She had looked forward to her brother’s emergence from his sickroom with misgiving, knowing his susceptibility, and well-aware that the smallest tendency on his part to flirt with Cherry would transform Lady Silverdale, in the twinkling of a bedpost, from a benevolent protectress into an inveterate enemy. But she discovered that Desford had been right: the dashing Mrs Cumbertrees might be a thing of the past, but Sir Charles’s taste still ran to ladies of opulent charms and vast experience. He had no interest in ingénues, and his only comment, on meeting Cherry, must have allayed any alarm felt by his anxious parent. In fact, she felt none, and quite agreed with him when he said: “What a snippety thing she is, Mama! A regular go-by-the-ground! I wonder Des should have troubled himself with her.”
Mr Cary Nethercott wondered too, but, being a simple, straightforward man, he accepted what was indeed the true explanation without question, and without difficulty. “One can only honour his lordship for his conduct in such a difficult situation,” he said, adding with a faint smile: “And hope that one would have had the strength of mind to have behaved in the same way, had one been in his place!”
“I expect you would have!” Henrietta returned, smiling. “It was a very sad case, you know—sadder than the poor child revealed to Desford, I am afraid. Only a monster could have left her to her fate!”
He agreed, but said gravely: “But what is to become of her? So young, and so friendless—for you cannot continue to be responsible for her—or, I don’t doubt, Lord Desford expect it of you.”
“No, of course he doesn’t. He has merely left her at Inglehurst while he discovers her grandfather’s whereabouts. Though whether Lord Nettlecombe will be willing to receive her into his household I can’t but think extremely doubtful.”
“I am not acquainted with his lordship—except by reputation.”
“Nor am I, but if only half the tales told of him are true he must be the most disagreeable, clutchfisted old man imaginable! I can but hope that he may be moved by Cherry’s plight—even take a fancy to her, which wouldn’t be wonderful, for there is something very attaching about her, and she has the sweetest of dispositions.”
“She is certainly a very taking little thing,” he concurred. “One doesn’t like to think of her becoming a slave to such a purse-leech as Lord Nettlecombe is said to be.” He paused, frowning, and tapping his finger on the table. “What does she mean to do if Nettlecombe doesn’t acknowledge her?” he asked abruptly. “Has she considered that possibility?”
“Oh, yes I She has the intention—the very firm intention!—of seeking a post in some genteel household.”
His frown deepened. “What kind of a post? As governess? She must be too young to fill such a position!”
“Not only too young, but quite unqualified for it,” said Henrietta. “She thinks she could instruct children just out of the nursery, but I hope I may have convinced her that such a situation would be no improvement on the conditions she endured in her aunt’s establishment. The other notion she has is to seek employment with an elderly invalid. She says—and I believe her!—that although she is not bookish she does know how to deal with what she calls cantankersome old ladies. Well, my own mama may not be old, and God forbid I should call her cantankersome, but it must be owned that—that she has odd humours! I daresay you know what I mean?” He bowed, looking gravely at her. “Yes. Well, I can only say that I have never known anyone who knew better how to keep her pleased and happy!”
“Other than yourself?” he suggested.
“Oh, good God, no!” she said, laughing. “I’m no hand at it, I promise you! I haven’t enough patience! But Cherry has. And she has more sympathy than I fear I shall ever have with hypochondriacs! Does that shock you? Forget I said it!”
He shook his head. “Nothing you did me the honour to confide to me could shock me,” he said simply. “What shocks me is knowing that you are aware of the imaginary nature of Lady Silverdale’s aches and ills. Forgive me if I am expressing myself badly! I’m not ready of tongue, and find it hard to put my thoughts into words! But it has always seemed to me that you believed her to be in failing health, in which case your devotion to her was a natural thing, making it an impertinence for anyone to pity you, or—or to presume to think of rescuing you!”
He stopped, reddening, as he perceived in her expressive eyes as much amusement as surprise. When she spoke, her words acted on him like a douche of cold water, for she said, on a quiver of laughter: “Well, so I would suppose, sir! Good God, is it possible that you think me an object for pity, or that I need to be rescued? What a very odd notion you must have of me—and, indeed, of my poor mama! She may sometimes be tiresome, but I assure you she is as much attached to me as I am to her. I am perfectly happy, you know!”
“Forgive me!” he muttered. “I said too much!”
“Why, of course!” she said, smiling at him. “The truth is that you are too romantical, my friend, and should have lived when gentlemen of your cut used to ride out to rescue some damsel in distress. What a vast number of them there seem to have been, by the way! While as for the dragons and giants and ogres who held the damsels in thrall, when you consider how many of them were slain by the rescuing knights, you must be forced to the conclusion that the country was positively infested with them!”
He could not help laughing, but he shook his head, saying: “You are always so humoursome, Miss Hetta, that one can’t but be diverted by your jokes. Are you never serious?”
“Well, not for very long at a time!” she replied. “I fear I am like Beatrice, and was born to speak all mirth and no matter! But come, we were discussing little Cherry’s situation, not mine! She really is a damsel in distress!”
“Hers is indeed a hard case,” he said heavily.
“Yes, but I have every hope that it won’t be long before she receives an offer!”
“From Lord Desford?” he interrupted, watching her face closely.
“From Desford?” she exclaimed involuntarily. “Good God, no! At least, I most sincerely hope not! It would never do!”
“Why do you say that? If he has fallen in love with her—”
“My dear sir, I daresay Desford must be the last man to forget what he owes to his name, and his family! What in the world do you imagine Lord Wroxton would say to such a match?”
