At last she pushed her chair back rather violently and murmuring, “Excuse me!” she walked off before the others realized what had happened. Though Mr. Rowle was instantly on his feet he found himself addressing her retreating back. “Miss Storwood! You’re not leaving!”
“Yes. If you will be so good as to possess yourself of all my notes, I shall redeem them tomorrow.”
“But of course.” He caught up with her, smiling. “There’s no need to redeem them so soon. It is only a game, after all.”
‘‘I shall redeem them tomorrow."
“But you don’t even know how much there is.”
“Certainly I do,” she replied indignantly, pausing before they reached the sofa where her mother sat. “They amount to twenty guineas, and you will be paid tomorrow.”
“Nonsense! It could never be so much! No more than ten, I should think.”
“You will find the case to be otherwise, Mr. Rowle. Where shall I send the money?”
He cast a quick, nervous glance at her mother. “Really, there is no need, Miss Storwood. As I said, it was only a game. I’ll tear up your notes.”
“Don’t be absurd! We weren’t playing lottery tickets or speculation. Perhaps you will call tomorrow afternoon. I should be able to have the money by then.”
Mr. Rowle bowed his acknowledgment, a sheepish grin on his face. “It’s the very devil to hold the notes of one who means. . . no! At least I shall see you tomorrow. I shall count the hours.”
“It will improve your arithmetic.” Trelenny laughed, but she ignored his rueful expression and turned away with a heavy heart. Twenty guineas! Almost the entire amount she had left with Cranford, and only a handful of coins left in her room.
“Did you enjoy yourself, dear?”
Forcing a smile to her lips, Trelenny faced her mother and Mr. Wheldrake. “I like dancing better, but it was interesting. I think I learned a great deal tonight.”
“You lost then?” Mr. Wheldrake asked, amused.
“Yes, but no more than I can afford, and there were compensations. May I sit with you? I haven’t a shilling left.”
Mrs. Storwood offered several guineas but Trelenny refused, and Mr. Wheldrake nodded approvingly. “You have learned something, my dear young lady. There’s no use throwing good money after bad.”
“No, nor anything else,” Trelenny replied cryptically.
~ ~ ~
Both Rissington and Bodford had solicited Cranford’s company, and Lord Barlow and his daughter would have welcomed his attendance at a musical gathering, but Cranford chose to spend the evening in his room, reading. He had sent no reply to Lady Babthorpe’s message, having no wish to have it intercepted by her husband, and because the peremptoriness of it, after his efforts to refuse her kindly, had irritated him. A great number of things seemed to irritate him just now—not having his valet, staying with Rissington, the overcooked beef at dinner, even the fit of his well-worn boots. These last he had hurled into the grate when, having resorted to a boot jack, he had accidentally pulled his stocking off with it, and snagged the damned thing. Bath felt too small to hold him; he chafed against the inability to simply walk out to his stables, saddle a horse, and ride hell for leather across the countryside. Usually town life did not pall on him for several weeks, but he could not have borne to spend the evening being pleasant when all he really wanted to do was stomp around his room and curse.
If it weren’t for that little vixen, right now he could be—where? Arguing with his father at Ashwicke Park? Alone in the partially furnished study at Coverly? In Kendal with a charming but idealized Cyprian? Cranford threw himself on the bed and glared at the ceiling. After a while he picked up the book and began to read, shutting his mind to any external thoughts and hardly aware that there were no Bavarian princes or daredevil captains in the story. There was plenty of food for thought.
As he was ordinarily an early riser, the footman did not hesitate to knock on his door at half past nine the next morning. Unfortunately, Cranford had read very late, falling asleep as the candle guttered, and had expected the luxury of sleeping until noon. Grumpily he called, “What is it?”
“A letter, sir. Marked urgent.”
The first thing that occurred to him was that it was from Lady Babthorpe, castigating him for not appearing at her summons the previous evening, but the thought of Lady Babthorpe up and writing letters at this hour of the morning was ludicrous. His second thought alarmed him. “Bring it in!” Cranford had broken the seal and unfolded the sheet before the footman closed the door after himself.
Dear Cranford: I am in immediate need of the money I left with you. Could you bring it to Henrietta Street this morning? If you have used the money as I asked, then I will approach Mama for a loan, so please bring at least twenty guineas of her money or mine with you. Should it be inconvenient for you to call, could you arrange to have it sent by messenger? I regret causing you any inconvenience and am your most obedient servant
Trelenny
At least the little baggage wasn’t in any irretrievable scrape, though God knew twenty guineas was hardly chicken feed. Cranford was aware that they had gone to a card party the previous evening and had no doubt she had lost the money gambling. Well, he’d done a lot worse his first evening at the card tables, he thought indulgently, and in all the years he had known her she had shown no unbridled gambling tendencies, so she was likely to be none the worse for her experience. A cautioning word might be in order, but he was certainly, not the one to give it. He leaped out of bed and began to dress himself, though he couldn’t remember for the life of him where he’d put his boots.
