These tactics succeeded very well with Lady Silverdale, but Henrietta failed to induce any softening of Cardle’s heart towards Cherry. Not even a casual reference to the probability that Cherry’s visit would soon come to an end had the least effect on Cardle. “And the sooner the better, miss!” she said tartly. “One thing’s certain! The day my lady invites her to live here is the day I leave this house! I pity you, Miss Hetta, having your nose put out of joint by that designing little hussy, and being taken in by her coaxing ways, every bit as much as my poor deluded mistress is! And it’s no good telling me I’ve got no business to say she’s a designing hussy, which I wouldn’t have presumed to do if you hadn’t opened the subject, for I know what I know, and I hope and pray you won’t regret your kindness to her!”
Henrietta went down to dinner fervently hoping, for her part, that Desford’s return from Harrowgate would not be long delayed.
In fact, it was delayed for longer than the Viscount had anticipated, for his journey south was not attended by the good fortune which had made his northward journey so speedy. A series of mishaps befell him, the most serious of which, the loss of a tyre, kept him kicking his heels for a day and a half, this accident occurring on the first day out from Harrowgate, which happened to be a Saturday, midway between Chesterfield and Mansfield. By the time the chaise bumped its way into Mansfield it was too late for the necessary repair to be effected, and on the Sunday the premises of both the wheelwright and the blacksmith were found to be closed: the one because its owner was a stern opposer of Sunday Travel; the other because the smith had gone off to spend the day with his married sister. It was not until Monday morning was merging into Monday afternoon that a new tyre was fitted to the wheel, and the Viscount was able to proceed on his way. And then (proving to him his belief that his luck had run out) one of his wheelers went dead lame, so that his progress to the next post-house more nearly resembled a funeral cortege than the swift journey of a gentleman of wealth and fashion. What with this, and several minor hindrances, it was four days before he reached Dunstable, where he decided to put up for the night, since there were still almost thirty miles to cover to Inglehurst, and he had no wish to arrive there long after the dinner-hour.
So it was not until a fortnight after he had deposited Cherry at Inglehurst that Henrietta, a little before noon, was at last gratified by having him ushered into her presence. Grimshaw announced him, in a sepulchral voice, and she started up out of her chair in front of the writing-desk, exclaiming impulsively: “Oh, Des, I am so thankful you’ve come at last!”
“Good God, Hetta, what’s amiss?” he demanded, brought up short in his advance across the room.
“Nothing!—that is to say, I hope nothing, but I am much afraid that things are beginning to go amiss.” He had taken her hands in his, and kissed them both, and was still holding them in his strong clasp, but she gently drew them away, and said, scanning his face: “Your errand hasn’t prospered, has it?”
He shook his head. “No. Nettlecombe has become an April-gentleman!”
Her eyes widened. “Married?”she asked incredulously.
“That’s it: leg-shackled to his housekeeper—oh, I beg her pardon! his lady-housekeeper!”
“Ah!” she said, with a twinkle of perfect comprehension. “No doubt she told you so herself!”
He grinned at her. “No, she told Nettlecombe, when he told me that he had married his cook. She said she would thank him to remember it, too, and I don’t doubt he will. Oh, Hetta, you can’t think how much I longed for you to be present at that interview! You must have laughed yourself into stitches!”
She moved to the sofa, and sat down, patting the place beside her. “Tell me!” she invited.
He did tell her, and she appreciated the story just as he had known she would. But he ended on a sober note, when, having described the final scene, in the corridor, he paused for an instant, before saying abruptly: “Hetta, I could not thrust that unfortunate child into such a household!”
“No,” she agreed, her own brow as troubled as his. “Only—Des, what is to be done with her? Mama said, a week ago, that if Nettlecombe repudiated her she had a good mind to keep her here, but—it wouldn’t do—I know it wouldn’t do! It is always the same when Mama takes a violent fancy to anyone! At first she thinks the new treasure perfect, and then she begins to perceive faults in her—and even when they are quite trivial faults she exaggerates them in her mind, and—which is worse!—remembers them, and adds them on to the next error her wretched favourite falls into!”
