Charity Girl

by Georgette Heyer

  He did not reach Harrowgate until shortly before noon on the following morning, because although he had had the intention of setting forward on the last few miles of his journey at eight o'clock Tain had quite deliberately refrained from rousing him until an hour later, saying mendaciously, but with complete sangfroid, that he had misunderstood his instructions. What he did not say was that when he had softly entered the room at six o'clock he had found the Viscount sunk in a profound sleep from which he had not had the heart to rouse him. He guessed, judging by his own experience, that my lord had spent the first part of the night under the lingering impression that he was still bowling and bounding and swaying over the road, and had only slept in uneasy snatches until overcome by exhaustion. As this guess was correct, and Desford was still feeling both sleepy and battered, the excuse was received with a prodigious yawn, accompanied by nothing more alarming than a sceptical glance, and a rather thickly uttered: 'Oh, well – !'

  Revived by an excellent breakfast, Desford shook off his unaccustomed lassitude, and resumed his journey. It was a day of bright sunshine, with just enough wind blowing off the moors to make it invigorating, and under these conditions he saw Harrowgate at its best, and was much inclined to think that his anony mous Guide had maligned the place. The Low Town did not attract him, but the situation of High Harrowgate, which lay nearly a mile beyond it, was as pleasant as the Guide had grudg ingly described. On a clear day – and this was a very clear day – York Minster could be seen in the distance, with the Hambleton hills beyond; and to the west the mountains of Craven. Besides the race course, the theatre, and the principal Chalybeate, High Harrowgate possessed a large green, which was one of its most agreeable features, and round which three of its chief hotels stood, a great many shops, and what bore all the appearance of being a fashionable library. 'Come now!' exclaimed Desford cheerfully, as the chaise drew up at the Dragon. 'I don't con sider this a dreary place at all, do you, Tain?'

  'Your lordship has not yet seen it in bad weather,' responded Tain unencouragingly. 'I should not myself choose to sojourn here on a dull day, when the prospect would no doubt be shrouded in mist.'

  Neither the Dragon nor the Granby had a room to spare, but the Viscount was more fortunate at the Queen's, where, after a hurried colloquy with his spouse, conducted in an urgent whisper, the landlord was happy to inform his lordship that he had just one room vacant – indeed, one of his best rooms, looking out on to the green, which he was only able to offer because the gentleman who had booked it had unaccountably failed to honour his contract. He then escorted Desford upstairs to inspect it, and, on its being approved, bowed himself out, and hurried downstairs again, first to order a couple of menials to carry up the gentleman's baggage to No. 7, and then to inform his flustered wife that if Mr Fritwell should happen to show his front Jack (the hope of his house) would have to give up his room to him, and bed down over the stables. Upon her venturing to expostu late he silenced her by saying that if she thought he was going to turn away a wellbreeched swell, travelling in a chaise-and-four, and attended by his valet, merely to avoid offending old Mr Fritwell, who was more inclined to argue over the reckoning than to drop his blunt freely, she was the more mistaken.

  Little though he knew it, the Viscount was indebted to Tain's entrance upon the scene, bearing his dressing-case, for the landlord's decision to sacrifice old Mr Fritwell. The landlord was sharp enough to recognize after one look at his lordship that a member of the Quality had walked into the inn, and – after a second, shrewd, glance at the cut of his lordship's coat, the intricate folds of his neckcloth, and the gloss on his top-boots – no country squire, but a London buck of the first head; but it was Tain's arrival which clinched the matter. Unknown ladies and gentlemen travelling without their personal servants found it hard to obtain accommodation at any of the best inns in Harrowgate, valets and abigails apparently being regarded by the landlords as insurances against the possibility of being choused out of their due reckonings.

