“I said you had wasted your time,” observed Abby, “I, too, informed him of these circumstances. I don’t think he believed me, and I am very sure he didn’t set much store by all thisbluster of yours. I have no great opinion of his intelligence but I fancy he is sufficiently shrewd to have taken your measure before ever he decided to make a push to captivate Fanny. Good God, if he had succeeded in eloping with Fanny you would have gone to any lengths to hush up the scandal, and so, depend upon it, he very well knows!”
An angry flush mounted into Mr Wendover’s thin cheeks “Indeed? In-deed! You are very much mistaken, my dear sister!I am aware that you fancy yourself to be awake upon every suit, but in my humble opinion you are as big a wet-goose as Selina! I don’t doubt for a moment that he paid little heed to anything you may have said to him: only a gudgeon could have failed to take your measure! When, however, he was confronted by me, the case was altered! I am happy to be able to inform you that this lamentable affair is now at an end!”
“Yes, it came to an end when Fanny took ill. You had really nothing to do with it, you know. According to all accounts, Stacy Calverleigh, for the past fortnight, has being laying determined siege to a rich widow—a far more desirable conquest than Fanny, I assure you! I have not myself had the felicity of meeting the lady, but I understand that she is much inclined to succumb to his attractions.”
He was so much surprised that his anger was instantly quenched. He exclaimed: “You don’t mean it! Is it indeed so? Well, upon my word! Nothing could be better! A widow, you say? Well! They say he is all to pieces, you know—quite gutted! And Danescourt falling to ruin! I was never more shocked in my life! Fanny is to be congratulated!”
“Very true, but I fear you won’t be able to do so. She is still far from well. In fact, I think it would be wiser if she doesn’t come downstairs today—in case she should still be infectious.”
Since James, as she knew well, shared Selina’s dread of contracting any infectious complaint, he agreed hastily that it would be wisest for Fanny to remain in her room. He said that there was now no need for him to see her: a remark hardly calculated to endear him to his sister. He continued for several minutes to animadvert on Stacy Calverleigh’s character; but suddenly he fell silent, and the pleased expression vanished from his face. He began to fidget about the room, twice began to say something, an apparently thought better of it, and finally came to a halt in front of Abby’s chair, and said portentously; “Abby! There is something I must say to you!”
She could guess what was coming, but she merely raised her brows enquiringly.
“Something or more importance than Fanny’s frippery affair—of far graver importance! It has upset me very much. It made me bilious for two days. You must know that I have always been subject to stomach disorders, and nothing brings on one of my attacks more surely than shock! I suffered a severe shock, sister, when it came to my knowledge that not only was young Calverleigh in Bath, but also his uncle! I had not thought it to have been possible!”
“Why not?” asked Abby.
He seemed to find it difficult to answer this, for after glaring down at her for a moment, he ejaculated, somewhat lamely: “Here! In Bath! I had supposed him to be in India!”
“Well, so he was, but he has now returned to England. I believe it is quite customary for people to do so.”
“Customary! Ay, for some people! And here—here of all unlucky places! That I might be obliged actually to meet the fellow—!”
“Don’t let it distress you!” she said, in a deceptively kind voice. “I don’t wish to seem unfeeling, but you cannot be laid up with a bilious-attack in this house! I hope, since there is no likelihood of your meeting Miles Calverleigh, that that trial at least may be spared us. It so happens that he is not in Bath.”
“He is not?” he said eagerly. “Then where is he?”
“I have no notion where he may be,” she responded coldly.
He regarded her out of narrowed, suspicious eyes. “Does he mean to return?”
“Oh, I hope so!” she said, smiling in a way which should have warned him of danger.
“You hope so! Then it is true, is it? Not only has the fellow had the effrontery to make you the object of his gallantry, but you have encouraged him to do so! You have not outgrown that—unsteadiness of character, which my father was used to fear would one day lead you into serious imprudence. You still have what Cornelia has always believed to be a love of singularity. You still—”
“Do you know, James, I can’t but believe that you would be happier if you paid rather less heed to the reports Mrs Ruscombe so regularly sends to Cornelia?” she interrupted. “If you lived here, you would pay none at all!”
