Sprig Muslin

by Джорджетт Хейер

  That he must keep a watchful eye on Amanda had been decided at the outset, when he saw her, after doubtfully considering the wine the butler had poured into her glass, take a cautious sip. Probably one glass would do her no harm, but if that fool of a butler tried to refill it, intervene he must. She was behaving with perfect propriety, but she was undoubtedly flown with pink silk and compliments, and was receiving every encouragement from Fabian Theale to overstep the bounds of decorum. Sir Gareth was not particularly acquainted with Mr. Theale, but he knew him by reputation. Ten minutes spent in listening with half an ear to Mr. Theale’s conversation confirmed his belief in all the most scandalous stories he had heard of that enterprising gentleman, and imbued him with a strong desire to plant him a flush hit with a right justly famed in Corinthian circles.

  But Amanda was not unacquainted with middle-aged roués who adopted a fatherly air in their dealings with her; and Amanda, however elated, had by no means lost her head. She was prepared to enjoy to the full a slightly intoxicating evening undimmed by the repressive influence of a careful aunt, but not for one moment did she forget the end she meant to achieve. She had passed the entire company under review, and had rapidly reached the conclusion that the only possible ally was Mr. Theale. While her face wore an expression of flattering interest in what he said to her, and her pretty lips formed appropriate answers, her brain was busy with the problem of how to turn him to good account.

  For his part, Mr. Theale was bent on discovering, before the evening was out, in what relation she stood to Sir Gareth. A worldly man, he agreed with his brother in thinking it in the highest degree unlikely that Ludlow would have brought a little barque of frailty to Brancaster; on the other hand, he could see that Ludlow was keeping a jealous eye on her, and it was entirely beyond his comprehension that he might be doing so from altruistic motives. The story of the relations at Oundle he had disbelieved from the outset; and since, in his experience, no young lady of gentle birth was ever permitted to walk abroad unattended, he was much inclined to think that Amanda was not the schoolroom miss she appeared to be, but, on the contrary, a remarkably game pullet. If that were indeed the case, he would be strongly tempted to take her off Sir Gareth’s hands. She was as pretty as she could stare: just the type of ladybird he liked. Young, too, and inexperienced, which would make a pleasant change from the harpy lately living under his protection. Probably she would be grateful for little trumpery gifts, not, like the high flyers, always keeping her fingers crooked into his purse.

  These ruminations were interrupted by the departure of the ladies from the dining-room. The cloth was removed, and the decanters set upon the table, but the Earl, contrary to his usual custom, did not encourage his guests to linger over the port. In his opinion, the sooner Sir Gareth was given the opportunity to pop the question to Hester the better it would be. He might not be a paragon amongst fathers, but he was not so improvident as to run the risk of allowing his daughter’s suitor to present himself to her in a slightly bosky condition. So, at the end of half an hour, he said that they must not keep the ladies waiting, and rose from the table. He wondered whether it would be well to detach his prospective son-in-law from the rest of the party, and to thrust him and Hester into some room apart, but decided that it would probably be wiser to leave Sir Gareth to make his own opportunity for private speech with Hester. He led the way, therefore, to one of the suites of saloons ranged along the south side of the house. These opened on to a broad terrace, commanding views of the pleasure-gardens, and a small lake; and, since the evening was sultry, the long windows had not yet been closed against the night air.

  Strains of Haydn greeted the gentlemen, when the Earl threw open the door into the drawing-room, and Amanda was discovered, seated at the pianoforte, and playing a sonata with considerable verve, if not with strict accuracy.

  For this, Lady Widmore had been responsible. Upon first entering the room, she had supposed, with the too evident intention of discomfiting the unbidden guest, that Miss Smith was proficient upon the instrument, and had begged her to indulge her with a little music. As her ladyship was almost tone-deaf, she might have been said to have been rightly served for her malice, since Amanda, instead of being obliged to confess ignorance of an accomplishment indispensable to any female with the smallest claim to gentility, had, in the most complaisant way imaginable, instantly embarked on a very long and dull sonata.

