His eyes followed Serena and her admirer. “If all these moonstruck swains flatter themselves that she has any other intention than to enjoy a little sport they must be a set of ninny-hammers,” he remarked. “I own, it is not a sport I like, but there is no particular harm in it when the lady is as skilled in it as I perceive Serena to be.”
She thought that she could detect a note of reserve in his voice and said something about funning humours and openness of temper. He agreed to this; and she had the happy thought of adding that by dispensing her favours among several Serena was throwing sand in the eyes of those who suspected her of a single attachment. That made him laugh. He said: “Lady Spenborough, are you trying to bamboozle me, or has Serena been bamboozling you? She is enjoying herself hugely! Don’t look so anxious! Do you care to stroll in the wood? May I give you my arm?”
Her conscience told her that it was her duty to follow Serena, but since to do that would entail bringing the Major once more within sight and hearing of what could not (for all his brave words) but give him pain, she yielded to inclination. Nothing was more comfortable than a walk with Major Kirkby! He moderated his pace to hers, handed her carefully over the smallest obstacle, warned her of damp patches, and always chose a smooth path for her to tread. They were on the cosiest of terms, Fanny having very soon lost her shyness, and the Major discovering in her so sympathetic a listener that before very long he had put her in possession of nearly every detail of his career. In return, she told him all about her home, and her family, and how much she dreaded having her sister Agnes sent to live with her. He entered fully into her sentiments upon this; and although she never spoke of Mama except, with respect, or mentioned her marriage, it did not take him long to arrive at a pretty fair understanding of why she had accepted the hand of a man old enough to have been her father. His reflections upon this subject he kept to himself.
Nothing occurred to disturb the harmony of these summer days until one morning in June the Morning Post, when opened at the only page that interested Fanny, was found to contain a bomb-shell. She had just read aloud to Serena the news of the Princess Charlotte’s indisposition, and was about to speculate on the probable nature of the malady, when her eyes alighted on another item of social intelligence. A sharp gasp broke from her, and she cried out impulsively: “Good God! Oh, no! Impossible!”
“Well, what now?” inquired Serena, engaged in arranging roses in a bowl.
“Rotherham!” uttered Fanny, in a strangled voice.
Serena turned quickly to look at her. “Rotherham? What has happened to him?” she said sharply. “Is he ill too? Fanny, he’s not dead?”
“Oh, no, no!” Fanny said. “Betrothed!”
“Betrothed!”
“Yes! The most shocking thing! To Emily Laleham!”
“It’s not true!”
“It must be, Serena, for here it is, published. I don’t wonder at your amazement! That poor child! Oh, what a wicked, abominable woman Lady Laleham is! A marriage has been arranged—yes, and well do I know who arranged it!—between Ivo Spencer Barrasford, Marquis of Rotherham, and Emily Mary, eldest daughter of Sir Walter Laleham, Bart—You see, there can be no mistake! Oh, I don’t know when I have been more distressed!”
She looked up from the paper to Serena, standing like a stone in the middle of the room, two roses held in her hand, her cheeks perfectly white, and in her eyes an expression of blank horror.
“What have I done?” Serena said, in a queer, hoarse voice. “O God, what have I done?”
“Dearest, you are not to blame!” Fanny cried. “He met her in my house, not in yours! Not that I feel I am to blame either, for heaven knows I never invited Lady Laleham to visit me on that fatal day! And from all we hear of the horrid, encroaching way she has been thrusting herself into the highest circles, he must have met her somewhere, even if not in my house! Though, to be sure, it would not have been in that style, just seated round the table, as we were, conversing without the least formality. Oh, if I had known what would come of it, I would have been uncivil to Lady Laleham rather than have admitted her into the breakfast-parlour!” She saw that Serena was staring at her in a fixed, blank way, and then that a trickle of blood was running down one of her fingers. “Oh, you have scratched your hand with those thorns! Take care you don’t smear your gown, dearest!”
Her words seemed to recall Serena to herself. She gave a slight start, and glanced down at her hand. Her fingers unclenched themselves from about the rose-stems; she laid the flowers down, saying quietly: “So I have! How stupid! Pray, Fanny, attend to these! I must go and wash my hands.”
