Nothing was seen of him for the following two days, but towards evening on the third day he called in Camden Place to inform Lucilla that he had procured a well-mannered mare for her to ride. “My groom is bringing her down, and will look after her,” he said. “I’ll tell him to come here for orders every day.”
“Oh!”squeaked Lucilla joyfully. “Thank you, sir! I am excessively obliged to you! Where does she come from? When shall I be able to ride her? What sort of a mare is she? Shall I like her?”
“I trust so. She’s a gray, carries a good head, and jumps off her hocks. She comes from Lord Warrington’s stables, and is accustomed to carrying a lady, but I bought her at Tattersall’s, Warrington having no further use for her since his wife’s death. You may ride her the day after tomorrow.”
“Oh, famous! capital!” she cried, clapping her hands. “Was that why I thought you must have left Bath? Did you go all the way to London to buy me a horse of my very own? I am—I am truly grateful to you! Miss Wychwood has lent me her own favourite mare, and she is the sweetest-goer imaginable, but I don’t like to be borrowing her mare, even though she says she doesn’t wish to ride herself.”
“No, nor do I like it,” he said. He put up his glass, surveying through it Mr Elmore, who had risen at his entrance, but was standing bashfully in the background. “You, I fancy, must be young Elmore,” he said. “In which case, I have to thank you for having taken care of my niece, I believe.”
“Yes, but—but it was nothing, sir!” stammered Ninian. “I mean, the only thing I could do was to accompany her, for I—I was unable to persuade her to return to Chartley, say what I would, which, of course, was what she should have done!”
“Heavy on hand, was she? You have my sympathy!”
Ninian grinned shyly at him. “I should rather think she was!” he said. “Well, she was in one of her hey-go-mad humours, you know!”
“I am thankful to say that I don’t,” replied Mr Carleton caustically.
“I was not!” declared Lucilla, taking instant umbrage. “And as for taking care of me, I was very well able to take care of myself!”
“No, you weren’t!” retorted Ninian. “You didn’t even know how to get to Bath, and if I hadn’t caught you—”
“If you hadn’t meddled I should have hired a chaise in Amesbury,” she said grandly. “And it wouldn’t have lost a wheel, like your odious gig!”
“Oh, would you indeed? And have found yourself without a feather to fly with when you reached Bath! Don’t be such a widgeon!”
Miss Wychwood, entering the room at that moment, put a stop to further hostilities, by saying in her calm way: “How many more times am I to tell you both that I will not have you pulling caps in my drawing-room? How do you do, Mr Carleton?”
“Oh, Miss Wychwood, whatever do you think?” cried Lucilla eagerly. “He has bought me a mare—a gray one, too, which is exactly what I should have chosen, because I love gray horses, don’t you? And he says his own groom is to look after her, so that now you will be able to ride with us!”
“Redeeming yourself in your ward’s eyes?” Miss Wychwood said quizzically, shaking hands with him.
“No: in yours, I hope!”
Startled, her eyes flew to his face, but swiftly sank again. Considerably shaken, she turned away, for there could be no mistaking the glow in his hard eyes: Mr Carleton, that noted profligate, had conceived a strange, unaccountable fancy for a maiden lady, of advanced years, who was no straw damsel, but a lady of the first consideration, and of unquestioned virtue. Her first thought, that he meant to fascinate her into accepting a carte blanche from him, occurred only to be dismissed: Mr Carleton might be a libertine, but he was not a fool. Perhaps he meant to get up a flirtation with her, by way of alleviating the boredom of Bath society. Hard on the heels of this thought came the realization that a flirtation with him would alleviate her own constantly growing boredom. He was so very different from any of her other flirts: in fact, she had never met anyone in the least like him.
Lucilla and Ninian were arguing about the several rides to be enjoyed outside Bath. They went into the back-drawing-room to consult the guide-book which Lucilla was almost positive she had left there. “And if they find it,” remarked Miss Wychwood, “they will instantly disagree on whether to go to see a Druidical monument, or a battlefield. I cannot conceive how anyone but a confirmed chucklehead could suppose that they were in the least degree suited to each other!”