~ ~ ~
Trelenny had been standing at the breakfast parlor window for half an hour when she saw him come striding down the street. With a great deal of foresight she had sent her mother off shopping with Alice and had instructed the porter to show Cranford in to her, but now she almost shrank from meeting him. It would have been better if he’d sent the money by messenger. Maybe he wouldn’t let her have it!
When he entered the room, his straight black hair impeccably groomed and the absurd black cravat tied in the most elaborate of styles, Trelenny hesitantly offered her hand and fearfully met his eyes.
“Trouble, Trelenny?”
“No, it’s just. . . well, yes, I suppose you would think so. I wrote several chits last night when I was playing at cards, and I wish to redeem them as soon as may be. Have you brought the money?”
“Of course. I told you I would hold it for you.”
“Thank you, Cranford. Would you like to sit down?”
He nodded and she led the way to the windowseat, where she perched on the edge and he leaned back and draped one long leg over the other. “Can I ring for tea for you?”
“No, thank you.”
“I was afraid you’d be angry about the gambling.”
“I’ve done a fair amount myself, Trelenny.”
“Mrs. Waplington told me to play for modest stakes and excuse myself if the play got over my head, but I had a hard time doing that.”
“Sometimes it’s difficult.”
“I shall be more cautious in future.”
“I’m sure you will.”
She lifted suspicious eyes from regarding her hands. “Cranford, why are you being so nice to me?”
A chuckle escaped him. “I suppose because I have grown used to your hair.”
“Have you? I’m so glad. I think Mama has, too. Someday I will let it grow long again, when I’m old—thirty or so—but I like it this way. You’re not angry anymore?”
“I never should have been. Forgive me.” His dark eyes searched her face.
“Oh, Cranford, there’s nothing to forgive.” This was not what she had expected from him, but now the opportunity had come she clenched her hands tightly in her lap and said, “I shouldn’t have teased you about that book. No one ever said there were princes and captains in it.”
“There aren’t. I should buy you a copy; I think y
ou’d like it.”
“You’re reading it?”
“Yes, I borrowed it from someone. Trelenny, I’ve been itching to have a good ride. If I hired us some hacks, would you come riding with me this afternoon?”
A light flamed in her eyes and then died. “I can’t. I’m…expecting a caller.”
“I see. Well, it was just a thought.” He stood up and dug her purse from his coat pocket. “You won’t have much left. Can I lend you something?”
“I’ll do well enough, but it’s kind of you to offer.”
“It’s a standing offer, Trelenny.” When he placed the purse in her hand be pressed her fingers firmly about it. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“How could one not with so many exciting activities every day?” In her own ears her laugh rang hollow, but he did not seem to notice. “I’ve met dozens of people and everyone has been so thoughtful. They tell me Bath is nothing compared to London, but it’s quite enough for me! And you?”
“I prefer London, but there’s good company here this year.”
“I like your friends: Lord Rissington, Mr. Bodford and Lady Jane."
Cranford could not fathom the peculiar look with which she accompanied this remark, but it moved him and he rumpled her golden halo affectionately. “And they like you, dear girl. Would you be willing to give up your gay social whirl to come to the theatre with Jane and me tonight?”
“No! That is, we are promised to the Wistows for dinner and a musical evening. Mama is especially looking forward to it.”
“Another time perhaps. You haven’t been to the theatre yet, have you?”
“No, and I should very much like to go but…”
“As I said, another time. Goodbye, Trelenny. Give my best to your mother.”
“I will.” Clutching the purse to her breast, she watched him leave the room with a feeling of desolation, and ran to the window to follow his progress down the street. There was time to practice on the pianoforte before Mr. Rowle came.
* * *
Chapter 19
Mrs. Storwood had returned from her shopping expedition in high spirits. “I have found the most enchanting reticule for you—shaped like a shell with a silver chain. And tomorrow you must come with me to see the terry velvet boots. I feel sure they would be a perfect match for your brown levantine silk pelisse.”
“Didn’t you find anything for yourself?”
“Dear me, yes. Where is the package from White’s? Ah, see for yourself. A white crepe fan embroidered in silver, point lace lappets, and most beautiful black limeric gloves. There was a bonnet of black crape over black sarcenet, but I could not be sure it was suitable for me. The crown has twisted rouleaux of black crepe, crosswise, and the brim is lined with double white crape, with a black feather ornament in front.”
“It sounds delightful.”
“Yes, but a full bow of crape ties under the chin and I was not sure that my neck is quite long enough to support such a detail.” She sighed. “Perhaps it is for a younger woman. I shall let you decide when you come with me. Madame Elise said it was enchanting but you know how these women are. They will flatter anyone into buying their most outrageously expensive hats. Not that I’m worried about the full brim, for it is so perfectly shaped as to provide almost a cameo effect. Well, there, you shall see it when we go shopping together. Have there been any callers this morning?”
“Cranford came by. He said to give you his regards.”
Mrs. Storwood’s countenance took on slightly anxious cast. “You didn’t quarrel with him, did you, love?”
“No, of course not. Actually, he was very pleasant, and invited me to accompany him and Lady Jane to the theatre this evening, but I told him we were engaged to the Wistows.”