He reddened. “If you tell me that there is no truth in the intelligence she thought it her duty to send Cornelia, I must naturally accept your word.”
“The only thing I have to tell you is what I have already told you: you are wasting your time! I am not a child, and what I do is my own concern! Now, if you please, let us discuss some other subject before we come to dagger-drawing!”
She spoke quite quietly, but she was by this time very angry. He seemed to realize it, for when he had taken another turn about the room he said, in a more moderate tone: “I do not mean to set up your back. Recollect that although I have no authority over you I am your brother! What you do cannot but be of concern to me. I beg you will tell me—have you indeed a partiality for this man?”
She looked at him without speaking, but it was Miles Calverleigh’s face she saw, not his. A smile crept into her eyes; she turned them away from her brother, and sat looking into the fire. “Oh, yes!” she said softly.
He groaned. “And he? Has he had the imp—has he made you an offer?” She nodded, and again he groaned. “My poor girl! I do most sincerely pity you! Rest assured that not one word of what you have divulged to me shall ever pass my lips! You cannot marry Calverleigh. Good God, one would have thought that at your age—” He broke off, and said, with what was meant for an indulgent smile: “Well, well, you are not so old, after all, and one may fancy oneself in love at any age, eh? But you are old enough to reflect before you abandon yourself to folly—to an act of such madness as must ruin your life! You must allow me to speak plainly to you, little though I may relish the task. I own that I look upon it with repulsion: indeed, I never thought to be obliged to discuss such matters with any of my sisters! Calverleigh is a ne’er-do-well. His reputation—”
“Very bad, wasn’t it?” she agreed.
“Yes, my dear sister, it was! I shall not sully your ears with the details of his career—Abigail! Do you find it a matter for laughter?”
“Oh, I beg your pardon!” she said, choking on a giggle. “It is most uncivil to laugh in a person’s face, but I couldn’t help but do so! I suddenly thought how much Miles Calverleigh would enjoy hearing you talk such fustian, and wondered what he would say! Though I have a very good notion of that! It would certainly be outrageous, so perhaps it is as well that he isn’t here, for he would shock you very much—quite enough to make you bilious, I daresay! Don’t s-sully my ears any more, James! Remember that I came out of leading-strings a long time ago! I find that I don’t care a straw for his reputation.”
“You are hysterical!” he exclaimed. “You do not know what you are saying! He is a man without principles, without regard for any of the virtues you have been taught to revere!”
“Oh, quite without regard for them!” she said cordially. “He hasn’t any regard for family obligations either, and I am fast coming to the conclusion that he is perfectly right.”
He said repressively: “I make all allowance for the freakish things you delight in saying, but such wild, unthinking talk as this is very unbecoming in you. When you say that you don’t care a straw for Calverleigh’s reputation, you don’t understand what you arc saying, for you know nothing about it. It would be shocking if you did.”
“Well, you don’t know anything about it either, do y
ou?” she said. “You can’t have known very much before he was sent to India, for you are younger than he is, and he was only twenty at that time; and you can know nothing at all about him from that date onward.”
He found himself obliged to take another turn about the room, his hands clasped behind his back, and his fingers working convulsively. Coming to a halt again, he drew an audible breath, and said: “Abby! There are circumstances which render any alliance between a Wendover and a Calverleigh impossible-unthinkable! I cannot say more: you must believe me when I tell you that it so!”
“There is no need for you to say more,” she replied, with composure. “I know what happened—twenty years ago!”
“What?”He looked, for a moment, horrified, and then incredulous. “You cannot know!”
“Oh, yes! He eloped with Celia, didn’t he? But it was all hushed up, after the manner of her family and ours, and she married Rowland after all.”
“Who told you this?” he demanded, thunderstruck.
“Why, he did, of course—Miles Calverleigh!”