“Iverley and Clara Amber are both chuckleheads,” replied Mr Carleton, dismissing them from further consideration. “I hope you mean to join the riding-party?”
“Yes, very likely I shall. Not that I think it at all necessary to provide Lucilla with a chaperon when she goes out with Ninian!”
“No, but it is very necessary, I promise you, to provide me with a companion who won’t bore me past endurance. I can think of few worse fates than to be obliged to ride bodkin between that pair of bickerers.”
Surprised, she said: “Oh, are you going with them?”
“Not unless you go too.”
“For fear that you may have to listen to bickering?” she said, smiling a little. “You won’t! They don’t quarrel when they go riding together, I’m told. Corisande Stinchcombe complained that they talked of nothing but horses, hounds, and hunting!”
“Even worse!” he said.
“You are not a hunting man, Mr Carleton?”
“On the contrary! But I do not indulge myself or bore my companions by describing the great runs I’ve had, the tosses I’ve taken, the clumsiness of one of my hunters—only saved from coming to grief over a regular rasper, be it understood, by my superior horsemanship!—or the sure-footedness of another. Such anecdotes are of no interest to anyone but the teller.”
“I am afraid that’s true,” she acknowledged. “But the impulse to boast of great runs and of clever horses is almost irresistible—even though one knows one is being listened to because the other person is only waiting for the chance to do some boasting on his own account! To which, of course, one is bound to listen, for the sake of common honesty! Don’t you agree?”
“Yes: it is why I learned years ago to overcome that impulse. You yourself hunt, I believe?”
“I was used to, when I lived in the country, but I was obliged to give it up when I came to Bath,” she said, with a faint sigh.
“Why did you come to Bath?” he asked.
“Oh, for several good reasons!” she responded lightly.
“If you mean that for a set-down, Miss Wychwood, I should inform you that I am not so easily set down! What good reasons?”
She looked at him rather helplessly, but, after a moment, replied with a touch of asperity: “They concern no one but myself, sir! And if you are aware that I did give you what I hoped would be a civil set-down for asking me an—an impertinent question, you will permit me to tell you that I consider you positively rag-mannered to pursue the subject!”
“Very likely, but that’s no answer!”
“It’s the only one I mean to give you!”
“Which leaves me to suppose that some murky secret lies in your past,” he said provocatively. “I find that hard to believe. With another, and very different, female, I might assume that some scandal had driven you from your home—an unfortunate affaire with one of the local squires, for instance!”
She curled her lip at him, and said disdainfully: “Curb your imagination, Mr Carleton! No murky secret lies behind me, and I have had no affaires,fortunate or otherwise!”
“I didn’t think you had,” he murmured.
“This is a most improper conversation!” she said crossly.
“Yes, isn’t it?” he agreed. “Why did you come to live in Bath?”
“Oh, how persistent you are!” she exclaimed. “I came to Bath because I wished to five a life of my own—not to dwindle into a mere aunt!”
“That I can well understand. But what the devil made you choose Bath, of all places?”
&nbs
p; “I chose it because I have many friends here, and because it is within easy reach of Twynham Park.”
“Do you never regret it? Don’t you find it cursed flat?”
She shrugged. “Why, yes, sometimes I do, but so I should, I daresay, in any place where I resided all the year round.”
“Good God, is that what you do?”
“Oh, no! That was an exaggeration! I frequently visit my brother and his wife, and sometimes I go to stay with an aunt, who lives at Lyme Regis.”
“Gay to dissipation, in fact!”
She laughed. “No, but I am past the age of wishing for dissipation.”
“Don’t talk that balderdash to me!” he said sharply. “You have left your girlhood behind—though there are moments when I doubt that!—and have not reached your prime, so let me have no more fiddle-faddle about your advanced years, my girl!”