“Good God, has it come to that? Poor Cherry!”
“No, no, not yet!” she assured him. “But she has begun to criticize her—oh, not unkindly! merely noticing little innocent habits, or tricks of speech, and saying that she wishes Cherry would rid herself of them. And that odious woman of hers is so jealous of Cherry that she never loses an opportunity to drop poison into Mama’s ears. So far, she hasn’t succeeded in turning Mama against poor Cherry, but I own to you, Des, that I can’t persuade myself that—”
“Don’t tease yourself!” he interrupted. “There can be no question of Cherry’s remaining here! I never for a moment had such a solution to the problem in my mind. I had hoped to have left her with you only for a very few days, but I didn’t discover Nettlecombe’s whereabouts until Monday of last week, and even when I did discover that he had gone to Harrowgate I couldn’t induce his man of business to divulge his exact direction, and was obliged to spend the better part of two days scouring the town for him.”
“Oh, poor Des! No wonder you are looking so tired!”
“Am I? Well, if I am it’s only because I had the most devilish journey up from Yorkshire,” he said cheerfully. “No sooner did we get over one check than we fell into another, which is why I’m so late showing my front, as Horace would say. However, I’ve had time to decide what I had best do for Cherry—and that’s the most urgent matter I want you to consider, my best of friends!”
The door opened. “Mr Nethercott!” announced Grimshaw.
Cary Nethercott trod into the room, but checked at sight of the Viscount, and said: “I beg pardon! Grimshaw must have misunderstood me! I enquired for Lady Silverdale, and he ushered me into this room, where—where I can only trust that I am not intruding, Miss Hetta!”
“Not at all,” she responded, rising, and shaking hands with him. “You have already met Lord Desford, haven’t you?”
The gentlemen exchanged bows. Mr Nethercott said painstakingly that he had indeed had that pleasure, and the Viscount said nothing at all. Mr Nethercott then explained he had ridden over to bring Lady Silverdale his copy of the last number of the New Monthly Magazine, which contained an interesting article which he had mentioned to her ladyship on the occasion of his last visit, and which she had expressed a desire to read.
“How very kind of you!” said Henrietta. “She has gone for a stroll in the shrubbery, with Miss Steane.”
“Oh, then I will take it to her myself!” he said, his cheeks slightly reddening. “I shall hope to see you again presently, Miss Hetta!” He then said: “Your servant, sir!” and bowed himself out of the room.
The Viscount, who had been eyeing him with disfavour, hardly waited for the door to be shut before demanding: “Does that fellow live at Inglehurst, Hetta?”
“No,” replied Henrietta calmly. “He lives at Marley House.”
“Well, he seems to be here every time I come to visit you!” said the Viscount irritably.
She wrinkled her brow, and, after apparently cudgelling her memory, said, with a wholly spurious air of innocence: “But had you met him before you came to visit us on your way to Hazelfield?”
The Viscount ignored this home-question, and said: “I wonder which of us he thought he was hoaxing with his gammon about the New Monthly? Lord, what a fimble-famble!” He did not resume his seat, but glanced frowningly down at Henrietta, and said, with unaccustomed asperity: “I can’t conceive why you—No, never mind! What were
we saying when that fellow interrupted us?”
“You were about to tell me what you have decided will be the best thing to do for Cherry,” she replied. “The most urgent question to be considered—or, rather, which you wish me to consider.”
“Yes, so I was. There are other things I should wish to talk about, but until I’ve provided for her Cherry must be my only concern.”
“Provided for her?” she repeated, her eyes lifting quickly to his face.
“Yes, of course. What else can I do but try to establish her comfortably? It was no doing of mine when she ran away from Maplewood, but when I drove her to London I became responsible for her: there’s no getting away from that, Hetta! Good God, what a shabster I should be if I abandoned her now!”