“Do you mean to say that Lord Desford will marry to oblige his father?” he demanded.
“No, but I am very sure he won’t marry to disoblige him!” she said. “When I said that I hoped it wouldn’t be long before she received an offer I meant that if we can but introduce her into some household where she will be expected to help to entertain the visitors I have little doubt that she will receive an offer—perhaps several offers!—from perfectly respectable suitors, to whom her father’s reputation won’t signify a button.”
“You must permit me to say, Miss Hetta, that her father’s reputation ought not to signify to any man who loved her!”
“Yes, that is all very well,” she said impatiently, “but you cannot expect a Carrington to ally himself to a Steane! It isn’t even as if they were of the true nobility! Lord Nettlecombe is only the second baron, you know, and his father, from all I have heard, was a very rough diamond.”
“A man need not be contemptible because he was a rough diamond.”
“Very true!” she retorted. “He might be an admirable person! But unless I have been quite misinformed he was certainly not that! There is bad blood in the Steanes, Mr Nethercott, and although it hasn’t come out in Cherry, who knows but what it might show itself in her children?”
“If these are your sentiments, Miss Hetta, I must wonder at it that you dared to expose your brother to the risk of falling in love with her!” he said, in a quizzing tone, but with a grave look.
She responded lightly: “Yes, and I must own that I had the strongest misgivings! But Desford said that there was no need for me to tease myself over that, because it wouldn’t happen. He says that boys of Charlie’s age seldom fall in love with girls no older than they are themselves, but languish at the feet of dashing mantraps. And he was perfectly right, as he by far too often is!—Charlie thinks poor Cherry a very mean bit! Which is a good thing, of course, but I do trust that by the time he is old enough to think of settling down he will have outgrown his taste for dashing man-traps!”
“Is that Lord Desford’s opinion?” asked Mr Nethercott, unable to keep a sardonic note out of his voice.
It passed her by. She said, wrinkling her brow: “I don’t think I ever asked him, but I’m very sure it would be, because, now you put me in mind of it, I recall that the first females he ever dangled after were years older than he was himself, and not at all the sort of women anyone but a confirmed noddicock would have dreamt of asking to marry him. And that, you know, Desford never was, even in his most ramshackle days!”
Her eyes lit with reminiscent amusement as she spoke, but a glance at Mr Nethercott’s face informed her that he did not share her amusement, so she very wisely brought their tête-à-tête to an end, by getting up from her chair, and inviting him to go with her to the library, where Charlie, still confined largely to the sofa, would be delighted to enjoy a comfortable cose with him.
Chapter 8
In the meantime the Viscount was being afforded ample opportunity to regret his chivalry. He spent the day following his return to Arlington Street in a number of abortive attempts to discover Lord Nettlecombe’s whereabouts, even (though with extreme reluctance) going to the length of overcoming his strong dislike of Mr Jonas Steane, and calling at his house in Upper Grosvenor Street. But Mr Steane, like his father, had gone out of town; and although he had not left his house entirely empty the ancient caretaker who was at last induced to respond to the summons of a bell pulled with enough vigour to have broken the wires, and to a crescendo of knocks, was unable to give Desford any more precise information than that Mr Steane had taken his family to Scarborough. No, he disremembered that he had ever been told the exact direction of his lodgings: all he knew was that the servants had been given a fortnight’s holiday, but would be back again at the end of the following week, with orders to give the house a proper cleanup before the family returned to it. No, he hadn’t never heard that Lord Nettlecombe had gone off to Scarborough too, but if anyone was to ask him he’d be bound to say he didn’t think he had, being as he was at outs with Mr Steane. Finally, with the praiseworthy intention of assisting the Viscount, he said that he wouldn’t wonder at it if Mr Steane’s lawyer knew where he was to be found; but as he was unable to furnish Desford with the lawyer’s name, misdoubting that no one had ever told him what it was, being that it wasn’t no concern of his, the suggestion that Desford should seek him out was not as helpful as he plainly believed it to be.
It was at the end of a singularly unrewarding day, when the Viscount sat down to dine in solitary state in his own house, that his deeply sympathetic butler, distressed by his master’s sad lack of appetite, and extremely harassed expression, racked his own’ brains, and was suddenly inspired to present him with the most promising advice of any that had yet been proffered. He said, as he refilled the Viscount’s glass: “Has it occurred to your lordship that Lord Nettlecombe may have retired to his country seat for the summer months?”
The Viscount, who had been lost in gloomy consideration of the difficulties which confronted him, looked up quickly, and ejaculated: “Good God, what a fool I am! I’d forgotten he had one!”
“Yes, my lord,” said Aldham, placing a cheesecake before him. “I have only a few minutes ago remembered it myself. So while you were partaking of your first course I took the liberty of consulting the Index to the House of Lords, which I recalled having seen on your lordship’s bookshelves, and although this volume is ten years old I fancy the information it contains may still be relied upon. It states that Lord Nettlecombe’s country seat is situated in the County of Kent, not far from Staplehurst. One cannot suppose that it will be difficult to find, for it is known as Nettlecombe Manor.”
“Thank you!” said the Viscount warmly. “I am very much obliged to you! Indeed, I don’t know where I should be without you! I’ll post off to Staplehurst tomorrow morning!”
"Charity Girl" отзывы
Отзывы читателей о книге "Charity Girl". Читайте комментарии и мнения людей о произведении.
Понравилась книга? Поделитесь впечатлениями - оставьте Ваш отзыв и расскажите о книге "Charity Girl" друзьям в соцсетях.