Dame Durden's Daughter

by Joan Smith

  Nothing was settled in her mind. The disgrace of jilting Thorne was a consider­able barrier to that course, made worse by her mother’s wanting the marriage so much. Had she been privy to the Dame’s deepest feelings, she might have felt differently; for, while the Dame still wanted the wedding, still saw a danger in Helver, she was less enthusiastic about Dorion than formerly. The Dame lay awake a long while consider­ing the same problem. The greatest pity of it all was that she liked Helver very much despite his terrible reputation. When he sat with her, joking good-humouredly and talk­ing up her May Day revels and so on, she really felt that she would like him very much for a son-in-law. He had been very helpful in the business of the stables, too. Was coming to know a good deal about farming, which was a thing she had not expected in him. Like her daughter, she counted up the days till the marriage and half hoped something would occur to alter the present plans.

  Across the meadows in the Hall, the Duke of Saymore was racking his brain to think how he could change the plans that were afoot. He meant to have Eddie for himself if he must snatch her away from the altar with a brace of pistols to do so, but he preferred for her to come to him willingly. And for this her precious Doctor Thorne must be exposed for the scheming, conniving rascal he was.

  A dozen ideas darted into his head. An outright cash sum, if large enough, would do the trick, he fancied, or a better—much better—post elsewhere. But this would have to be done privately between himself and Thorne, and what he really wanted was for Eddie to come to see the true nature of this man she spoke so highly of.

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  Between visits to Durden Court by the Duke of Saymore and visits to the Hall by the Doctor, the two families were on more intimate terms than they had formerly enjoyed. Doctor Thorne now made quite a habit of running over to the Hall every day and was always made welcome by the Duchess, and Lady Anne, as well, as he timed his calls for the afternoon, when she would be free.

  He told her simple stories from the Bible and helped her pick roses to pull apart and, bit by bit, began to slide in compliments on her pretty blue eyes and golden hair. When they were well beyond earshot of others, he called her a pretty little angel and said he would like to adopt her and take her home with him.

  She laughed in mindless de­light and called him a funny old man, pointing at his bits of grey hair. He was not in the least offended, for he thought she was coming to like the funny old man. She ran to meet him now when he called.

  Thorne was busy playing two hands of cards at the same time. He was engaged to Edith and thought he might very well marry her, but he continued to encourage Helver to call and befriend her. This now had a two-fold purpose. If he married her, she would have Helver wrapped around her finger to advance his progress; and, if events fell out in such a way that it seemed possible Carlton might listen to his suit, he could throw in Edith’s face that she was unworthy of being a vicar's wife when she had been openly dangling after Saymore ever since becoming engaged. With this alternative in view, he occasionally got on his high ropes with her in private, but, when Saymore was present, he was all smiling compliance.

  Edith’s head was spinning. Just when she became con­vinced Dorion was using her to win Saymore, he would light into her and make her feel guilty. And through it all, Helver kept coming to the Court, flirting with her, remind­ing her of the old days and occasionally calling her “dear sister.” The Dame suggested to Dorion that he hint Helver away, but he wouldn’t hear of it; he laughed and spoke of one big happy family. There was an uneasy atmosphere heavy about the place, charged with emotion, and it seemed some spark must ignite an explosion before the wedding date came around.

  On one of his many visits to the Hall, Thorne felt him­self enough at home to tell the butler he needn’t announce him. He walked into the Gold Saloon and found Lady Sara sitting with Anne, stringing large papier-mâché beads on a thread. Both were happy to see the Doctor for their different reasons. Lady Sara saw an excellent opportunity to gain a respite from the trying Lady Anne and promptly suggested she take Thorne out to the garden for a little walk. He offered her his arm and off they went together, the learned doctor and the moonling, to pull off roses and play snow flakes. She shredded two or three, laughing gaily as the petals drifted to the ground. Then she pulled a red rose oft its stock and handed it to Dorion to play with. He took the rose and stuck it in his buttonhole. “I shall keep it to remind me of you,” he said with a gallant bow. She promptly pulled off another and handed it to him.

  “You keep this one, to remind you of me,” he said.