  The Viscount had not thought it necessary to acquaint the landlord either with his name or his rank, but this was a foolish omission speedily rectified by Tain, far better versed in such matters than his master. Instead of following immediately in the Viscount's wake, he awaited the landlord's return at the foot of the stairs, and proceeded with quelling civility to make known to him my lord's requirements. By the time he had reached the stage of warning the landlord not, on any account, to permit the Boots to lay a finger on my lord's footwear, he had succeeded in so much enlarging his master's consequence that it would not have been surprising if the landlord had believed himself to be entertaining, if not a Royal prince, at least a Serene Highness.

  As a result of these competent, if top-lofty, tactics, he was able to inform the Viscount, when he presently rejoined him in No. 7, that he had ventured to bespeak a private parlour for him, and to arrange with the landlord for his dinner to be served there. The Viscount, who was standing by the window, watching the various persons passing below, replied absently: 'Have you? I thought it not worth while to ask for one since I don't expect to be here above a couple of nights, but I daresay you're right. You know, Tain, the place is full of valetudinarians! I've never seen so many people hobbling along on sticks in my life!'

  'Exactly so, my lord!' said Tain, beginning swiftly to unpack the contents of the dressing-case. 'I have myself seen three of them enter this house, one of them being an elderly lady of what one must call a garrulous disposition. I formed the opinion that if she were to subject your lordship to a description of her suf ferings and of the cure which she is undergoing you would be hard put to it to maintain even the appearance of civility.'

  'Then you were certainly right to procure a private parlour for me,' said the Viscount, laughing.

  Leaving Tain to unpack his portmanteau, he sallied forth to continue his search for Lord Nettlecombe. He had already enquired for him at the Dragon and the Granby, without meeting with anything but blank looks, and head-shakings, so, as the Chalybeate, under its imposing dome, lay on the opposite side of the green he thought he might as well make that his first port of call. If Lord Nettlecombe had come to Harrowgate for his health's sake it seemed likely that he must by now have become a familiar figure there. But none of the attendants seemed to have heard of his lordship, the most helpful amongst them being unable to do more than suggest that he should be sought at the Tewit Well, which was the second of the two Chalybeates, situated half-a-mile to the west of the principal one.

  Desford strode off, glad to be able to stretch his legs after having been cooped up for so many hours, but although he en joyed a brisk walk it ended in another rebuff, accompanied by a recommendation to try the Sulphur Wells, at Lower Harrowgate, and the information that although the Lower town was a mile distant by road it was no more than halfa-mile away if approached 'over the stile'. But as the directions given to him on how to reach the stile were as vague as such directions too often are, Desford decided to enquire at the inns and boarding-houses in High Harrowgate, before extending his search to the Lower town.

  He very soon discovered that although Harrowgate was des cribed by the Guide as consisting of two scattered villages this was another of that anonymous author's misleading statements: no village that Desford had yet seen contained so many inns and boarding-houses as High Harrowgate. At none of those he visited was he able to obtain any news of his quarry, and by the time a church clock struck the hour of six, at which unfashion able time dinner was served at all the best inns, he was tired, hungry, and exasperated, and thankfully abandoned, for that day, his fruitless search.

  When he reached the Queen he was considerably surprised by the respect with which he was greeted, the porter bowing him in, a waiter hurrying forward to discover whether he would take a glass of sherry before he went upstairs to his parlour, and the landlord breaking off a conversation with a less favoured guest to conduct him to the stairs, informing him on the way that dinner – which he trusted would meet with his
approval – should be served immediately, and that he had taken it upon himself to bring up a bottle of his best burgundy from the cellar, and one of a very tolerable claret, in case my lord should prefer the lighter wine.

  The reason for these embarrassingly obsequious attentions was soon made plain to the Viscount. Tain, relieving him of his hat and gloves, said that he had ventured to order a neat, plain dinner for him, consisting of a Cressy soup, removed with a fillet of veal, some glazed sweetbreads, and a few petit pâtés, to be followed by a second course of which prawns, peas, and a goose-berry tart were the principal dishes. 'I took the precaution, my lord,' he said, 'of looking at the bill of fare, and saw that it was just as I had feared: a mere ordinary, and not at all what you are accustomed to. So I ordered what I believe you will like.'

