“You know?” Cynthia seemed a trifle surprised. “Oh, but Shaldon was recently with you, was he not, and I suppose he must have mentioned it?”
“Yes, he did say that the Earl desired a match between you.”
“And did he favour you with his own views on the subject?” asked Cynthia with some curiosity.
“Only to state that he had no thoughts of matrimony at present,” replied Helen.
Cynthia shrugged. “Scarcely flattering! But then, he has not seen me lately, so I need hardly feel offended! In any case, his views meet my own. I’ve no wish to marry immediately. Shaldon will keep. Like you, first I wish to sample all the delights that a season in Town can offer.”
The next quarter of an hour passed in an enthusiastic review on both sides of some of these delights, Helen pronouncing in favour of the theatre, sightseeing, and even Astley’s Circus, while Cynthia’s heart was set on balls, rout parties, and fashionable shopping.
At the end of this spirited dialogue, Helen rose to go, feeling that she had failed in her original enterprise. She made one last attempt to retrieve the position by casually mentioning that she had seen Durrant in the village a few days since.
“Very likely,” replied Cynthia. “He’s been here with my father for some weeks, and I wonder you should not have run across him before. What do you think of him nowadays? He’s a well-looking man, don’t you agree?”
“Oh, yes, quite handsome, I suppose. He seemed somewhat preoccupied when we met, as though he had some problem on his mind.”
Cynthia gave a knowing smile. “I fancy he admires me,” she said, complacently. “I’ve looked in on him once or twice in that fusty old book room of ours, while he’s been down here with Papa. Well, one must do something, and there’s so little that’s entertaining going on in the country! It’s quite amusing, really. You should only see how hard he tries not to reveal his admiration. For, of course, he dare not, you know.”
The smile left Helen’s face. “I must say, Cynthia, I think that’s the outside of enough!” she exclaimed, forthrightly. “Oh, yes, I know of old that you can never resist flirting; but to take advantage of a man in Durrant’s position is surely carrying levity too far!”
Cynthia shrugged. “You always were a prude — but what else can be expected from a clergyman’s daughter, after all? Don’t trouble yourself over Durrant’s misfortunes, however. I’ll warrant he knows very well how to look after himself! In any event, he and I will not be meeting until after I am settled in Town, for he has left suddenly for Sussex and, as I understand, will not return here but to our town house when his business shall be concluded. And I need scarcely trouble to inform you that I shall be far too occupied than to bother my head with Durrant. There will be more interesting things in prospect!”
“I don’t doubt that,” Helen replied, coldly.
“I did wonder, you know,” remarked Cynthia, thoughtfully, “whether Papa had sent him off on purpose, because he has caught us chatting together on one or two occasions and looked displeased, though I soon brought him round my thumb again. But I discovered that it was no such thing and that Durrant had been despatched on some errand for Lord Alvington. You may be sure I did my best to ascertain exactly what it was, but Papa was not to be coerced into revealing anything. Men are so tiresomely secretive! But I do wonder what Durrant can procure in Sussex that is vital to the happiness of Alvington, do not you? Sea shells, do you suppose?”
Helen was obliged to laugh at this, and the two girls parted with the appearance, at any rate, of reasonable amity. But as she took her way homeward she wondered if Durrant’s errand to Sussex for the Earl could be the matter in hand of which he had spoken, and which was to bring trouble to her childhood friend.
CHAPTER XIX
Unlike many girls of her age, who preferred to observe a certain reticence towards their parents, Helen was in the habit of confiding most of her doings to her mother; they were so alike in temperament, that she was always certain of a sympathetic hearing. She told Mrs. Somerby, therefore, of her uneasiness about Durrant’s remark and what she had managed to discover from Cynthia.
“Oh, my dear, I fear you’re too like your misguided Mama, always intrigued by the least hint of a mystery!” exclaimed Amanda Somerby, laughing. “But depend on it, Durrant meant nothing in particular by what he said about Anthony. There was always some envy on his side, you know, even when he was quite a child.”