“Very true. What scheme have you in mind?”, she asked. “I have thought that—that marriage is the only answer to the problem, only—her parentage, and her want of fortune must stand in the way—don’t you think?”
He nodded, but said: “Not in the way of a man who fell in love with her, and had no need of a rich wife. But that’s for the future: my concern is for the immediate present. I’m going to Bath, to try if I can persuade Miss Fletching to help Cherry. Has she spoken to you about her? She was at Miss Fletching’s school, and talked to me about her on the way to London, saying how kind she had been.”
“Yes, indeed she has, and most affectionately, but when I suggested to her that she might return to that school, as a teacher, rather than hire herself out as a companion, she said Miss Fletching would have offered her that position if she had had enough learning, or enough skill on the pianoforte to teach music. Only she hadn’t. And I am afraid, Des, that that is true. Her only skill is in stitchery. She has the most amiable disposition in the world, but she is not at all bookish, you know. If Miss Fletching were to offer to take her I am very sure she would refuse, because she feels herself to be under a heavy obligation to her already.”
“I know she does. And if I were to pay Miss Fletching the debt that is owing to her—”
“No, Desford!” Henrietta said stringently. “You mustn’t do that! She is by far too proud to countenance such a thing!”
“Not, surely, if she supposed I had prevailed upon Nettlecombe to tip over the dibs!”
“If she believed you she would write to thank him.”
“I should tell her that he had paid Miss Fletching on condition that she neither wrote to him nor attempted to see him ever again. It is exactly what he would say, too!”
She smiled, but shook her head. “It won’t do. Only consider what an uncomfortable situation she would be in if ever it became known that you had paid Miss Fletching to give her a home! You must consider your own situation as well: you would compromise yourself as much as Cherry. You know what all the tattle-boxes would say! And it is useless to suppose that the secret wouldn’t leak out, because you may depend upon it that it would.”
The smile was reflected in his eyes, but he said ruefully: “I’ve wondered about that. I hoped you would tell me I was being absurd—but I had a pretty shrewd notion you wouldn’t! You’re right, of course. So I shall lay the whole case before Miss Fletching, and ask her if she knows of anyone residing in Bath who would be glad to employ Cherry. There must be scores of elderly invalids there: whenever I’ve visited the place it has always seemed to me to teem with decrepit old ladies! And if she must seek such a post I think Bath would be the best place for her. She would have Miss Fletching to turn to, and I know she has other acquaintances in the town whom she would be able to visit.”
The tiny crease vanished from between her brows; she exclaimed: “Yes, that would be the very thing for her! But not, Des, if you recommend her to a prospective employer!”
“I thought it wouldn’t be long before you made me stand the roast, my sweet wit-cracker,” he observed appreciatively. “How fortunate it is that you should have warned me—such a slow-top as I am!”
She laughed. “No, no, not a slow-top, Ashley! But dreadfully imprudent when you take one of your quixotic notions into your head!”
“Lord, Hetta, you must have windmills in your own head! I’ve never done such a thing in my life! Now, stop funning! If I’m to post off to Bath tomorrow, I’ve precious little time to waste—and all things considered, I fancy it will be as well if I leave from here before Cherry comes in. I should be obliged to tell her what I mean to do, and if she didn’t try to stop me, but liked the scheme, I don’t wish to raise what might prove to be a false hope.”
“But she’s bound to know that you’ve been here!” protested Henrietta. “What am I to say to her, pray?”
“Tell her that I called here, but was unable to stay more than a few minutes, because I have an urgent appointment in London, and only broke my journey to tell her that although I couldn’t bring old Nettlecombe up to scratch I haven’t abandoned her, but—but have now hit upon a fresh plan for her relief. Which I didn’t disclose to you, for fear it might not come to anything!”
“Banbury man!”
“No. I do fear it may come to nothing! By the by, has Lady Bugle tried to make her return to Maplewood?”