  'Well, I am certainly hungry, but I couldn't eat the half of it!' Desford declared.

  However, when he sat down to table he found that he was hungrier than he had supposed, and he ate rather more than half of what was set before him. The claret, though not of the first growth, was better than the landlord's somewhat slighting des cription of it had led him to expect; and the brandy with which he rounded off the repast was a true Cognac. Under its benign influence he began to take a more hopeful view of his immediate prospects, and to consider what his next move should be. He decided that the best thing he could do would be to visit first the Sulphur Well, and next, if he failed to come by any intelligence of Lord Nettlecombe's whereabouts there, to discover the names and directions of the doctors practising in Harrowgate.

  The experiences of the first wearing day he had spent in his search for Nettlecombe prevented him from feeling either surprise or any marked degree of disappointment when his enquiries at the Sulphur Well were productive of nothing more than regretful headshakes; but he was a trifle daunted when presented with a list of the Harrowgate doctors: he had not thought that so many medical men were to be found in so small a spa. He betook himself to the Crown, to study the list over a fortifying tankard of Home Brewed; and, having crossed off from it those who advertised themselves as Surgeons, and consulted a plan of both High and Low Harrowgate, which he had had the forethought to buy that morning, set out on foot to visit the first of the Lower town's practitioners which figured on the list. Neither this member of the Faculty, nor the next on his list, numbered Lord Nettlecombe amongst his patients, but just as the Viscount was contemplating with disgust the prospect of spending the rest of the day in what he was fast coming to believe was an abortive search, fortune at last smiled upon him: Dr Easton, third on the list, not only knew where Nettlecombe was lodging, but had actually been summoned to attend him, when his lordship had suffered a severe attack of colic. 'As far as I am aware,' he said, austerely regarding Desford over the top of his spectacles, 'his lordship has not removed from that lodging, but since he has not again sought my services I do not claim him as a patient. I will go further! Should he again request my attendance upon him I should have no hesitation in recommending him to consult some other physician more willing than I am, perhaps, to being told that his diagnosis is false, and to having his prescription spurned!'

  Resisting an absurd but strong impulse to offer Dr Easton an apology for Nettlecombe's rudeness, Desford took his leave, saying that he was much obliged to him, and assuring him, with a disarming smile, that he had all his sympathy.

  It transpired that Nettlecombe's lodging was in one of the larger boarding-houses in the Lower town. It had an air of some-what gloomy respectability, and was presided over by an angular lady whose appearance carried the suggestion that she must be in mourning for a near relation, since she wore a bombasine dress of sombre hue, without frills, or lace, or even a ribbon to lighten its sobriety. Her cap was of starched cambric, tied tightly be neath her chin; and as much of her hair as was allowed to be seen was iron-gray, and smoothed into bands as severe as her expression. She put Desford forcibly in mind of the dame in the village that lay beyond Wolversham who terrified the rural children into good behaviour and the rudiments of learning; and he would not have been in the least surprised to have seen a birch-rod on the high desk behind which she stood.

  She was talking to an elderly couple, whose decorous bearing and prim voices exactly matched their surroundings, when Des-ford entered the house, but she broke off the conversation to direct a piercing look of appraisal at him, which made him feel that at any moment she would tell him that his neckcloth was crooked, or demand to know if he had washed his hands before venturing into her presence. His lips twitched, and his eyes began to dance, upon which her countenance relaxed, and, excusing herself to the elderly couple, she came towards him, saying, with a slight bow: 'Yes, sir? What may I have the honour to do for you? If it is accommodation you are seeking, I regret I have none to offer: my house is always fully booked for the season.'

  'No, I don't want accommodation,' he replied. 'But I be lieve you have Lord Nettlecombe staying here. Is that so?'

  Her face hardened again; she said grimly: 'Yes, sir, it is so!'