  Mr. Theale, sharing her ladyship’s dislike of chamber music, and prohibited by his brother’s violent disapproval from indulging one of his favourite vices within the walls of Brancaster, slid unobtrusively away to enjoy a cigarillo in the moonlit garden; but the other gentlemen bravely entered the drawing-room, and disposed themselves about it, Mr. Whyteleafe, to the Earl’s annoyance, nimbly appropriating a chair at Lady Hester’s elbow. Sir Gareth walked over to the window, and stood leaning his shoulders against the frame, his eyes on the fair performer.

  “I am at a loss for words,” whispered Mr. Whyteleafe, “to convey to you my sentiments upon this occasion, Lady Hester. I can only say that if I am not surprised I am profoundly shocked. Your feelings I can readily imagine!”

  “Oh, no, I don’t think you can,” she responded, with a gleam of amusement. “But pray hush! You must not talk just now, you know.”

  He relapsed into silence, and his resolve to address such words to Lady Hester as must fortify her against the ordeal of having her hand solicited by one whom he clearly perceived to be a libertine of the most unblushing order was frustrated by Lady Widmore, who, as soon as Amanda stopped playing, began at once to make loud plans for the further entertainment of the company, and commanded him to set out a card-table. Breaking in with the rudeness for which she was famed on the compliments being paid to Amanda, she announced that a rubber of casino would be just the thing, adding, with a jolly laugh, as she caught the Earl’s starting eye, that she knew better than to expect him or Fabian to take part in this amusement.

  “And Hester doesn’t care for cards, so if you and Fabian choose to play piquet, as I don’t doubt you will, Sir Gareth must entertain her, and that will leave four of us to make up a snug game,” she said.

  Even her husband, who was inured to her ways, felt that this attempt to provide Sir Gareth with an opportunity to propose to Hester was rather too blatant to be encouraged; and the Earl, mentally apostrophising her as a cowhanded thruster, considered it enough to put up the backs of both interested parties. While her ladyship bustled about the room, directing the reluctant chaplain where to place the table, and searching for a couple of packs of cards in various chests, both he and Lord Widmore endeavoured to dissuade her from these exertions. Lady Hester, murmuring that she rather thought that the cards had last been used by the nursery party, went away to retrieve them; and Amanda, snatching the chance offered by the preoccupation of her hosts, slipped out on to the terrace, saying in a fierce whisper as she went past Sir Gareth: “I wish to speak to you alone!”

  He followed her beyond the range of the window, but said, as soon as he came up with her: “Take care, Amanda! You will set the household by the ears by such improper conduct as this. Do remember that you are the daughter of a friend of mine, who is by far too well brought-up to indulge in anything so fast as a tête-à-tête in the moonlight!”

  “I am not the daughter of any friend of yours, and I have a very good mind to tell Lord Brancaster so!” she said crossly.

  “I don’t think I should, if I were you. Is that what you wished to tell me?”

  “No, it is not!” She paused, and then said airily: “In fact, I don’t wish him to know the truth, because it so chances that Lady Hester has very kindly invited me to remain here for a visit, and I have made up my mind to do so.”

  He laughed. “Have you, indeed?”

  “Yes, so you may be quite at your ease, and not tease yourself about me any more,” Amanda said kindly.

  “Now, that,” said Sir Gareth, much moved, “is a singularly beautiful thought! Tell me,
by the way, what put the notion into your head that you had to deal with a flat?”

  “I do not understand what you mean,” replied Amanda, with dignity.

  “A flat, my child, is one who is easily duped.”

  “Well, I don’t think you that, at all events! In fact, quite the reverse, because first you duped me, and then you duped all these people! And if you try to carry me off by force tomorrow, I shall tell Lord Brancaster just how you have deceived him.”

  “I hope you won’t!” he said. “I fear his lordship, whose mind is not elastic, wouldn’t believe a word of your story, and then what a pickle we should be in!”

  “It was abominable of you to have brought me here!”