She gave an outraged gasp, but was prevented from flinging a retort at him by Lucilla, who came back into the front half of the room, demanding support in her contention that somewhere on Lansdown there were the remains of a Saxon fort which King Arthur had besieged. “Ninian says there isn’t. He says there was no such person as King Arthur! He says he was just a legend! But he wasn’t, was he? It is all here, in the guide-book, and I should like to know what makes Ninian think he knows more than the guide-book!”
“Oh, my God!” ejaculated Mr Carleton, and abruptly took his leave.
Chapter 8
On the following day Lord Beckenham called in Camden Place to offer Miss Wychwood an apology for having offended her. Since the servants were busily employed with all the preparations for the evening’s rout-party, his visit was ill-timed. Limbury, or James, the footman, would have informed his lordship that Miss Wychwood was not at home; but since Limbury was heavily engaged in the pantry, assembling all the silver and the glasses which would be needed for the entertainment of some thirty guests; and James, assisted by the page-boy and two of the maidservants, was moving various pieces of furniture out of the drawing-room, the door was opened to Lord Beckenham by a very junior housemaid whose flustered attempt to deny her mistress he had no difficulty in overbearing. He said, with a majestic condescension which awed her very much, that he fancied Miss Wychwood would grant him a few minutes of her time, and walked past her into the house. She gave back before this determined entry, excusing herself, later, to Limbury, who took her severely to task, by saying that his lordship had walked through her as though she wasn’t there. There seemed to be nothing for it but to usher him into the book-room at the back of the house, and to scurry away in search of her mistress. She found her, after an abortive tour of the upper floors, in the basement, conferring with her chef, so that Beckenham was left to kick his heels for a considerable time before Miss Wychwood appeared on the scene.
She was in no very good humour, and after the briefest of greetings, told him that she could spare him only a few minutes, having a great deal to do that morning, and begged that he would state his business with her without loss of time.
His answer disarmed her. He said, retaining her hand in a warm clasp: “I know it: you are holding a party tonight, are you not? I shall not detain you longer than to beg you to forgive me for my part in what passed between us in the Pump Room the other day, and to believe that I was betrayed by my ardent concern for your welfare into uttering words which you thought impertinent! I can only assure you, dear Miss Annis, that they were not meant to be impertinent, and beg you to forgive me!”
Her resentment died. She said: “Why, of course I forgive you, Beckenham! Don’t waste another thought on it! We all of us say what we ought not sometimes.”
He pressed his lips to her hand. “Too good, too gracious!” he said, in a deeply moved voice. “I feared, when I learned from Harry that you had invited him and young Hawkesbury to your party this evening, but not me, that I had offended beyond forgiveness.”
“Nonsense!” she said. “I didn’t invite you, because it is a party for Lucilla, and will be entirely—almost entirely composed of girls not yet out, and their attendant brothers and swains, with a sprinkling of careful mamas and papas as well. You would be bored to death!”
“I could never be bored in your company,” he said simply.
She was at once assailed by a heartrending vision of him, left to endure a lonely evening, feeling himself to be unwanted while his brother went off with his friend for an evening’s jollification, and yielded to a kindly impulse, saying: “Why, by all means come, if you can face children and dowagers!”
The words were no sooner uttered than regretted. Too late did she recall that Beckenham was well-accustomed to being alone. It was seldom that Harry, during his infrequent visits, spent an evening at home. He said, when reproved, that Will didn’t want him; and Theresa, Beckenham’s eldest sister, complained that it was his habit to retire to his library after dinner, poring over the catalogue of his possessions, or rearranging his bibelots.
She said, in an unhopeful attempt to make him refuse the invitation: “I should warn you, sir, Lucilla’s uncle will be present. You might prefer not to meet him, perhaps.”
“I trust,” he said, with a smile of superior tolerance, “that I am sufficiently in command of myself not to embarrass you by engaging in a brangle with Carleton under your roof, dear Miss Annis!”
He then, with renewed protestations of his gratitude and devotion, took his leave. She had only to rake herself down for having been betrayed into having encouraged his pretensions.