  She smiled agreeably and stuck it into her bosom, then reached out for his hand and pulled him along to a foun­tain. “Fish!” she said, pointing to ornamental goldfish glid­ing about a small pond by the fountain.

  “Yes, see the pretty fish,” he said. “Does Annie like swimming?”

  She shook her head in a negative and settled down to the watching of the fish. With a confiding smile, she put her hand in his and the mismated pair sat silently watching the fish swim.

  “Does Annie have fish at home?” he plodded on with his courting.

  She didn’t give any answer to this. “Is Annie’s papa good to her?” he asked next, and this got a nodding smile of affirmation.

  “Does Papa let her have whatever she wants?” he asked leadingly.

  Hardly knowing what he meant, she nodded again, still looking at the fish. “Does Annie want Doctor Thorne?” he asked with a little careful glance towards the house to en­sure their privacy. She laughed and frowned at the same time, casting a truly witless look on her pretty face. It thrilled him. Carlton would never get a husband for the girl. He should be delighted that an educated gentleman like himself was interested.

  “Would Annie like to have Doctor Thorne to keep?” he asked.

  “Annie keep Doctor,” she said, squeezing his hand a lit­tle harder.

  “You must tell your papa you want Doctor Thorne,” he said. “Can you remember that, Annie?”

  She seemed to have forgotten it already. She pulled a head of clover from the grass and threw it into the pond to attract a fish to the surface.

  It was thus they were discovered a moment later by Lord Carlton when he stopped off at the Hall on his way home from a business call that had brought him to Tis­bury. He had come to see how it was going on with Anne and Saymore; and Lady Sara had directed him to the rose garden, where his surprise was great to see his little daughter arm-in-arm with an elderly gentleman, with no sign of a chaperone. When he recognized who the gentle­man was, his face stiffened into disapproval, for he had some knowledge of Thorne.

  Dorion got around a good bit replacing ministers on a temporary basis. He had last year been for over a month at Bath, not far from Carlton’s place, and what Lord Carlton knew of the fellow he did not like. He was highly displeased to see Annie so unprotected but could not like to create a fuss with the Duchess. He formed the strict reso­lution to take her home with him that day.

  He chose his words carefully, but his tone left Thorne in no doubt as to the father’s feelings. “So, Annie, I see you are entertaining Doctor Thorne.”

  She smiled and ran to her father. “See the fish swim!” she said, pulling him along to the pond.

  Carlton looked at the rose in her gown and at the rose in Thorne’s lapel and said, “Have you been a naughty girl, picking the Duchess’s flowers?”

  “Doctor gave me,” she said, touching her rose.

  Thorne was ready to slap her. “What a charming daughter you have, Lord Carlton,” Dorion began playing up to him.

  “I am very fond of little Annie. I wonder she is left alone to wander about the grounds with a gentleman.”

  “Annie likes the Doctor,” the girl said. “Can I keep him?”

  “She was showing me the roses,” Thorne said, trying to make it sound as though he had been minding her, like a nanny.

  “Very kind of you, I’m sure,” he replied icily, and, tucking
Annie’s hand into his arm, he left without another word.

  It was one thing to see Annie marry the Duke of Saymore and quite another to see her and that queer nabs of a Thorne sitting with their heads together. Whisk her off home at once. Say she was homesick. But first he was de­sirous of discovering how it had progressed between the man she had come to attach and herself, and he asked for an interview with Saymore.

  He had to wait a little for his return, and, when Helver did come, he suspected nothing amiss. Thorne had deemed it wisest to go back to Durden Court without re­turning to the house, so Helver did not know of the visit. The men shook hands and Carlton asked bluntly, “Well, Saymore, how did it go?”

  “With Lady Anne? Why, we enjoyed having her. She is delightful. Quite charming.”

  “Yes, yes, but between you two?”

  “Well, she is very lovely, but . . ."

  “Not bright. There’s no pretending she’s bright. So you ain’t interested, then?”

  “Not in marriage, Sir. I regret if that is the impression you were given.”