“Yes, I do know, of course. But his tone was more than malicious, Mama; it seemed to suggest to me some actual knowledge of impending trouble for Lord Shaldon. And don’t you think it odd that Durrant should have been sent off to Sussex on the Earl’s behalf? After all, he is not in the Earl’s employ, but Lord Lydney’s — and surely the Earl has sufficient staff of his own to perform his errands?”
Mrs. Somerby frowned. “Yes, that is very true, and it certainly does seem an odd circumstance. Sussex?” She frowned thoughtfully. “To my knowledge, Alvington has no property or connections in that county. Still, there’s no saying what may arise in matters of business,” she went on, in a more casual tone, “so I should put it out of your mind, my love. What else did Cynthia have to say to you? I suppose she is busy getting ready for her trip to London?”
“Oh, she had a good deal to say about the clothes she will be taking, and all that kind of thing.” Helen gave an attractive little chuckle. “I fancy she meant to overawe me, but if so, it didn’t answer, for I told her how busy you’ve been in seeing that my wardrobe is adequate! She seems to think that Melissa and I will both be ‘on the catch,’ as she put it, for eligible husbands.”
“Well, one can’t deny that most girls do embark on a London season in the hope of meeting some eligible young men.” Mrs. Somerby hesitated. “On that subject, my love, I suppose I ought really to offer you some maternal advice.”
“What kind of advice, Mama? If it concerns the proprieties, I assure you Mrs. Cassington schooled us all thoroughly in that regard. And if it’s” — she looked a little self-conscious, removing her candid gaze for a moment from her mother’s — “well, of a more — intimate — nature, I think perhaps you may safely spare yourself the trouble of explaining. One cannot live in the country amongst animals, you know, without gaining a pretty good notion of how nature regulates such matters. Besides which, one gains a surprising amount of information from reading such unexceptionable books as the Bible and the classics. I don’t think you need have the least uneasiness in that quarter.”
Mrs. Somerby placed an arm about her daughter. “Oh, no, I should scarcely allow you to venture forth into a wider world unless I felt secure in your understanding of such matters. But even though I have the utmost confidence in Lady Chetwode’s protection, you will still need to be upon your guard. You see, Helen, you have yet to fall in love, and to understand how that state can often overset one’s judgment.”
“Oh, Mama!” Helen sounded impatient.
“What you must bear in mind is that young gentlemen of fashion are very addicted to flirting. Yours is a candid nature and an affectionate one, and you may quite easily fall head over ears in love, as I did with your Papa.” She smiled reminiscently for a moment. “When that happens — and I’m certain it will, sooner or later — we must hope that you will be as fortunate in your choice as I was. But do not, I beg you, be too ready to trust to appearances, and think yourself secure of a man’s affection only because he pays you all manner of attentions and makes pretty speeches. You have nothing to fear from fortune hunters, as your dowry will be a modest one compared, say, with Cynthia Lydney’s or your friend Melissa’s. On that head, we may be easy. The very fact that you lack fortune, however, may make you the target for attentions from young men who do sincerely admire you — as what young man could not? — but who have no intention of marriage, reserving that for some wealthier girl. If you should allow yourself to feel in earnest about any one such gentleman, you could suffer a broken heart. And that,” exclaimed Amanda Somerby, vigorou
sly, “I shall not allow to happen through any lack of a warning on my part, however little I know you relish it! Try to forgive my motherly croakings my love, and believe that I mean them for the best.”
“Oh, yes, certainly. What you’re saying, Mama, is that I may not fall in love until I have a signed guarantee from my suitor that his intentions are strictly honourable?” asked Helen, with a twinkle in her eye. “I suppose it will be quite admissible for me to flirt with as many gentlemen as I choose, however?”
“Wretched girl! You make a jest of everything! Well, I have done my duty, and I daresay you’ll pay as much heed to my warning as I did to anything my poor dear Mama said to me on such a subject. And most likely,” concluded Mrs. Somerby, in her more usual optimistic vein, “you will manage the business very well without advice, just as I did myself.”
They both laughed and dismissed the subject. But although Helen had seemed to dismiss her mother’s counsel frivolously, she had not totally disregarded it.
