“Undoubtedly! But when I left Amanda she was indulging in a fit of the sullens on the terrace, and had no intention of returning to the drawing-room.”
“Oh, dear! It will be very awkward if she won’t be in the same room with Almeria,” said Hester, looking harassed. “You see, I asked her if she would not like to remain with me, instead of seeking employment at an inn—which I cannot think at all suitable—and I fancy she will do so.”
“So she informed me, but I disbelieved her. Thank you: it was kind of you to invite her, but I wouldn’t for the world impose so much upon your good-nature. If she remained with you, which I doubt, she would very soon have the whole house in an uproar. Indeed, I shudder to think of the battle royal which would rage between her and Lady Widmore! You would be utterly crushed between them!”
“I don’t suppose I should,” she said reflectively. “I find I don’t notice things as much as perhaps I ought. I daresay it is through being pretty well accustomed to living with peevish persons. And I have my dogs, you know. Perhaps Amanda would like to have one of Juno’s pups. I thought that you wished for one, but it turned out otherwise.”
“Not at all!” he responded promptly. “I should be delighted to have one of Juno’s pups!”
The fugitive smile lit her eyes. “No, you wouldn’t. You are not at all the sort of man who would wish to have a pug at his heels. Do you think Amanda would run away from Brancaster?”
“I am perfectly sure that she would. Not, I fancy, while I am on the premises, for she’s no fool, and she must know she could not hope to get more than a mile or two away before I should have overtaken her. She doesn’t yet know how far it is to Chatteris, or what coaches go there, or even where to find a convenient carrier, but you may depend upon it that it would not take her long to discover these things. She would then hatch some scheme fantastic enough to baffle all conjecture, and by the time I had returned with her Brigade-Major she would have hired herself out as a washerwoman, or thrown in her lot with a band of gypsies.”
“I expect she would like to become a gypsy,” agreed Hester, apparently deeming this a reasonable ambition. “But I believe there are none in the neighbourhood just now. Of course, no one could wonder at it if she thought this a sadly dull house, but I do think that she would be more comfortable here than at an inn, particularly if she were employed at the inn in a menial capacity.”
He laughed. “Most certainly she would! But she won’t care a button for that, you know. I’m afraid the blame is mine: I was foolish enough to tell her that I should discover the Brigade-Major’s name and direction at the Horse Guards, which must scotch any hope we might otherwise have nursed of inducing her to remain under your protection. Really, I can’t think how I came to be so cork-brained, but the mischief is done now, and the only thing I can do is to carry her to my sister’s house.”
She got up, making an effectual attempt to straighten the lace shawl she wore over her shoulders. Sir Gareth took it out of her hands, and disposed it becomingly for her, which made her say, with a gleam of fun: “Thank you! You see how unhandy I am: I should be such a trial to you!”
He smiled, but only said: “You know, Hester, I am very much afraid that your father will be displeased with the outcome of this interview. Is there any way in which I can shield you?”
“Well, you could say that it was all a fudge, and what you really wish for is one of Juno’s pups,” she offered.
“No, that I most assuredly could not say!”
“Never mind!” she said consolingly. “I shall be quite in disgrace, I daresay, but it is not of the least consequence. I must find poor Amanda.”
“Very well. Unless she has recovered from the sulks, she is seated at the end of the terrace, plotting vengeance on me,” he replied, holding open the door for her.
But Amanda was no longer on the terrace. No sooner had Sir Gareth left her, than Mr. Theale, an interested and shameless eavesdropper, had risen from the rustic bench immediately below the parapet, where he had been enjoying his cigarillo, and mounted the broad stone steps to the terrace. What he had heard had resolved his doubts: he was now assured that Sir Gareth had had the effrontery to introduce his particular into the chaste precincts of Brancaster Park. Mr. Theale had not previously held him in much esteem, but he was obliged to own now that he had underrated the fellow: such audacity commanded his instant respect. He wondered what peculiar concatenation of circumstances had rendered it necessary for Ludlow to adopt such a desperate course, and reflected that it all went to show how unwise it was to judge a man by the face he showed to the world. One would have supposed Ludlow to be the last man alive to desire a reluctant mistress, yet here he was, plainly determined not to let this little bird of paradise escape him. Mr. Theale sympathized with him, but could not forbear chuckling to himself. He rather fancied that he had the poor fellow at a disadvantage, for however infuriated he might be at having his mistress filched from him he would be obliged to accept the situation with apparent complaisance. Damn it, thought Mr. Theale, he can’t so much as mention the matter to me, let alone call me out! I’m poor Hetty’s uncle! He may be brazen, but he won’t kick up such a dust as that!
