“Sir Joshua,” she replied primly, “is Lady Weaverham’s husband, sir.”
“Yes, my pretty pea-goose, and Sophy’s father too!” he said outrageously. “My powerful intellect has enabled me to assimilate those barren facts! Don’t act the dunce!”
“Let me tell you, sir, that if you wish to be accepted into Bath society you will do well to mend your manners!” retorted Abby.
“I’ve none to mend, and not the smallest wish to be accepted into Bath, or any other, society. And if Bath society is composed of Lady Weaverham and her like—”
“Of course it isn’t!” she interrupted impulsively. “I mean—Oh, what a detestable man you are!”
“Well, if that’s what you meant to say you must have a very hubble-bubble mind!” he commented. “I may be detestable—in fact, I know I am—but what has that to say to anything ?” He added, as she resolutely bit her lip: “Yes, do laugh! You have a pretty laugh, and I like the way your eyes dance.”
Guiltily aware that this very improper speech had pleased rather than offended her, she said, as coolly as she could: “We were discussing the Weaverhams, I think. They are very kind, worthy people, and although they are not—not the pink of gentility, they are generally well-liked.”
“Full of juice, eh?” he said, showing at once his understanding and his disregard for polite ambiguities. “Where did they pick up the title? In the City?”
“I don’t know. Sir Joshua certainly was engaged in Trade, until he retired—they make no secret of that—but—but in a perfectly respectable way!”
“No need to defend him,” he said kindly. “I’ve been engaged in trade myself, though I daresay you wouldn’t say respectably.”
“I should be astonished if I discovered that you had done anything respectably!” declared Abby, goaded into retort. Shocked by her own lapse from propriety, she was thankful to see that they had reached York House, and added hastily: “Our ways part here, sir, so I will say goodbye!”
“No, don’t! it would be premature! I’m going to escort you to your home.”
“I am obliged to you, but it is quite unnecessary, I assure you!”
She had stopped by the entrance to the hotel, and held out her hand, repeating; “Goodbye, Mr Calverleigh!”
“If you imagine that I am going to walk behind you, like a footman, all the way to Sydney Place, you are mightily mistaken, Miss Abigail Wendover!” he said, taking her hand, and drawing it within his arm. “Is it now the established mode for young females to jaunter about the town unattended? It wasn’t so when I lived in England!”
“I am not a young female, and I don’t jaunter!” replied Abby hotly, pulling her hand away, but walking on beside him. “Times have changed since you lived in England, sir!”
“Yes, alas, and not for the better!” he agreed, in a mournful tone. “Bear with my foibles, ma’am! Being yourself stricken in years, that shouldn’t be difficult!”
A chuckle escaped her. “Don’t be so absurd!” she admonished him. “I may not be stricken in years, but I am no longer of an age when I need chaperonage. I don’t care to let Fanny go out alone, though I know several mothers who see no objection to it here.Not in London, of course.” She paused, and said, after a moment: “May I request you, sir, to take care what you say to Fanny? Since you have seen fit to inform her that you knew her mother very well, she may try to talk to you about Celia, and she is sufficiently needle-witted to add two and two together. I’m aware that you did it to put me in a quake, but, having succeeded, pray be satisfied!”
He laughed. “No, no! just bantering you a little! You were looking such daggers at me that I couldn’t resist!”
“Chivalrous!” she remarked.
“Not a bit! I warned you that there’s no virtue in me.”
“Then why do you insist on escorting me home?”
“Because I want to escort you home, of course. What a bird-witted question!”
Her eyes began to dance, and her lips to quiver. “You know, you are the most provoking creature I ever encountered!” she told him.
“Oh, come, now, that’s doing it rather too brown!” he expostulated. “Remember, I was acquainted with your brother Rowland! I never saw much of James, but I shouldn’t wonder at it if he’s as bad. Or don’t you find consequential bores provoking?”
“If I didn’t believe you to be dead to all proper feeling,” said Abby, in a shaking voice, “I should endeavour to point out to you that that is a—an abominable thing to say!”