A few weeks later, Helen set forth on her journey to London accompanied by her brother James, who had come down to Alvington especially to escort her. Although the Rector possessed a smart new Dennet gig for his parochial duties, the only closed carriage in his stables was an ancient vehicle now unsuitable for long distances but used occasionally to convey the family on local excursions to neighbours’ houses or shopping in the nearby town. The brother and sister therefore travelled by post chaise; and as only a limited amount of baggage could be taken on this vehicle, a large trunk containing the bulk of Helen’s wardrobe was sent on to London by carrier.
Their postillion seemed determined that the chaise should live up to its familiar title of ‘yellow bounder,’ and sent it along at a rattling pace which soon ate up the miles. Several drivers of other vehicles which they passed on their way, and who were often obliged to draw in uncomfortably close to the ditch, found other less complimentary terms for the equipage, and speculated bitterly on the ancestry of its driver. These comments amused James Somerby a good deal, and regrettably did not shock his sister nearly so much as perhaps would have been proper. While the horses were being changed at Berkhamsted, they took some refreshment and seized the opportunity to stretch their cramped limbs; but they were soon hurtling onwards again through pleasant country, where lambs sported in the meadows and trees were putting out the first green of Spring. As they raced along Watling Street, which had been built by the Romans and which would eventually bring them down to the Hyde Park Corner turnpike, James consulted his watch and saw that it was only half past eleven.
“I say, Nell, would you mind if we turned off to Paddington village just before we reach the Tyburn turnpike? I would like to look in on Dr. Gillies. It’s an age since I went there, because I’m not often that way, and you know how my work at the hospital keeps me constantly occupied. But he and his sister were very good to me during the years of my apprenticeship, and I wouldn’t want to neglect the old fellow. I may not have so good an opportunity again for some time.”
“Well, if you think they won’t object to me in a crumpled pelisse and looking a trifle dishevelled,” said Helen, dubiously.
“Oh, no, they’re capital people, and not in the least stuffy, just the kind whom I know you’ll like. Besides, if you feel you’re a trifle out of point after the journey, you could freshen up there, you know, and present yourself in Cavendish Square looking more the thing.”
“Thank you. Now I know that I do indeed look dishevelled, after that remark,” said Helen, with a rueful grin.
“Fustian! Didn’t you say it yourself? But that’s just like a female, twisting a fellow’s words into something he never intended. Very well, since you’ve no objection, I’ll give the postillion his orders. He can wait at the Red Lion there, while we pay our call. I don’t intend to stay very long.”
Accordingly, they entered the village a short time later, crossing an ancient stone bridge over a stream and pulling up outside the half-timbered inn. A farm waggon stood in the forecourt; the carter was watering his horses at a trough while he chatted to one of the ostlers, but the latter hurried forward on seeing the post chaise, and opened the door to allow the passengers to alight.
“It’s just around the corner from here,” said James, as he handed down his sister.
Taking her arm, he led her under the swinging inn sign through some white posts into the village street. The house they sought was only a few doors from the inn, a grey stone two-storeyed building with a roof of thatch in which some sparrows had evidently set up a home, judging by the frequent comings and goings of the birds, and the twittering in the eaves. A small patch of garden surrounded by a white fence fronted the house, which had a well-kept air, with shining windows draped in spotless white dimity and a well-polished brass knocker on the front door.
James rapped and waited. There were sounds of a scurrying in the hall, then the door opened to reveal a diminutive maidservant standing behind it. James gave his name; but before the girl could either invite him to enter or retreat to convey the information to someone in authority, whichever she had in mind, a female voice called out from inside one of the rooms.
“Who is there, Sally?”
The next moment, the speaker herself appeared, She was a little woman of neat appearance, in her early sixties but slim and spry, with grey hair arranged tidily under a white lace cap with lappets, and a friendly expression on her face. At sight of James, she exclaimed with delight.
“Why, Master Somerby! And how is our Jamie? The doctor will be monstrous glad to see you, that I can tell you! But come in, my dear young man, and bring the young lady with you, do.”
She looked enquiringly at Helen as she ushered them both into the house, evidently uncertain as to who she was. James soon enlightened her, and she pressed Helen’s hand warmly as she remarked that Master Somerby had always been a favourite pupil of her brother’s.
“How is the doctor?” asked James, as they followed her through the hall.