She went quickly from the room, and was gone for some time. When she returned, it was with some tale of having been obliged to mend the torn gathers of one of the flounces round the hem of her gown. Fanny, who knew that she never set a stitch, might, had her mind not been taken up with the news of Rotherham’s engagement, have felt considerable surprise at this unprecedented happening. As it was, she merely said absently: “How vexing! Have you sent your woman out? You know, Serena, the more I think of it the more I am convinced Lady Laleham had this in mind when she forced herself upon us that day!”
“Very likely. I put nothing beyond her!” Serena said lightly.
“I should never have thought Emily the kind of girl to take his fancy!”
“There is no telling what a man will fancy.”
“No, very true! But she is quite as silly as I am, and I thought he held silly females in the greatest contempt! Only think of that impatient, sarcastic way he speaks when one has said something he thinks stupid! He did seem to be amused by the droll things she said, not in the least meaning to be droll, but I thought he was quizzing her, and not very kindly!”
“So did I, but it appears that we were mistaken.”
“Yes, indeed! The Quenbury Assembly, too! That was why he chose to take his wards to it! But the way he spoke of Emily that very night, when you quarrelled with him about his having stood up only with her—how could he have done so, if he had felt the smallest tendre for her? Do you remember his telling us how he could get nothing out of her but Yes, and No, and so had drawn no more coverts, but had come to take his leave of us instead?”
“Very clearly. Also my own words on that occasion! I imagine her behaviour must have piqued him, and what began as an idle amusement became a serious pursuit. I daresay he can never before have tossed his handkerchief and not seen it picked up! I admire Emily very much, I did not think she had it in her to bring the odious Marquis so tamely to heel!”
“Oh, Serena, I am sure such a thought was never in her head! She did not like him! Indeed, I believe she was afraid of him! That is what makes this news so particularly dreadful!”
“If he loves her, she will have nothing to fear,” Serena said, a slight constriction in her throat.
“If—! I cannot credit it!”
“Whatever else you cannot credit, that at least is sure!” Serena said. “No other reason can possibly exist for his having asked her to marry him! She has nothing to recommend her, neither birth nor fortune, but a pretty face and the artlessness of a kitten!”
“Then he is infatuated, which is worse than all, for you may depend upon it he will soon recover from that, and grow bored with her, and make her miserable!”
“You take a gloomy view of her prospects!”
“Yes, for I know what a harsh temper he has, and how unfeeling he is, besides being proud and overbearing! And I know she has been forced into this by her hateful mother!”
Serena shrugged her shoulders. “Why put yourself in this passion, my dear? It is no concern of yours, after all!”
“Oh, no! But if you know what it means to a girl to be forced into marriage with a man more than twice her age you would not—” She stopped, aghast at her own words. The colour flooded her cheeks; she looked stricken, and blurted out: “I beg your pardon! I didn’t mean—I would not for the world—I don’t know how I came to say such a thing!”
“There is no need to beg my pardon. I always thought it atrocious, and sincerely pitied you.”
“No, no, don’t say so! Your papa—no one could have been kinder—more considerate! You mustn’t think that I meant to compare him for one moment with Rotherham!”
“I don’t. There, Fanny, don’t cry! It is all very sad, but there’s no use in becoming agitated over it. We have nothing to do with Emily’s troubles.”
Fanny dried her tears, but said: “I didn’t think you could be so unfeeling! It ought to be stopped!”
“Stopped! No, that it cannot be!” Serena said. “Put that out of your head, Fanny! It has been announced, and must go forward!”
She spoke so sternly that Fanny was quite startled. “But, Serena, you did not think so!” she could not help saying.
“No! I did not, and so the more reason this engagement should not be broken! It will not be: we may trust the Laleham woman for that!” She paused, and then said: “Well! I must not delay to send him my felicitations. It had better be done immediately, in fact.”
“Serena, if I ought to do the same, I am sorry, but nothing would prevail upon me to felicitate either of them on an event of which I most deeply disapprove!” Fanny said, with unwonted vehemence.