“Well, thank God you do realize it!” he replied. “Now we shall go on much more comfortably!”
“No we shan’t. Not until you stop trying to hoax me into thinking you are uniformly odious! Pray, did you bring Oliver Grayshott home because you wanted to?”
“Yes, I like the boy. Don’t you?”
“Yes, I daresay, but—”
“Now, don’t run away with the notion that I came back to England on his account!” he admonished her. “Nothing could be farther from the truth! All I did was to take charge of him on the voyage: no very arduous task!”
“And subsequently put yourself to the trouble of bringing him down to Bath,” said Abby pensively.
“Oh, that was because—” he checked himself, but continued blandly, after an infinitesimal pause: “—because his uncle is a man of vast interests, and one never knows when the favour of such a man might stand one in good stead.”
“How quickly you made a recover!” said Abby admiringly. “You were within an ace of telling me that you came to Bath to see your nephew, too!”
“Ah, I did tell you that I didn’t know he was here! I rather thought I did,” he said, quite unperturbed. “I hope he means to return: according to Lady Weaverham, he is a perfect paragon, and I should like to meet a Calverleigh who fitted that description.”
“You won’t meet him in the person of your nephew!”
“How do you know? You’ve never clapped eyes on him!”
“No, but—”
“Furthermore, Selina likes him,” he pursued. “You told me that yourself, and I have the greatest respect for her judgment.”
“Oh, have you indeed?” she said wrathfully. “When you have never clapped eyes on her—!”
“Not to my knowledge,” he admitted. “However, I understand her to be your eldest sister, and there’s no saying but what I may have met her—before I was excluded from polite circles, of course. If I didn’t, I look forward to making her acquaintance.”
They had reached the corner of Bridge Street, and Abby came to an abrupt halt. “No!” she said forcefully. “I don’t wish you to make her acquaintance! She knows nothing of what you disclosed to me—she doesn’t even know that I met you yesterday! And I have no intention—none whatsoever!—of introducing you to her!”
“Haven’t you? But you’ll be made to look no-how if you don’t, won’t you? If Mrs Grayshott doesn’t perform that office, would you wager a groat on the chance that Lady Weaverham won’t?”
“No—or on the chance that you wouldn’t instantly tell my sister of our previous meetings!” said Abby, with considerable bitterness. “Without a blush!”
“Very likely,” he agreed.
Unable to think of any suitable rejoinder, she walked on in silence.
“And I promise you I won’t blush,” he added reassuringly.
She choked, but managed to retort with tolerable gravity: “I shouldn’t suppose that you know how to!”
“No, I don’t think I do,” he said, subjecting the matter to consideration. “At my age, it is rather too late to acquire the accomplishment, don’t you think?”
“Mr Calverleigh!” she said, turning her head to look up at him, “let us be a little serious! It is true that I haven’t yet met your nephew, but you have met my niece! You don’t want for sense; you are not a green youth, but a—a man of the world; and you loved Fanny’s mother! I don’t doubt that, or that seeing Fanny must have given you a—a pang—brought it all back to you
!”
“You know, the odd thing is that it didn’t,” he interrupted. “Is she so like Celia?”
Astonished, she gasped: “Her image!”
“No, is she indeed? What tricks memory plays one! I had thought that Celia had brown eyes.”
“Do you mean to say that you have forgotten?”demanded Abby, wholly taken aback.
“Well, it all happened more than twenty years ago,” he said apologetically.
“And no doubt your memory has confused her with some other lady!”
“Yes, that’s very possible,” he acknowledged.
Miss Abigail Wendover decided, while she struggled with her emotions, that one of the worst features of Mr Miles Calverleigh’s character was his obnoxious ability to throw her into giggles at quite the wrong moment. Being a woman of strong resolution, she mastered herself, and said: “But you do remember that you once loved her, and I don’t think you would wish her daughter to—to become the victim of a fortune-hunter—even if he is your nephew!”