His jaw dropped. He seemed to find it difficult to speak, and stuttered: “C-Calverleigh t-told you? C-Calverleigh himself? Good God!” Words failed him. While she watched him in some amusement, he pulled out his handkerchief, and wiped his brow. Regaining a measure of control over his emotions, he said: “It is worse than I had thought it possible it could be! He must be dead to shame! Lost to every vestige of propriety!”
“I shouldn’t think he ever had a vestige of propriety to lose, she said reflectively. “As for shame, I don’t know, but he is not ashamed of running off with Celia. I see little reason why he should be. It was imprudent—and, of course, improper—but he was very young, and when her father forced Celia to become engaged to Rowland, I daresay it seemed to him to be the only thing to be done. I don’t blame him. Those whom I do blame, and from the bottom of my heart despise, are Papa, and Morval, and Rowland!”
He looked fixedly at her, and, lowering his voice, said, in apocalyptic accents: “You do not know all! They were not overtaken until the following day!”
She tried not to laugh, but his awful aspect was too much for her. Quite appalled by such depravity, he said sharply: “Upon my soul! I begin to think you are well matched, you and that scoundrel!
“Yes, James: I begin to think so too!” she agreed, between irrepressible outbreaks of laughter.
It was perhaps fortunate that they were interrupted at this moment by Selina, who came into the room in a flutter of welcome. To Selina, family ties were all-important; her affections, though not deep, were sincere and enduring, and she was genuinely glad to see James, forgetting, as she fondly embraced him, that the last letter she had received from him had roused her to considerable indignation.
“James! Well! Such a surprise! I hadn’t the least notion—and only a fricassee of rabbit and onions for dinner! Now, if only I had known! But Betty or Jane can go into town, and procure some partridges, or perhaps a haunch of venison, which Fletching dresses very well, and is something you were always partial to.”
But James was not staying to dine with his sisters. He was returning to London on the Mail Coach.
Dismayed, Selina faltered: “Not staying? But, James—! You brought your cloak-bag! Mitton has carried it up to your room, and means to unpack it as soon as the bed has been made up!”
“Desire him to bring it down again, if you please. It was my intention to have put up here for a night, but what I have learnt since I entered this room has shocked me so much—I may say, appalled me!—that I prefer to return to London!”
“Good God!” uttered Selina, casting a wildly enquiring look at Abby. “You cannot mean—oh, but Abby has told you surely,that we believe there is no danger to be apprehended now? There has been no continued observance: the wretch has only once called since dear Fanny took ill, and with my own eyes I have seen the Creature he is making up to!”
“I am not referring to young Calverleigh,” said James stiffly “I came to Bath in the hope of discovering that the very disturbing rumours which have reached me had little foundation in truth. Instead, I learn that your sister has become infatuated with a man who should never have been permitted to cross your threshold!”
“No, no! Oh, pray do not say such things, James!” begged Selina faintly. “He is perfectly respectable, though I cannot like the way he dresses—so very careless, and coming to pay us a formal visit in top-boots!—and, of course, he must have been sadly rackety when he was young, to have been sent away to India—not that I think it was right to do such a cruel thing, for I don’t, and I never shall, and I consider it to be most unjust to say that he ought not to have been allowed to cross the threshold after all these years of being condemned to live in India, which may be a very interesting place, but is most unhealthy, and has burnt him as brown as a nut! And Abby is as much your sister as mine!”
“If Abby is so lost to propriety, to all sense of the duty she owes her family, as to marry Calverleigh, she will no longer be a sister of mine!” he said terribly.
“That’s no way to dissuade me!” said Abby.
“No, no, dearest!” implored Selina. “Pray don’t—! James didn’t mean it!”
“When you have heard what I have to say, Selina—”
“Yes, but not now!” said Selina, much agitated. “Mitton is fetching up the sherry, and I must take off my hat and my pelisse, and then it will be time for luncheon, which we always have, you know—just a baked egg, or a morsel of cold meat—and afterwards, when you are calmer,and we shan’t be interrupted, which is always so vexatious when one is enjoying a serious discussion. No, I don’t mean that! Not enjoying it, because already I am beginning to feel a spasm!”