“Tolerably well, I’m thankful to say, though a trifle plagued by the rheumatics. He’s looking forward to the time when he’ll have you to assist him.” She pushed open a door and announced, “I’ve a delightful surprise for you, Andrew! Here is Jamie Somerby come to see us, with his young sister.”
A well-built man with white hair and a wrinkled, tanned face rose to greet them, placing a hand in the small of his back and grimacing with pain as he did so. The next moment, his features relaxed into a broad smile as he extended a hand in welcome.
“Deuced rheumatics!” he grumbled, in a deep voice. “Ah, well, Anno Domini, I suppose — catches us all in time. How are you, my dear boy? And how do you go on at Guy’s? But, bless me, I am neglecting this charming young lady — your sister, I collect? Yes, she has a look of you. How d’ye do, miss? Sit down, now, both of you, and Mistress Betty will bring us some refreshment. Have you come far?”
James explained that they were on their way to Cavendish Square from Buckinghamshire, and that their visit must necessarily be brief.
“Only I couldn’t bring myself to pass so close to you without looking in,” he concluded. “I knew you’d forgive the lack of formality.”
“I should hope you might. But since you’ve both come a good way already, perhaps you’d care to freshen up a little before partaking of some refreshment? My sister will take care of Miss Somerby, and you can go into the surgery.”
Helen was conducted up a short flight of stairs to a bedchamber with old-fashioned, well-polished furniture and a small dressing room beyond. Here she was able to wash off some of the inevitable dust of travel and to make herself presentable again. As she was arranging her hair before the mirror, her hostess picked up a heavily chased gold locket which was lying on the dressing table.
“Oh, now there is someone to mend this for me!” she exclaimed. “Master — I should say Mister, but old habits die hard! — Somerby was always quite a hand at this kind of thing. It is only the split ring which fastens it onto the
chain which has become forced so that the locket slips off, but my brother’s eyesight is no longer equal to the task of setting it right. Though of course,” she added, doubtfully, “I can scarce ask your brother to see to it now, as he has so little time to stay. Perhaps on another occasion.”
She laid the locket down again.
“Nothing of the kind,” Helen assured her. “James will fix it in a trice and be very glad to serve you in such a small way, I am sure. Let us take it downstairs with us, ma’am. It’s a pretty trinket, and it’s a shame that you shouldn’t be able to wear it.”
“Yes, for I’ve been used to wear it for nigh on thirty years, and one misses such things, you know. Well, if you’re quite sure that your brother will not think himself imposed upon, I’ll venture to ask him.”
James at once expressed his willingness to oblige, and with the aid of a small pair of pincers soon repaired the ring which held the locket on its chain. Afterwards they all partook of wine and cake, the two doctors talking away at a great rate on professional matters; while Helen and Mistress Betty maintained the less lively conversation of those who have only just met, but who nevertheless feel a great deal of goodwill towards each other.
Presently, the Somerbys were obliged to take their leave, James promising that he would look in again before very long.
“And if ever you should manage to get down to Guy’s, sir,” he concluded, with a vigorous handshake for the doctor, “I shall be delighted to take you round the wards and show you one or two interesting cases.”
When he and Helen were seated once more in the post chaise to resume their journey, he enlivened the way with reminiscences of his years as an apprentice in Dr. Gillies’s household and the maternal kindness he had always met with from Mistress Betty, as everyone called the doctor’s sister.
They arrived in Cavendish Square in the early afternoon to find the family assembled to give them a warm welcome. Lady Chetwode was a small, rather plump woman with a round face, somewhat vague brown eyes and a kindly expression. She was wearing a high necked, long sleeved gown, of green velvet fashioned with that simplicity which is always expensive. Sir George, her husband, had the long, thin face of the scholar; and anyone acquainted with the Reverend Theodore Somerby would not find it difficult to understand why these two gentlemen had been close friends in their youth. Indeed, Sir George rarely knew what was going on in his household, as for most of the time he was shut up in his library, reading. His son Philip had something of his father’s cast of countenance besides inheriting Sir George’s bookish tendencies; but he was a personable young man, tall and slender, fashionably attired in a well-tailored dark blue coat, fawn waistcoat, and grey stockinette pantaloons.
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