  It was apparent that the presence of Lord Nettlecombe in her house afforded her no gratification, and that Desford's enquiry had caused whatever good opinion she had formed of himself to wither at birth. When he requested her to have his card taken to my lord she gave a small, contemptuous sniff, and without deigning to reply, turned away to call sharply to a waiter just about to enter the long room: 'George! Conduct this gentleman to Lord Nettlecombe's parlour!'

  She then favoured the Viscount with a haughty inclination of her head, and resumed her conversation with the elderly couple.

  Amused, but also a trifle ruffled by this cavalier treatment, Desford was on the verge of telling her that when he had handed her his card he had intended it to be taken to Lord Nettlecombe, not laid on her desk, when it occurred to him that perhaps it would be as well not to give his lordship the opportunity to refuse to see him, so he suppressed the impulse to give this ridiculously uppish creature a set-down, and followed the waiter up the stairs, and along a corridor. The waiter, whose air of profound gloom argued a life of intolerable slavery, but was prob ably due to the pain of flat feet, stopped outside a door at the end of the corridor, and asked what name he should say, and, upon learning it, opened the door, and repeated it in a raised, indifferent voice.

  'Eh? What's that?' demanded Lord Nettlecombe wrathfully. 'I won't see him! What the devil do you mean by bringing people up here without my leave? Tell him to go away!'

  'I fear you will be obliged to do that yourself, sir,' said Desford, shutting the door upon the waiter, and coming forward. 'Pray accept my apologies for not sending up my card! It was my intention to have done so, but the formidable lady below-stairs thought otherwise.'

  'That damned pigeon-fancier!' ejaculated his lordship fiercely. 'She had the curst impudence to try to diddle me! But I'm no pigeon for her plucking, and so I told her! Gullcatcher! Slip-gibbet! Nail!' He broke off suddenly. 'What do you want?' he snarled.

  'A few words with you, sir,' said the Viscount coolly.

  'Well, I don't want to talk to you! I don't want to talk to anyone! If your name's Desford you must be old Wroxton's son, and he's no friend of mine, I'll have you know!'

  'Oh, I do know it!' responded the Viscount, laying his hat, his gloves, and his malacca cane down on the table.

  This indication that he meant to prolong his visit infuriated Nettlecombe so much that he said, in a kind of scream: 'Don't do that! Go away! Do you want to send me off the hooks? I'm a sick man! Worn to the bone with all the worry and trouble I've had! Burnt to the socket, damn it! I won't have strangers thrust in on me, I tell you!'

  'I'm sorry you are in such indifferent health,' said Desford politely, 'I will try not to tax your strength, but I have a duty to discharge which closely concerns you, and I believe – '

  'If you've come from my son Jonas you've wasted your time!' interrupted Nettlecombe, his pale eyes sharp with suspicion.

  'I have not,' said Desford, his cal
m voice in marked contrast to Nettlecombe's shrill accents. 'I have come on behalf of your granddaughter.'

  'That's a damned quibble!' instantly exclaimed his lordship. 'Jonas may take care of his brats himself, and so you may tell him! I wash my hands of the whole brood!'

  'I am not speaking of Mr Jonas Steane's daughters, sir, but of your younger son's only child.'

  My lord's bony hands clenched the arms of his chair convul sively. 'I have no younger son!'

  'From what I have been able to discover I fear that that may be true,' said Desford.

  'Ha! Dead, is he? And a good thing if he is!' said Nettlecombe viciously. 'He's been dead to me for years, and if you think I'll have anything to do with any child of his you're mistaken!'

  'I do think it, and I am persuaded that I'm not mistaken, sir. When you have heard in what a desperate situation she has been left I cannot believe that you will refuse to help her. Her mother died when she was a child, and her father placed her in a school in Bath. Until a few years ago, he paid the necessary fees, though not always, I fancy, very punctually, and from time to time he visited her. But the payments and the visits ceased – '