Fortified by this conviction, he threw away the butt of his cigarillo, and made his way towards the end of the terrace.
Amanda watched his advance with the light of speculation in her eye. He might be a fat old man, doddering on the brink of the grave, but he was clearly disposed to admire her, and might, with a little ingenuity, be turned to useful account. She smiled upon him, therefore, and made no objection to his seating himself beside her, and taking her hand between both of his.
“My dear little girl,” said Mr. Theale, in a voice of fatherly benevolence, “I fear you are in some trouble! Now, I wonder if I might be able to help you? I wish, my dear, that you would confide in me!”
Amanda drew a long breath of sheer ecstasy. Mr. Theale mistook it for a sigh, and patted her hand, saying fondly: “There, there! Only tell me the whole!”
“I am an orphan,” said Amanda, adding tragically: “Cast upon the world without the means to support myself!”
“My poor child!” said Mr. Theale. “Have you no kindred to care what becomes of you?”
“No, alas!” said Amanda mournfully.
“Let us take a turn in the garden!” said Mr. Theale, much heartened by this disclosure.
Chapter 7
It could not have been said, when Amanda came to the end of her imaginative confidences, that Mr. Theale perfectly understood all the ramifications of her story. Certain features, such as the precise nature of the circumstances which had drawn Sir Gareth into her life, remained obscure, but this did not greatly trouble him. One thing was quite plain to him: Sir Gareth had hideously mangled a promising situation, which, reflected Mr. Theale, was a further example of the unwisdom of trusting to appearances. One wouldn’t have suspected that a fellow with such address, and such easy, pleasant manners, would have so grossly mishandled a shy filly whom anyone but a cod’s head must have guessed would respond only to a very light hand on the bridle. That Amanda had disliked him from the outset Mr. Theale did not for a moment believe, for the particular story Amanda had selected for his edification was the one she owed to the pen of Mr. Richardson. Sir Gareth had recognized the provenance, and had very unkindly said so; Mr. Theale, whose reading did not embrace the works of novelists admired by his parents, did not recognize it. Broadly speaking, he accepted the story, but the construction he put upon it was scarcely what the fair plagiarist would have desired. No doubt the little lovebird had encouraged the widowed parent of her young mistress to make up to her: probably, thought the cynical Mr. Theale, she had hoped to lure him into proposing marriage. That would account for the apparent inhumanity of the gentleman’s sister in turning her out of doors incontinent. Just how much time had elapsed, or what had happened, between this heartless eviction and Amanda’s arrival at Brancaster under Sir Gareth’s protection, Mr. Theale neither knew nor
troubled to discover. She had said that she had met Sir Gareth for the first time on the previous day, but that, naturally, was a lie. Understandable, of course, but Mr. Theale was rather too downy a one to accept it. On his own admission, Sir Gareth had lingered on the road from London. He had pitched them a Canterbury-story about a visit to old friends in Hertfordshire: in Mr. Theale’s view, it had been a young friend who had detained him, and had succeeded in fixing his interest so securely that rather than lose her he had adopted the perilous course of bringing her to Brancaster. Mr. Theale considered it a bold stroke, but a trifle hare-brained: ten to one that had been when the chit had taken fright. When all was said and done, he thought, preening himself, an experienced man of fifty, even though he had become a little portly, could give Ludlow points, and beat him. A handsome face and a fine figure were very well in their way, but what was needed in this case was delicacy.