“No. Not that I’ve considered the matter, but I don’t wish anybody to become the victim of a fortune-hunter. Or, now I come to think of it, of any other predacious person. But I am of the opinion that you may be wronging my foolish nephew: he may well have tumbled into love with her, you know. Undoubtedly a piece of perfection!”
She looked up quickly, kindling to this praise of her darling. “She is very pretty, isn’t she?”
“Oh, past price! Which leads me to suspect that perhaps the poor fellow is in love with her!”
She frowned over this for moment or two, before saying decidedly: “It’s of no consequence if he is: he is not a proper person for her! Besides, she’s by far too young. Surely you must know that!”
“No, I don’t. Her mother was about seventeen when she married Rowland.”
“Which proves she is too young!”
He grinned appreciatively, but said: “You may be right, but you can’t expect me to agree with you. After all, I tried to marry Celia myself!”
“Yes, but you were only a boy then. You must be wiser now!”
“Much! Too wise to meddle in what doesn’t concern me!”
“Mr Calverleigh, it should concern you!”
“Miss Wendover, it don’t!”
“Then, if you’ve no interest in your nephew, why do you mean to linger in Bath? Why do you hope he means to return here?”
“I didn’t say I had no interest in him. I own, I didn’t think I had, but that was before I knew he was making up to your niece. You can’t deny that that provides a very interesting situation!”
“Excessively diverting, too!”
“Yes, that’s what I think.”
She said despairingly: “ I see that I might as well address myself to a gate-post!”
“What very odd things you seem to talk to!” he remarked. “Do you find gate-posts less responsive than eels?”
She could not help smiling, but she said very earnestly: “Promise me one thing at least, sir! Even though you won’t intervene in this miserable affair, promise me that you won’t promote it!”
“Oh, readily! I am a mere spectator.”
She was obliged to be satisfied, but said in somewhat minatory accents: “I trust your word, sir.”
“You may safely do so. I shan’t feel any temptation to break it,” he replied cheerfully.
Feeling that this remark showed him to be quite irreclaimable, Abby walked on in silence, trying to discover why she allowed herself to talk to him at all, far less to accept his escort. No satisfactory answer presented itself, for although he seemed to be impervious to snubs she knew that she could have snubbed his advances if she had made any real effort to do so. After a half-hearted attempt to convince herself that she endured his escort and his conversation with the sole object of winning his support in her crusade against his nephew she found herself to be under the shameful necessity of admitting that she enjoyed both, and—far worse!—would have suffered considerable .disappointment had he announced his intention of leaving Bath within the immediate future. She could only suppose that it was his unlikeness to the other gentlemen of her acquaintance which appealed to her sense of humour, and made it possible for her to tolerate him, for there was really nothing else to render him acceptable: he was neither handsome nor elegant; his manners were careless; and his morals non-existent. He was, in fact, precisely the sort of ramshackle person to whom no lady of birth, breeding, and propriety would extend the smallest encouragement. He had nothing to recommend him but his smile, and she was surely too old, and had too much commonsense, to be beguiled by a smile, however attractive it might be. But just as she reached this decision he spoke, and she glanced up at him, and realized that she had overestimated both her age and her commonsense. He was smiling down at her, and, try as she would, she was incapable of resisting the impulse to smile back at him. It was almost as if a bond existed between them, which was tightened by his smile. In repose his face was harsh, but the smile transformed it. His eyes lost their cold, rather cynical expression, warming to laughter, and holding, besides amusement, an indefinable look of understanding. He might mock, but not unkindly; and when he discomfited her his smiling eyes conveyed sympathy as well as amusement, and clearly invited her to share his amusement. And, thought Abby, the dreadful thing was that she did share it. He seemed to think that they were kindred spirits, and the shocking suspicion that he was right made her look resolutely ahead, saying: “Yes, sir? What did you say?”
Quick to hear the repressive note in her voice, he replied meekly: “Nothing, I assure you, to which you could take the least exception! In fact, no more than: I wish you will tell me. Upon which you turned your head, and looked up at me so charmingly that the rest went out of my mind! How the devil have you contrived to escape matrimony in all the unnumbered years of your life?”