  “Cut line, Saymore. It was all the Duchess’s doings. I didn’t think you’d take to Annie. And she ain’t the right wife for a gentleman like yourself, either. Still, she’s a good girl and a pretty little thing. The thing is, if you ain’t interested, I’ll just take her on home with me. Save me a trip back, and we miss her.”

  “Perhaps she would be better amused at home.”

  “We’re used to her ways. It’s not so bad, having a little girl that never grows up. We love Annie very much.”

  “I’m sure you do, Sir.”

  “Not that I think you weren’t taking good care of her, but I don’t like that Thorne was alone with her in the gar­den just now.”

  “Oh, lord, is that bleater here again?” Helver asked un­patiently.

  “Aye, sitting holding hands with Annie when I saw them in the garden. Been making up to her, I believe. The Duchess can’t know about him.”

  “Know what about him?” the Duke demanded, instantly alert.

  “Not quite the thing, that fellow. I should have thought you’d have heard . . ."

  “I know nothing to his discredit. I wish you will tell me. I’ve just made him Vicar of Tisbury.”

  “Made him Vicar? Dear me, what were you thinking of?”

  “He is highly thought of here. Pray, tell me what he’s done.”

  “He didn’t do anything actually, but it’s discussed quite openly around Bath that he was trying to get Sir Harold Cuthbertson’s girl to run off with him. Rich as a nabob, you know, old Cuthbertson, and Sally the only child. A pretty little wench of eighteen but a bold hussy. No doubt you know her.”

  “No, she must have been quite young when I left on my trip. And you’re telling me she and Thorne planned a run­away match?”

  “As much the chit’s doings as his, I daresay. He goes about with that holy face and religious patter that gulls all the mamas into thinking him a saint. He had a group of the young girls in helping him run some sort of a Sunday School, and before long Sally Cuthbertson was staying after classes, making up to the Doctor. But I don’t hold him innocent in the matter. She was only a silly young girl, but he’s old enough to know better. He led her on, no doubt of that. They planned to run off; but the girl told some friend or other, and the story got back to her parents in time to prevent it. Cuthbertson would never have given his approval to the match, of course. They look higher than a penniless cleric for Sally. The Cuthbertsons hushed it up as well as they could, but with the friend telling a friend and so on, it is generally known. A pity you’ve made him your Vicar, but there are no heiresses here for you to worry about.”

  “He was holding hands with Annie in the garden just now, you say? I owe you a great apology, Carlton. I had no idea this was going on. Thorne is considered above re­proach here. I can at least assure you he has not been be­yond the garden with Annie. He calls regularly on Mama, and he and Annie seem to hit it off.”

  “He’d see to that! Had given her a rose to stick in her dress, the dammed jackanapes, and he with another.”

  “Oh, God—but were they just holding hands?”

  “Yes, yes, nothing to get in a pucker over—don’t bother the Duchess with the story. I’ll be taking her on home, however, as there’s nothing between you.”

  “Certainly, and you may be sure I’ll speak to Thorne.”

  “As to that, not much you can say. He was only sitting with her, watching the fish. Not much you can accuse him of, but he bears watching. I’d keep a sharp eye on him.”

  “I’ll watch him like a hawk. I have reasons of my own for disliking the man.”

  “What the devil did you make him your Vicar for, then?”

  “He’s marrying my neighbour, Miss Durden, and needed the living.”

  “What, marrying the Durden girl? I hadn’t heard that. The Dame might have done better for her daughter—but then, she’s a little odd about genealogy, ain’t she?”

  “She’s quite eccentric, but there will be no match now.”

  “Has he called off? It’ll be my Annie he’s got ideas about.”

  “No, he hasn't called off, but she shall.”

  “She’s a good catch for Thorne. Must have a good dowry, the only child. He’ll not let her off once I get Annie packed off out of here. If you’ve made him your Vicar, you’d do better to let the match go on. A wife will keep him on the straight and narrow, and, if the wife don’t, the Dame will. A whim of iron, as they say.”

  “No, he shan’t marry her now. Not now that I know this,” Helver said in a voice of quiet conviction.