  “Yes, I fancy that opinion is shared by several other members of the party,” he observed. “At least I won’t aggravate the offence by leaving you here! No, don’t begin scolding again! I know exactly what’s in your foolish head: you are bent on giving me the slip, and you know you cannot do it while my eye is upon you, and so you hope to make me believe that you are willing to remain here, like the good little girl you most emphatically are not. But as soon as my back is turned you would be off—and you may make up your mind to this, Amanda: I may wish you at Jericho, but I am not going to let you escape from me! Yes, I’m well aware that I am a deceiver, an abductor, and wholly contemptible, but really you will be much better off with me than seeking menial employment, for which, believe me, you are not in the least suited! I’ll let you scold tomorrow as much as you choose, but in the meantime come back into the drawing-room, and play casino!”

  “I won’t!” she declared, on any angry sob. “You may tell that odious Lady Widmore that I have the headache! And though you may think you have me in your power, you will find that you have not, and at all events you can’t force me to play casino, or any other horrid game.”

  With these words, she retired to a stone seat at the far end of the terrace, and sat down with her face averted. Sir Gareth, well aware of the folly of arguing with damsels in a passion of fury, left her to sulk herself back to good humour, and strolled into the house again to make her apologies. He also offered to deputize for her at the card-table, but the Earl said hastily: “Pooh! nonsense! no one wants to play a rubbishy game of casino! Come along to the library: I daresay we shall find my brother there!” He then drew Sir Gareth out of the room, and was just wondering where the devil Hester had taken herself off to, and why the wretched girl could never be where she was wanted, when she came out of the morning-room on the opposite side of the hall, looking harassed, and saying in a distracted way that she could not imagine what the children had done with the cards.

  At any other time the children’s fond grandparent would have favoured her with his unexpurgated opinion of persons besotted enough to allow a pack of brats to roam at will over the house, picking up anything that chanced to take their fancy, but on this occasion he refrained, even saying benignly that it was of no consequence. “I’ll tell Almeria they can’t be found!” he added, with a flash of inspiration, and went back into the drawing-room, and firmly shut the door.

  Lady Hester looked after him in helpless dismay, the colour rushing to her cheeks. She glanced deprecatingly at Sir Gareth, and saw that his eyes were brimful of laughter. He said: “Shall we see how many shifts your father and sister-in-law have in store to detach us from the rest of the company? It is extremely diverting, but, for myself, I confess I have been hoping for the opportunity to talk to you ever since I arrived at Brancaster.”

  “Yes,” she said unhappily. “I am aware—I know that it is only right that I should—Oh, dear, I am saying such foolish things, but if you knew how painful it is to me you would forgive me!”

  He had taken her hand in his, and he could feel how wildly her pulse was fluttering. He drew her towards the morning-room, and gently obliged her to enter it. It was lit only by an oil-lamp, a circumstance for which Hester disjointedly apologized.

  “But, Hester, what is it?” he asked, his eyes searching her face. “Why do you tremble so? Surely you are not shy of me, such old friends as we are!”

  “Oh, no! If we can but remain just that!”

  “I think you must know that it is my very earnest wish to become more than your friend.”

  “I do know it, and indeed I am very much obliged to you, and truly sensible of the honour you do me—”

  “Hester!” he expostulated. “Must you talk such nonsense?”

  “Not nonsense! Oh, no! You have paid me a great compliment, and journeyed all this distance, which quite sinks me with shame, for I daresay it was most inconvenient—yet how could I write to you? I am aware that it should have been done—it makes it so excessively disagreeable for you! But indeed I told Papa at the outset that I didn’t wish for the match!”

  He was perfectly silent for a moment, a tiny crease between his brows. Perceiving it, she said despairingly: “You are very angry, and I cannot wonder at it.”

  “No, I assure you! Only very much disappointed. I had hoped that you and I might have been happy together.”

  “We should not suit,” she said faintly.

  “If that were so, it must be my fault—and I would do my best to mend it,” he replied.

  She looked startled, and exclaimed: “Oh, no! Pray do not—I did not mean—Sir Gareth, indeed you must not press me! I am not the wife for you.”

  “Of that you must let me be the judge. Are you trying to tell me civilly that I am not the husband for you? But I would do my best to make you happy.”

  She slid away from the question, saying only: “I don’t think of marriage.”

