Джорджетт Хейер - Charity Girl

“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.”

“That’s nothing to judge by,” said Desford. “He would be, even if he had taken her in dislike. Well, there’s nothing for it: I shall have to sleep at Wolver-sham tonight, which means a further delay. I’m sorry for it, Hetta, but you see how I’m fixed, don’t you? I don’t ask you if you are willing to keep Cherry here for a few more days, because I know what your answer would be. Bless you, my dear!” He possessed himself of her hands, and again kissed them, and with no more words took his departure.

The Viscount’s reception at Wolversham was unexpectedly benign. It did not surprise him that Pedmore should greet him with a beaming smile, and say, as he relieved him of his hat and his gloves: “Well, my lord, this is a pleasant surprise!” because he knew that Pedmore held him, and both his brothers, in deep affection; but he smiled a little wryly when Pedmore said: “His lordship will be pleased to see you, sir! My lady is taking her afternoon rest, but you will find his lordship in the library. Will you be making a long stay, my lord?”

“No: only one night,” the Viscount replied. “Will you give orders for the housing of the post-boys? But of course you will!”

“Of course I will, my lord!” said Pedmore fondly.

The Viscount, having assured himself, by a swift glance at the Chippendale mirror which hung in the hall, that the folds of his neckcloth had not become disarranged, or his shining locks ruffled—two possibilities certain to incur censure from his father—trod resolutely towards the double-doors which opened into the library. He paused for a moment before entering the room, bracing himself to face what he felt sure (in spite of Pedmore’s encouraging words) would be a pretty sulphurous reception; but when Lord Wroxton looked up from the journal he was perusing to see who had come into the room he said nothing more alarming than: “Ha! Is that you, Desford? Glad to see you, my boy!”

Admirably overcoming his astonishment, the Viscount crossed the floor to the wing-chair in which my lord was sitting, dutifully kissed the hand which was held out to him, and said, with his attractive smile: “Thank you, sir! For my part, I am very glad to see you, with your foot out of cotton at last! Are you in as plump currant as you look to be?”

“Oh, I’m in pretty good point!” said his lordship boastfully. “The last time I saw you you said I was all skin and whipcord, jackanapes, but damme if you didn’t nick the nick! It’ll be a long trig before you step into my shoes!”

“So I should hope!” retorted the Viscount. “Don’t try to bamboozle me into thinking you’re in your dotage, and are likely to stick your spoon in the wall at any moment, because I know to a day how old you are, sir!”

The Earl, apostrophizing him as an impudent whipster, told him that if he thought he could talk in such an improper style to his father he would very soon learn how mistaken he was; but he was secretly rather pleased, as he always was (except when his temper was exacerbated by gout) when any of his sons showed themselves to be full of what he called proper spunk. So, having, for form’s sake, read the Viscount a brief scold, he bade him sit down, and tell him what he had been doing since he was last at Wolversham.