An unruly dimple peeped, but she answered primly: “I am very well content to remain single, sir.” It then occurred to her that this might lead him to suppose that her hand had never been sought in matrimony, which, for some reason unknown to herself, was an intolerable misapprehension, and she destroyed whatever quelling effect her dignified reply might have had upon him, by adding: “Though you needn’t suppose that I have not received several eligible offers!”
He chuckled. “I don’t!”
Blushing rosily, she said, trying to recover her lost dignity: “And if that is what you wished me to tell you—”
“Oh, no!” he interrupted. “Until you smiled so enchantingly I thought I knew. But you aren’t old cattish—not in the least!”
“Oh!” gasped Abby. “Old cattish? Oh, you—you—I am nothing of the sort!”
“That’s what I said,” he pointed out.
“You didn’t! You—you said—” Her sense of the ridiculous came to her rescue; she burst out laughing. “Odious creature! Now, do, pray, stop roasting me! What do you really wish me to tell you?”
“Oh, I was merely seeking information! I don’t recall that I ever visited Bath in the days of my youth, so I rely on you to tell me just what are its rules and etiquette—as they concern one desirous of entering society.”
“You?” she exclaimed, casting a surprised look up at him.
“But of course! How else could I hope to pursue my acquaintance with—” He paused, encountering a dangerous gleam in her eyes, and continued smoothly: “Lady Weaverham, and her amiable daughter!”
She bit her lip. “No, indeed! How shatterbrained I am! Lady Weaverham has several amiable daughters, too.”
“Good God! Are they all fubsy-faced?”
“A—a little!” she acknowledged. “You will be able to judge for yourself, if you mean to attend the balls at the New Assembly Rooms. I am afraid there are no balls or concerts held at the Lower Rooms until November. You will find it an agreeable day promenade, however, and I expect there will be some public lectures given there. Concerts are given every Wednesday evening at the New Rooms. And there is also the Harmonic
Society,” she said, warming to her task. “They sing catches and glees, and meet at the White Hart. At least, they do during the season, but I am not perfectly sure—”
“I shall make it my business to discover the date of the first meeting. Meanwhile, my pretty rogue, that will do!”
Miss Wendover toyed for a moment with the idea of giving him a sharp set-down for addressing her so improperly, but decided that it would be wiser to ignore his impertinence. She said: “Not fond of music, sir? Oh, well, perhaps you have a taste for cards! There are two card-rooms at the New Assembly Rooms: one of them is an octagon, and generally much admired—but I ought to warn you that hazard is not allowed, or any unlawful game. And you cannot play cards at all on Sundays.”
“You dismay me! What, by the way, are the unlawful games you speak of?”
“I don’t know,” she said frankly, “but that’s what it says in the Rules. I expect it wouldn’t do to start a faro bank, or anything of that nature.”
“I shouldn’t wonder at it if you were right,” he agreed, with the utmost gravity. “And how do I gain admittance to this establishment?”
“Oh, you write your name in Mr King’s book, if you wish to become a subscriber! He is the M.C., and the book is kept at the Pump Room. Dress balls are on Monday, card assemblies on Tuesday, and Fancy balls on Thursday. The balls begin soon after seven o’clock, and end punctually at eleven. Only country dances are permitted at the Dress balls, but there are in general two cotillions danced at the Fancy balls. Oh, and you pay sixpence for Tea, on admission!”
“And they say Bath is a slow place! You appear to be gay to dissipation. What happens, by the way, if eleven o’clock strikes in the middle of one of your country dances?”
She laughed. “The music stops! That’s in the Rules too!”
They had reached Sydney Place by this time, and she stopped outside her house, and held out her hand. “This is where I live, so I will say goodbye to you, Mr Calverleigh. I am much obliged to you for escorting me home, and trust you will enjoy your sojourn in Bath.”
“Yes, if only I am not knocked-up by all the frisks and jollifications you’ve described to me,” he said, taking her hand, and retaining it for a moment in a strong clasp. He smiled down at her. “I won’t say goodbye to you, but au revoir, Miss Wendover!”
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