Mr. Theale, in the most delicate fashion imaginable, offered Amanda an asylum. He did it so beautifully that even if she had been attending closely to him she must have found it difficult to decide whether he was inviting her to become an inmate of his hunting-box in the guise of a maidservant, or in that of an adopted daughter. In the event, she paid very little heed to his glibly persuasive periods, being fully occupied in considering how, and at what stage of the journey to Melton Mowbray, to dispense with his further escort.
On one point, Mr. Theale failed to reassure her. So great was her dread of Sir Gareth that nothing served to convince her that he would not, as soon as her flight was discovered, pursue her relentlessly, probably springing his horses in a very reckless way, and quite certainly, unless she had several hours’ start of him, overtaking her, and snatching her back into his power.
“No, no, he won’t do that!” Mr. Theale said comfortably.
“Well, I think he will,” replied Amanda. “He is determined not to let me escape: he said so!”
“Ay, I heard him,” said Mr. Theale, chuckling to himself. “He was bamming you, my dear. The one thing he can’t do is to get you away from me. He’s been hoaxing you more than you knew. I’ll go bail he hasn’t told you what brought him here, has he?”
“No,” admitted Amanda. “But—”
“Well, he’s come to offer for my niece,” disclosed Mr. Theale.
“For Lady Hester?” gasped Amanda, roundeyed with surprise.
“That’s it. Sets him at a stand. A nice dust there would be if the truth of this business were to become known! Bad enough to have brought you here in the first place. The tale will be that I’ve taken you to those relations of yours at Oundle. Of course, he’ll know I haven’t done any such thing, because he knows there ain’t any relations at Oundle, but he won’t dare say so; and as for trying to get me to hand you over to him—well, if he’s got as much effrontery as that, he’s got more than any man that ever existed!”
“I think,” said Amanda firmly, “that we should fly from this place at dawn.”
“No, we shouldn’t,” replied Mr. Theale, even more firmly. “Not at dawn, my dear.”
“Well, very early in the morning, before anyone is out of bed,” she conceded.
Mr. Theale, although not addicted to early rising, agreed upon reflection that it would be desirable to have left Brancaster before Sir Gareth had emerged from his bedchamber. He could not be induced to favour so ungodly an hour as that suggested by Amanda, but after some argument a compromise was reached, and they parted, Mr. Theale repairing to the library, where he was later discovered, apparently sleeping off a liberal notation of brandy; and Amanda seating herself under a fine yew-tree on the lawn. Here she was found by Lady Hester, who begged her to come back into the house before she contracted a chill. Amanda, who had been pondering the astonishing intelligence conveyed to her by Mr. Theale, would dearly have liked to have asked her whether she really was about to become affianced to Sir Gareth. The question was on the tip of her tongue when she reflected that if the story were untrue Lady Hester might be put out of countenance by such a question. In her youthful eyes, Hester was long past the marriageable age, but she approved of her, and was inclined to think that she would be just the wife for a gentleman also stricken in years. The unexpected streak of maturity which underlay her childish volatility made it possible for her to understand, in the light of Mr. Theale’s disclosure, the hitherto incomprehensible hostility of Hester’s abigail; and although she was not much given to considering any other interests than her own she did feel that it would be a great shame if, through her unwitting fault, the match came to nothing. This led to the comfortable conviction that in leaving Brancaster without the formality of bidding farewell to her kind hostess she was acting almost entirely in Hester’s interests. So she accompanied Hester back to the drawing-room with all the good-humour engendered by the agreeable feeling of having decided to adopt a very unselfish course of action. She was only sorry that it was impossible to guess, from either Hester’s demeanour or Sir Gareth’s, whether they were, in fact, betrothed, or whether the story was nothing but a hum.
An even stronger desire to know what had happened in the morning-room burned in the breasts of the other members of the party. Nothing was to be read in either of the principals’ countenances, but the Earl, trying unavailingly on several occasions to catch Sir Gareth’s eye, was despondent.