Serena had already seated herself at the writing-table, and spoke without turning her head. “Unnecessary! I will say on your behalf everything that is proper to the occasion.”
“I wish very much that you would not!” Fanny said.
No answer was vouchsafed to this decidedly pettish remark, but after a moment Serena said: “After all, it turns out very well for me! No moment than this could be better for the announcement I have to make! He will be much too absorbed in his own affairs to cavil at my engagement.”
“Yes, indeed!” Fanny said, brightening a little.
Silence fell, broken only by the scratch of Serena’s quill. Fanny, seated in the window, and leaning her chin in her hand, remained lost in melancholy thought until her attention was attracted by the sight of an old-fashioned landaulette drawing up immediately beneath the window. The next instant she uttered a sharp exclamation. “Serena! Mrs Floore! She must be coming to tell you the news! Good gracious, what a figure she is, in that hat! My love, some gentleman is handing her out, and I vow and declare to you the carriage is within an ace of tipping over under her weight! Quick! shall I tell Lybster to say we are gone out?”
“Certainly not! Why should you?” replied Serena, shaking the sand from her letter, and pulling open the little drawer in which Fanny kept her wafers.
“Oh, I don’t know, but I wish she had not come here! I shall not know what to say to her!”
“Nonsense! You will say all that is proper.”
“Perhaps she will not be able to mount the stairs!” said Fanny, with a nervous giggle.
But although the performance of this feat took time it proved to be not beyond Mrs Floore’s powers. With the aid of the baluster-rail and Mr Goring’s stalwart arm she arrived, panting but triumphant, on the first floor, and paused to take breath. Observing that Lybster was about to throw open the door into the drawing-room, she stopped him by the simple expedient of grasping his sleeve. Affronted, he gazed at her with much hauteur, and said in freezing accents: “Madam?”
“Looby!” enunciated Mrs Floore, between gasps. “You wait! Trying to push me in—like a landed salmon!”
“One moment, if you please!” said Mr Goring, quite unperturbed either by his old friend’s unconventional behaviour or by the butler’s evident disgust. He removed the fan from Mrs Floore’s clutch, and opened it, and began to ply it briskly.
“Thank you, Ned!” she said presently. “Lord, how the heat does draw one out!”
Concluding that she now felt ready to meet her hostess, Lybster opened the door, and announced in the voice of one refraining from comment: “Mrs Floore, Mr Goring, my lady!”
Fanny came forward, with her hand out. “How do you do? I am so glad you have come to visit us, ma’am: pray, will you not be seated? Lybster, some wine, if you please!”
He bowed, and withdrew; but as his gait was stately he was not gone from the room in time to escape hearing Mrs Floore say gratefully: “Bless your sweet face! Your butler was all for having me believe he didn’t know but what you’d stepped out, for which I’m sure I don’t blame him, but, “Lord,” I said, “you’ve no need to be scared! Her ladyship will see me fast enough, take my word for it!” Which he did, so here I am. And I brought Mr Goring along with me, just in case I should be overcome by the heat, which is a thing that happened to me once, right in the middle of the South Parade, and caused as much excitement as if a circus had come to town, Ned! Make your bow to Lady Spenborough!”
Mr Goring, who had been shaking hands with Serena, showed no signs of resenting this peremptory command, but turned to greet his hostess. She made him politely welcome, but had scarcely time to offer him her hand before Mrs Floore was again claiming her attention.
“If you’ve seen the newspapers this morning, my lady, you won’t wonder what brings me here!”
“No, indeed: most—most interesting news, ma’am! You must be excessively pleased, I am sure!”
“Well,” said Mrs Floore, “I don’t deny it’s a fine thing to be marrying a Marquis, for I daresay they don’t grow on every tree, and a very odd sort of a woman I’d be if I didn’t feel puffed-up enough at this moment to burst my stay-laces. If Emma likes him, I’m very glad he is a Marquis; but if she don’t, he might be fifty Marquises, and still I’d say she’d be better off with a plain man she could like!”
“We must suppose that she does like him, ma’am,” Serena said smiling.