“Oh. With Lady Jane? Yes, I quite understand. Well, she’s a fine young lady. Do you think we should call on her?”
“No, Mama. I have been to Queen Square, you will remember, but if you wish I will have Cranford mention to her that we would be pleased if she would call on us.”
“Much the best, dear. You are quite right. Are we expecting anyone this afternoon?”
“Mr. Rowle said he would call.”
In Mrs. Storwood’s mind there was no comparison between Mr. Rowle and Cranford and she made no comment on this news. The young man was entertaining, presentable and polished, but she could not altogether like him, though try as she would she could not put her finger on the reason. Now with Mr. Bodford one could more easily explain a disinclination. Although he had recovered some ground in her eyes after the scene in the parlor, she could not feel easy on the score of an attachment developing between him and Trelenny. They were too alike in many ways, and he hadn’t the authority to channel her spirits in a proper direction. No such objection could be made to Lord Rissington, it was true, but Mrs. Storwood had been warned about his penchant for flirting and never coming to the sticking point. And there was a certain levity about him which, endearing as it might be to her daughter, did not sit quite the same way with her.
It was gratifying, of course, to find Trelenny so well accepted, but Mrs. Storwood was almost relieved that her daughter did not appear in the least inclined to make a push for any of the young men. Not that Trelenny would ever be so vulgar as to toss her cap at anyone, but there were ways of letting a gentleman know that you would listen to an offer—the manner in which one dropped one’s eyes or used one’s fan. Of course, it was entirely possible that Trelenny contained no such artifice, but Mrs. Storwood believed implicitly that all females were endowed with the means to convey their wishes with never a word spoken. More likely Trelenny had no desire to encourage any one of the gentlemen, which was all for the best. Though with Cranford’s defection and the time short until returning to Westmorland… Mrs. Storwood was brought out of her reverie by the arrival of Mr. Rowle, who suggested that they might like to walk in the Sydney Gardens with him.
“We’ve not been there,” Trelenny declared immediately, “and I have been longing to see them. They’re only a step away, Mama. Should you like to go?”
Her daughter’s eagerness always weighed with her, and though Mrs. Storwood would have been perfectly content with a nap after her morning’s shopping, she consented. They had scarcely entered the gardens than she met an old friend and fell into conversation. This was the opportunity Mr. Rowle sought, and after a conspiratorial glance at Trelenny politely asked, “Would you object to my showing Miss Storwood about the gardens? We could meet you here at the arbor in half an hour.”
“Yes, you two run along. I’d as soon sit here in the sun with Mrs. Lyegrove.”
As they walked off together Trelenny said, “Mama has been shopping all morning. I really should not have pressed her to come with us.”
“But then she wouldn’t have allowed you to come, which would have sadly cast me down.”
“Are the gardens such a treat then? I have heard there are concerts and illuminations and fireworks at night.”
“For the daytime there are pleasant walks, the Merlin grottoes and the labyrinth, bowling greens, and swings.”
“A labyrinth? Oh, I should like to see that. Do you know the key?”
“Yes, but I promise I won’t tell you. You shall have the pleasure of finding your own way to the center.”
“When I was young I tried to talk Papa into planting a labyrinth, but he said I would have outgrown it by the time the plants grew.”
“I can’t imagine he would want to give over the space a labyrinth would take.”
“Pooh! Papa has thousands of acres and could well afford the space.”
“I understand it’s too mountainous to grow much.”
“Ah, now there you suffer from a popular misconception, Mr. Rowle. There are dozens of fruitful valleys on Papa’s lands and pasture for sheep and cattle in the mountains. Papa can let enclosed land at a guinea an acre, and good grass for more. His tenants grow wheat, barley, and oats and keep swine as well as milch cows and sheep.”
“I doubt he has more than four dozen tenant farms,” Trelenny said casually, swinging her bonnet by its strings, “but he has an estate manager and two assistants to see to any matters that arise.”
“You must have been lonely growing up there. I don’t believe you have any brothers or sisters?”
“No, but Clare was not so far away—Cranford’s sister, you know. I can’t think what I would have done without her!”
“So Mr. Ashwicke lives very close to you?”
“His father, Viscount Chessels, owns the land to the north of Papa’s but Cranford doesn’t live there anymore. He has what Mr. Bodford calls a chamomile patch in Sussex.”
“I can see what appeal Lady Jane holds for him. There can be no argument that she will come with a large portion.”
Trelenny regarded him coldly. “Cranford and Lady Jane have a great deal in common."
“So much the better!” He grinned engagingly. “I see his friends Rissington and Bodford are up to their old tricks.”
“Tricks? How so?”
Mr. Rowle gave a rueful laugh. “Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you. Some young ladies would be hurt by their game. I think you are made of sterner stuff, of course, and would see the amusing side of their prank. But still…”
“Come, Mr. Rowle, you cannot go so far and leave me suspended. What trick is it they play?”
“I should have said nothing,” he offered, a sheepish expression on his face. “It’s just. . . well, I should not like to see you harmed in any way, and I think perhaps they do not realize the gravity of the pain they could inflict.”
Holiday in Bath Page 19