James eyed her a little uneasily, and said, in a milder voice: “Very well, I will postpone what I have to say. I do not myself partake of luncheon, but I should be glad of a cup of tea.”
“Yes dear, of course, though I am persuaded it would do good to eat a mouthful of something after your journey!”
“Don’t press him, Selina! he’s bilious,” said Abby.
“Bilious! Oh, then, no wonder—!” cried Selina, her countenance lightening. “I have the very thing for you, dear James! I will fetch it directly, but on no account sherry!”
She then fled from the room, paying no heed to his exasperated denial of biliousness.
“Take care, James!” said Abby maliciously. “You will find yourself in the suds if you throw Selina into strong convulsions!”
He cast her a repulsive glance. “Spare me any more of your levity, Abigail! I shall say no more until after luncheon.”
“You won’t say any more to me at any time,” replied Abby. “You have already said too much! You may not have noticed it, but the sun came out half an hour ago. What I am going to do after luncheon, dear James, is to take Fanny out for a drive!”
With these words, accompanied by a smile of great sweetness, she went away to inform Fanny of the treat in store for her.
Fanny was also suffering from agitation. She turned an apprehensive, suspicious face towards her aunt, and said: “How long does my uncle mean to remain here? I don’t want to see him !”
“Have no fear, my love!” said Abby cheerfully. “Your uncle is equally reluctant to see you! I told him you were still infectious.”
Fanny gave a spontaneous laugh. “Oh, Abby! What a fib!”
“Yes, it weighs heavily on my conscience, but I don’t grudge a fib or two to save you from what I cannot myself endure. Grimston will bring a tray to you. I must send a message to the stables now.”
But in the end it was not Abby who took Fanny for her drive, but Lavinia Grayshott. Just as Abby was preparing to take her place in the barouche beside Fanny, Lavinia came running up, and exclaimed breathlessly: “Oh famous! Going out at last! Now you will soon be better! Oh, Miss Abby, I beg your pardon!—how do you do? I was coming to see Fanny, just to bring her this book! Oh, and, Fanny, take care how you open it! There’s
an acrostic in it, from Oliver!”
Abby saw the brightening look in Fanny’s face, and realized that Fanny would prefer Lavinia’s company to hers. The knowledge caused her to feel a tiny heartache, but she did not hesitate. She said, smiling at Lavinia: “Why don’t you go with Fanny in my place? Would you like to?”
The answer was to be read in Lavinia’s face. “Oh—! But you, ma’am? Don’t you wish to go with her?”
“Not a bit!” Abby said. “I have a thousand and one things to do, and shall be glad to be rid of her! The carriage shall take you home, so if Martha sees no objection I shall resign Fanny into your charge.”
Martha, following more slowly in Lavinia’s wake, readily consented to the scheme; so Lavinia jumped into the carriage. Before it drew out of sight, Abby saw the two heads together, and guessed that confidences were already being exchanged. She stifled a sigh, as she turned back into the house. Between herself and Fanny there was constraint, for Fanny knew her to be hostile to Stacy Calverleigh. Well, perhaps she would unburden herself to Lavinia, and feel the better for it.
Chapter XVI
Belatedly following Selina’s advice, Abby retired to her bed-room to lie down. Contrary to her expectation, she fell asleep almost at once, and was still sleeping when James left the house.
When she awoke it was almost five o’clock, and the house was very quiet. She encountered Mrs Grimston on the landing, and learned from her that Miss Fanny was in the drawing-room, and seemingly none the worse for her drive; and that Miss Selina had gone up to rest as soon as Mr James had taken himself off. These words had a sinister ring, but as they were not followed by any mention of spasms or palpitations, and no distressing sounds could be heard emanating from Selina’s room, Abby hoped that they had been inspired merely by Mrs Grimston’s dislike of James. She went on down the stairs, and found Fanny with her head bent over the novel Lavinia had bestowed on her. She glanced up when Abby came into the room, and it struck Abby immediately that she was looking pale, and that her perfunctory smile was forced.
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