“Begging your pardon, my dear, we don’t have to suppose anything of the kind!” said Mrs Floore bluntly. “You know that daughter of mine, and so, I’ll be bound, does her ladyship! What poor little Emma might like is the last thing in the world she’d trouble her head about, and that’s the truth, small pleasure though it is to me to say such a thing of my own flesh and blood!”
Fortunately, since Fanny knew not what to reply to this forthright speech, Lybster came back into the room at that moment, so that she was able to create a diversion by supplying her guests with refreshment. Serena said: “No doubt you have had letters from them, ma’am?”
“I’ve had one from Sukey, my dear, but Emma’s not one for writing letters. And if she had written to me I wouldn’t know any more than I do now, because it’s my belief that Prawle made her learn off by heart a set of letters out of the Complete Letter-Writer, and told her never to use any other ones. As for Sukey, naturally she’s in high delight! In fact, anyone would think she was in love with this precious Marquis herself, for she gives him such a character that if I credited the half of what she writes I should very likely think he was an Archangel. So, since Ned, who happened to be with me when Roger came in with the newspaper and the letters, couldn’t tell me any more about him than that he was a famous sportsman, I made up my mind I’d come straight round to see you, Lady Serena, for, “Mark my words,” I said to Ned, “her ladyship will know all about him!” And you needn’t mind speaking out in front of him, my dear, any more than if he was my son, which I’m sorry to say he isn’t! What’s more, he’s pretty well acquainted with Emma, for he saw a great deal of her when she was staying with me, and went with us to the Assemblies, and the theatre, and such-like.”
Serena glanced at Mr Goring, but his countenance gave nothing away.
“Yes, Lord Rotherham is very well known in the world of sport, I believe,” Fanny said, in a colourless voice.
Mr Goring raised his eyes from the contemplation of the wine in his glass, and directed a level look at her.
“Well, I don’t know that I like the sound of that, to start with!” said Mrs Floore dubiously. “If he’s a racing man, that means betting, and I’ve got one gamester on my hands already, and I don’t want another!”
Fanny was too overcome by the thought of Rotherham’s being
on Mrs Floore’s hands to venture on a response. Serena laughed out, and said: “Don’t be alarmed, ma’am! Rotherham’s fortune is extremely large, and he is a great deal more addicted to boxing, and shooting, and hunting than to gaming!”
“Well, I’m glad to hear you say so, my dear. Not that I hold with boxing, because it’s low, and not the sort of thing I should expect a Marquis to be fond of. However, Ned tells me it’s quite the established mode among the smart beaux, and at all events he won’t go dragging Emma into boxing-saloons. But if he thinks to make her go out shooting and hunting with him it won’t do at all! Why, she’d be frightened to death!”
“I expect, ma’am, that he must be aware that—she doesn’t—share his tastes in that direction.”
“If he don’t know it now he will the very first time he sees her crying her eyes out all because the cat’s got hold of a mouse!” said Mrs Floore. She looked piercingly at Serena. “Tell me this, my dear! How old is he?”
“He is thirty-eight,” replied Serena calmly.
“Thirty-eight! Lord, that’s more than twenty years older than she is!” cried Mrs Floore, aghast.
“True. He is not cross-eyed, however,” Serena said, with a faint smile.
“Well, if he isn’t, I should like to know how it comes about he wasn’t snapped up years ago!” said Mrs Floore tartly. “He isn’t queer in his attic, is he?”
“Far from it! His understanding is excellent, and he does not suffer from any infirmity whatsoever.”
“Come, that’s better!” said Mrs Floore, relieved. “Is he handsome?”
“No. I should rather call him striking, ma’am. Certainly not handsome.”
“Do you know him well, my dear?”
Fanny cast an anxious glance at Serena. After a moment’s hesitation, Serena replied: “Very well. I have known him all my life.”
“There! What did I tell you?” Mrs Floore demanded of her escort. “I knew which shop to come to! So now you answer me this, my lady, if you’ll be so good, and that I know you are!—Is he the sort of man that’ll make my Emma a good husband?”
Bath Tangle Page 17