“No—and that puts me in mind of something I must tell you! Lady Bugle doesn’t know where she is, because when I suggested to Cherry that she should write to her she became so much agitated that I let the matter drop. But I should warn you that although Lady Bugle doesn’t know she’s here she does know that you had something to do with her flight. And that brings me to another thing I must tell you. Lord and Lady Wroxton know she is at Inglehurst.”
“Oh, my God!” he ejaculated. “As though I hadn’t enough to deal with! Who was the tale-pitcher who carried that news to Wolversham?”
“My dear Ashley, you cannot, surely, have forgotten how inevitably the smallest piece of news flies round the county! Steward’s gossip, but in this case it reached Wolversham by way of one of the chambermaids, who is the daughter of our head groom. Lady Wroxton gave her leave to come to Inglehurst, on the occasion of her parents’ silver wedding—and so you can wish for no further explanation!”
He was regarding her intently. “That’s not the whole story, is it?”
“No, not quite. Lord and Lady Wroxton visited us two days ago.”
“If my father undertook a drive of sixteen miles, either his gout has spent itself, or he must have supposed me to be on the verge of disgracing him!” interjected the Viscount.
“Well, he was walking with a stick, but I think he is much improved in health,” said Henrietta, forgiving this rude interruption for the sake of the balm it applied to her sorely troubled heart. “They came to enquire after Charlie—at least, that was what Lord Wroxton told Mama—but their real purpose, I am very sure, was to discover the truth of the story they had heard. I didn’t have much conversation with Lord Wroxton, but your mama made an excuse to take me apart, and she asked me, without any roundaboutation, to tell her if it was true that you had brought Cherry here, and, if so, why you had done so. She said that I need not scruple to open my budget to her, because she was very sure that you had a good reason for having done so. Des, I do like your mama so much!”
“Yes, so do I,” he agreed cordially. “She’s a right one! What did you tell her?”
“I told her the truth, exactly as you told it to me. And she then disclosed to me that she had received a letter from your aunt Emborough, saying that Lady Bugle had called upon her, demanding to know what you had done with Cherry. It seems that one of her daughters—I can’t recall her name, but I know it was most extraordinary—”
“They all have extraordinary names—all five of ‘em!”
“Good gracious! Well, this one seems to have been on the listen when you talked to Cherry, that night at the ball; and when it was discovered that Cherry had run away, she put it into Lady Bugle’s head that she had gone off with you! How Lady Bugle can have believed such a nonsensical story I can’t conceive, but apparently she did, and at once drove over to Hazelfield to demand
of Lady Emborough what were your intentions! Lady Emborough wrote to your mama that she had laughed to scorn the idea that you had had anything to do with Cherry’s flight, and had assured Lady Bugle that so far from stealing Cherry away from Maplewood at dawn you had been eating breakfast at Hazelfield at ten o’clock. But she also wrote that she was burning to know whether you had had anything to do with Cherry’s escape, because she recalled that it had seemed to her that you were much more interested in Cherry than in her cousin, who is a singularly beautiful girl.”
“Lucasta,” he nodded. “I was, but never mind that! My aunt wrote to my mother, you say. She hasn’t divulged any of this to my father, has she?”
“No, and your mother hasn’t shown him her letter. But it was he who first heard the local tittle-tattle, and I have a very shrewd notion that it was he who insisted on coming to visit us, to discover how true it was. Or, rather, that your mama should do so! You know what he is, Des!”
“None better! He would think it beneath him to betray the least interest in the exploits of his sons—to anyone, of course, but the sons themselves!”
“Exactly so!” she said, with a twinkle. “Most fortunately, this visit was paid when Mama was feeling particularly pleased with Cherry, for having found a lace flounce which was thought to have been thrown away years ago, so I am quite certain she must have spoken of her to Lord Wroxton with the warmest approbation!”
“Did he see Cherry?”
“Yes, certainly he did—but whether he liked her or not I don’t know! He was perfectly civil to her, at all events.”
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