The rest of the day passed without any other incident than the arrival of Eliza Brigham, hired to be Lucilla’s abigail. Annis had been prepared to encounter criticism of this pleasant-faced woman from the older members of her domestic staff, but although Jurby said cautiously that it was early days yet to judge, she added that Miss Brigham seemed to know her work; and Mrs Wardlow and Limbury expressed wholehearted approval of the new inmate. “A very genteel young woman, and such as Miss is bound to like,” said Mrs Wardlow. “Not one to put herself forward,” said Limbury, adding confidentially: “And no fear that she’ll rub against Miss Jurby, Miss Annis!”
Miss Brigham demonstrated her quality when she dressed Lucilla for the evening’s party, for she not only persuaded her to wear a muslin gown of the softest shade of rose-pink instead of the rather more sophisticated yellow one which Lucilla wished to wear, but also managed to convince her that the string of beads which Lucilla had purchased that very day was not as suitable for evening wear as her pearl necklace; brushed her dusky curls till they shone, and arranged them in a simple and charming style, which drew praise from Miss Wychwood, when she came into Lucilla’s room just before dinner.
She brought with her a pretty bangle, set with pearls, and clasped it round Lucilla’s wrist, saying: “That’s a small gift, with my love—for your first party!”
“Oh!”gasped Lucilla. “Oh, Miss Wychwood, thank you! Oh, how pretty it is! How very kind you are to me! Look, Brigham!”
“Very pretty indeed, miss. Just the thing, if I may say so,” responded Brigham, casting the eye of an expert over Miss Wychwood’s attire.
She found nothing to criticize. Miss Wychwood was wearing a robe of celestial blue crape with an open front over a white satin slip. A sapphire necklace was clasped about her neck, and a sapphire spray was set in her burnished hair. She looked, Lucilla told her in awed accents, magnificent. She laughed at this, and protested at Lucilla’s choice of adjective, saying that it sounded as though she were overdressed for the occasion.
“Well—well, beautiful!”amended Lucilla.
“Then there are a pair of us,” said Miss Wychwood. “Let us go downstairs to dazzle Ninian! I’m told he arrived a few minutes ago.”
They found him awaiting them in the drawing-room. He had been invited to dinner, and it was evident that he had taken immense pains over his apparel. Lucilla exclaimed admiringly: “Oh, first-rate, Ninian! You are as fine as fivepence, I do declare! Isn’t he, ma’am?”
“Yes, indeed! A veritable Pink of the Ton!” said Miss Wychwood. “I am wholly spell-bound—particularly by the elegance of his neckcloth! How long did it take you to achieve anything so beautiful, Ninian?”
“Hours!” he replied, blushing. “It’s the Oriental, you know, and I do think I’ve succeeded pretty well with it. Now do, pray, stop poking bogey at me, ma’am!” He turned to pick up from the table on which he had laid them two tight posies, and presented them with awkward grace, saying: “Pray, ma’am, do me the honour to accept of these few flowers! And this one, Lucy, is for you!”
The ladies received these tributes with becoming gratitude, Lucilla being particularly struck by her posy’s being composed of pink and white hyacinths, a circumstance which made her exclaim: “How clever of you, Ninian! Did you guess that I was going to wear my pink gown?”
“Well, no!” he confessed. “But the girl who made the posies up for me asked what you looked like, and when I told her you were dark, and not yet out, she said that pink and white flowers would best become you. And I must say,” he added handsomely, looking her over, “pink does become you, Lucy! I never saw you look so pretty before!”
Miss Wychwood, admiring her own posy, which was made up of spring blossoms ranging in colour from palest mauve to deep purple, realized with an inward chuckle that Ninian had probably described her to the helpful florist as a lady somewhat stricken in years. She refrained from quizzing him, and, with even greater nobility, refrained from telling him that posies, tied up with long ribbons, wound round stalks encased in silver paper, however proper for balls, were not commonly carried by ladies at rout-parties.
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