she?’ insisted Laurence. ‘Or is that one of those questions one shouldn’t ask?’

‘Not in the least. You are probably acquainted with her cousin, Bernard Trent. Her father was killed in the assault on Ciudad Rodrigo, and left the family all to pieces, I fancy. General Trent is her uncle.’

‘Is he, though?’ said Laurence, his eyes widening a little.

He asked no more questions, because he didn’t want Waldo to think he was prying into his affairs, and Julian was such a bagpipe that you never knew what he might blurt out, in his artless way. Besides, Julian probably didn’t know any more. He had said enough to put quite a different complexion on the matter: it began to look as though Waldo was thinking of becoming a tenant-for-life at last. Nothing wonderful about that: he was bound to marry one day. The wonder was that with the pick of the ton to choose from he should throw the handkerchief to a mere Miss Trent, who might be well-enough born, but who was quite unknown, and hadn’t rank, fortune, or any extraordinary degree of beauty to recommend her. Lord, what a sensation it would cause! Laurence knew of several top-lofty beauties who would look blue when they heard of it, one of whom had once rudely snubbed him. It would be pleasant to whisper the news in her ear.

Of course, it might not be true; he would be better able to judge when he had seen them together again. He hoped Miss Trent would be present at Mrs Underhill’s turtle-dinner: it seemed likely that she would be; and if she was he had every intention of making himself very agreeable to her. If there was the least chance of her becoming Waldo’s wife, it was a matter of the highest importance to stand well with her. Really, it was very fortunate that he had come to Yorkshire!