It was not until some time after the ladies had retired for the night that the truth was out. Mr. Theale, mounting the stairs on his way to bed, reached the upper hall just as Lady Widmore, her colour considerably heightened, emerged from Hester’s room, shutting the door behind her with a distinct slam. Perceiving Mr. Theale, she ejaculated with all the exasperation of one whose worst fears had been realized: “She rejected him!”
“Tell her not to make a cake of herself!” recommended Mr. Theale.
“Lord, do you think I haven’t? Mind, I hold him entirely to blame! What possessed the man to bring that girl here?” Mr. Theale closed one eye in a vulgar wink. “You don’t say so!” her ladyship exclaimed. “The devil take him! Upon my soul, if that ain’t the biggest insult—Yes, but she don’t believe it, Fabian! That’s what puts me out of all patience with her. You needn’t doubt I told her there was nothing in it, though from the way he kept his eyes on the little baggage—well! But Hester is such a zany! ‘Take it from me, my dear,’ I said, ‘he’s no more in love with her than Cuthbert is!’ And what do you think she said to that? I declare I could have boxed her ears! You know that way she has of answering you as though she hadn’t heard above half you had said to her! ‘No,’ she said, ‘not yet!’ I’m sure I don’t know how I kept my temper, for if there’s one thing I can’t abide it’s people who go off into a daze, which, let me tell you, is what Hester does! Not yet,indeed! ‘Pray, what do you mean by that?’ I asked her. So then she looked at me, as if I were a hundred miles away, and said: ‘I think perhaps he will be.’ You know, Fabian, there are times when I can’t but wonder whether she’s queer in her attic! Depend upon it, I told her pretty roundly that if that was what she thought she’d best snap the man up before the mischief was done. All she had to say to that was that she didn’t think she would, for all the world as though I had offered her a slice of cake, or some such thing. I’ve been talking to her for ever, but if she listened to anything I said it’s more than I bargain for! Well, I’ve no patience with her, and so I have told her! To be whistling Ludlow down the wind at her age, and affairs here in the case they are, makes me angry enough to burst my stay-laces! He was prepared to come down devilish handsomely, you know. Well, I don’t say Hester hasn’t often vexed me to death, but I declare I never thought she would behave so selfishly! What his lordship will have to say about it I hope I don’t have to listen to! I shall have enough to bear from Widmore, for this news will be bound to turn his stomach sour on him, you mark my words if it don’t!”
“You know what, Almeria?” interrupted Mr. Theale, a look of profound concentration on his florid countenance. “I believe she had a tendre for him!
”
Lady Widmore stared at him in contempt and suspicion. “I suppose you are top-heavy,” she remarked.
Not for the first time, Mr. Theale wondered what had possessed his nephew to marry this coarse-tongued and unattractive female. “No, I’m not,” he said shortly.
“Oh, beg pardon! But what made you say such a daffish thing, if it wasn’t brandy?”
“It ain’t daffish, but I daresay it may seem so to you. There isn’t one of you here who can see what’s dashed well under your noses. It occurred to me when I saw Hester look at Ludlow.”
“I’ll swear she has never given the least sign of such a thing!” she said incredulously “What the deuce can you possibly mean?”
“Just a certain look in her eye,” said Mr. Theale knowledgeably. “No use asking me to explain it, because I can’t, but I’d lay you odds she’d have had him if he hadn’t walked in with that little ladybird on his arm.”
“I could wring her neck!” exclaimed Lady Widmore, her cheeks reddening angrily.
“No need to do that: I’m going to take her off your hands first thing in the morning. To those relations at Oundle,” he added, with another of his vulgar winks.
She regarded him with great fixity. “Will she go with you?”
“Lord, yes! Do anything to get away from Ludlow. The silly fellow seems to have frightened her, poor little soul.”
“She! I never saw anyone less frightened in my life!”
“Well, it don’t signify. The point is, I’m going to take her away. Ludlow will be obliged to put a good face on it, and I shouldn’t be surprised if once Amanda is out of his eye he’ll see what a cake he’s been making of himself, and try Hester again.”
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