  Carlton regarded him narrowly. “You seem mighty in­terested, Saymore.”

  “I am, mighty interested.”

  “I heard mentioned somewhere you and the De Courcy widow were hitting it off. Nothing came of that?”

  “No, no—that was nothing serious.”

  “Glad to hear it. You could do better than De Courcy’s leavings. But you’re thinking of taking a wife, are you?”

  “I think of it a great deal lately.”

  “Glad to hear it. We—men in our position, I mean—need a woman to take care of us. Your racketing days are over, eh, Saymore? Well, choose wisely. It’s one of the most important decisions you’ll ever have to make. The wrong woman can be the ruination of a man. I was troubled when I heard about you and the De Courcy woman. I thought of riding over and having a chat with you, but we’ve never been close; and with Annie here it looked as though I was trying to bring pressure to bear. Your father and I were friends, but there’s a lot of years between us. I’m sorry the old Duke is gone. I see there are changes taking place. A group of new cottages going up along the river. Look very nice."

  “Yes, I have plenty to do.”

  “You would have. The young have their own ideas. I’m happy to see you settling down. It’s no sinecure, whatever others may think. You always know where I am if you want a grey head to talk a problem over with. I wish I were closer.”

  The command was given for Annie’s belongings to be packed, and the gentlemen went to the study to discuss farming, politics and the many aspects of their lives over a bottle of claret. When Annie was brought down, her father took her hand, smiled a little sadly at Saymore, whom he considered would have made Annie a very good husband, and took his leave. The Duchess forgot why Annie had come to them and what a nuisance she had been, and ex­pressed the desire that she return again very soon.

  “We’ll see,” the Earl said with a knowing look at Hel­ver, and left.

  Helver strolled out into the garden. He had much to think about. The fallen petals on the ground reminded him of Annie, and he was furious at Thorne’s trying to make up to the girl. She was pretty, of course, but so simple that Thorne’s being after her could have only one explanation. He wanted to make the most advantageous marriage pos­sible—and all this going forth while his marriage to Eddie was less than a month away. This and his past affair with Miss Cuthbertso
n removed any last shred of doubt as to his much-praised character. The man was a thoroughgoing scoundrel who would stoop to any trick to advance himself in the world. Having lost out on Lady Anne, he would surely marry Eddie if Helver didn’t stop him. He was abso­lutely determined to prevent the match.

  But how to discredit him? Eddie didn’t love him, but she clearly admired him and would listen to no stories of his carrying on. It would be interpreted as an invention of his own and only serve to lower himself in her eyes. How she had stared at him the other day when he pointed out what Dorion was up to, throwing them together. She hadn’t believed a word of it. Helver wondered if it had been Thorne’s intention to be rid of Eddie to marry Anne and to use himself as an excuse. Perhaps that was it and not what he had suspected all along, that Eddie was being used to weasel favours out of an influential duke.

  Either way, it was no credit to the Doctor. As he considered the past weeks, he thought Dorion had been encouraging the friendship between Edith and himself before he got to chasing after Annie. It was as he had first thought; and how far would Dorion be willing to go? Helver’s heart thudded with the idea of carrying it to its extremity—to offer outright to get him some high post in exchange for an affair with his wife. It was risky. Supposing Thorne stopped short of outright bartering for Edith? Where was he then?

  Disgraced, for good and all. With his reputation no one would believe it had been only a trick. And, even if Thorne accepted the idea, how was Eddie to be made to believe it? It couldn’t be done before her very face, yet that was the only way she’d believe it of Thorne. “He is above jealousy,” she had said. He was above nothing, including marrying a half-wit for the sake of her family con­nections, and her dowry.

  Thorne’s own mind was busy as he returned to the Court. Old Carlton had seen right through him, and he hadn’t liked it a bit. Should have been flattered that a grown man, and an educated one, would condescend to sit with that witless girl and watch her tear flowers to bits. Very likely he had heard about Sally Cuthbertson. He had thought the matter was hushed up, but likely every father with a marriageable daughter was in on it. It was more im­perative than ever that he marry Edith now. He had lost Anne, but she had never been more than a distant possibility.