  He came up to her, and again possessed himself of her hand. “Think of it now! If I don’t remotely resemble the man you dreamed you would marry, how many of us marry our dreams? Not many, I think—yet we contrive to be happy”

  She said mournfully: “So very few! Alas, my dear friend, you did not!”

  His clasp tightened on her hand, but he did not answer her immediately. When he spoke again, it was with a little difficulty. “Hester, if you are afraid that—if you are afraid of a ghost—you need not be! It is all so long ago! Not forgotten, but—oh, like a romantic tale, read when one was very young! Indeed, my dear, I haven’t come to you, dreaming of Clarissa!”

  “I know—oh, I know!” she said, in a shaking voice. “But you don’t care for me.”

  “You are mistaken: I have a very great regard for you.”

  “Ah, yes! And I for you,” she said, with a pitiful attempt at a smile. “I think—I hope—that you will meet someone one day whom you will be able to love with all your heart. I beg of you, say no more!”

  “I am not taking my rejection as I should, am I?” he said wryly.

  “I am so very sorry! It is dreadfully mortifying for you!”

  “Good God, what does that signify? But there is one thing I must say before we leave this. We are such old friends that you will let me speak frankly, I believe. Do you not think that even though we haven’t tumbled into love, headlong, as we did when we were very young, we might yet be very comfortable together? If I can’t give you romance, there are other things I can give you. No, I don’t mean riches: I know they would not weigh with you. But your situation is not happy. Forgive me if this gives you pain! You are not valued as you should be; neither your comfort nor your sensibility is a matter of concern to any member of your family. Indeed, it has frequently seemed to me that your sisters regard you as a convenient drudge! As for your sister-in-law, the tone of her mind is such that I am tolerably convinced that to live under the same roof with her must be a severe penance! Well! I can offer you a position of the first consequence. You would be at no one’s beck and call, you would be your own mistress—with a husband who, I promise you, would not make unreasonable demands of you. You may be sure that I should always attend to your wishes, and hold you in respect as well as affection. Would that not mean a happier life than the one you now lead?”

  Her face was very white;
she pulled her hand away, saying in a stifled voice: “No—anguish!”

  This seemed so strange a thing for her to have said that he thought he could not have heard her aright. “I beg your pardon?” he said blankly.

  She had moved away from him in some agitation, and said now, with her back turned to him: “I didn’t mean it—don’t heed it! I say such foolish things! Pray forgive me! I am so deeply grateful to you! Your wife will be the happiest of females, unless she is a monster, and I do hope you won’t marry a monster! If only I could find my handkerchief!”

  He could not help smiling at this, but he said soothingly: “Take mine!”

  “Oh, thank you!” she said, clutching it gratefully, and drying her cheeks with it. “Pray forgive me! I can’t think what should possess me to behave like a watering-pot. So inconsiderate of me, when I daresay there is nothing you dislike more!”

  “I dislike very much to see you in distress and still more do I dislike the knowledge that it is my fault.”

  “Indeed it is not! It is nothing but my own folly, and perhaps being a little tired tonight. I am better now. We must go back to the drawing-room.”

  “We will do so, but presently, when you are more composed,” he replied, pulling forward a chair. “Come, sit down! It won’t do for you to show that face to your family, you know.” He saw that she was reluctant, and added: “I am not going to say anything to distress you further, I promise you.”

  She took the chair, murmuring: “Thank you! Is my face quite blotched?”

  “A very little: nothing to signify. Are you fixed at Brancaster for the whole summer?”

  This calm, conversational gambit did much to restore her tranquillity; she replied with tolerable composure: “No, I shall be visiting my sisters, and one of my aunts. When my brother and his wife remove to Ramsgate, with the children. My little nephew is inclined to be sickly, and it is thought that sea-bathing may be of benefit to him.”

  They discussed sea-bathing, and childish ailments, until suddenly Hester laughed, and exclaimed: “Oh, how absurd this is! I am very much obliged to you: you have made me quite comfortable again. Is my face fit to be seen? I think we should go back: Almeria is disposed to be uncivil to Amanda, I am afraid, and although I daresay Amanda is very well able to take care of herself, I do think it would be better that they should not quarrel.”