"Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave Manor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Barron Stephanie)Chapter 7 Methinks He Doth Protest OvermuchTHE COUNTESS HAVING RETIRED, AND THERE YET remaining several hours before I must dress for dinner, I bethought myself of exercise — prohibited heretofore by the heavy fall of snow — and donned my pelisse. With the aid of my pattens[22], my boots might escape complete ruination; but, in truth, I do not care a fig for the fate of my boots, when weighed against the claims of sanity. Another hour's confinement among Scargrave's grey walls, with Isobel's poor spirits and the Delahoussayes’ poor wits, should render me fit only to play the part of madwoman in one of Fanny Burney's novels. I nodded to Fetters, the footman, and slipped through the heavy oak doors he drew back for my passage, feeling immaterial as a shade in the pale wintry sunlight. The air was fresh and sharp, and smelled bitingly of snow; we should have another fall before dawn, I surmised. I breathed deeply and felt a pressure ease within my chest; my sight cleared, and a pounding at the temples I had suffered for some hours began to recede. The world, however bleak I have found it in the last few weeks, must nonetheless be formed of goodness, if but a few moments in Nature's company may suffice to renew one's health and mental aspect. The grand flight of steps that spilled before me had been swept clean of snow; and a passage of sorts cleared by carriage wheels along the drive. I hesitated an instant, considering the security afforded by an adjacent shrubbery, but suspecting it to be still enshrouded in drifts, I set off determinedly down the lane. A walk that has served daily to relieve a mind so sunk in melancholy as Mr. George Hearst's, should undoubtedly offer excellent advantage to the happier spirits of Miss Austen. But after a little I stopped short, and turned back to survey the Manor; a gloomy picture in the afternoon light it made, with the Scargrave hatchments[23] mounted above its many windows. Fully forty-five of these I counted off, in three storeys of fifteen, marching across the facade with a glint of glass and leading; but the effect remained merely dismal where it intended to be imposing. Built, so Isobel informs me, in the reign of Elizabeth, Scargrave Manor has been “improved” within an inch of its life on too many past occasions; it is now such a mixture of Tudor and Jacobean, with a bit of Inigo Jones thrown in for good measure, as to be a veritable Tower of architectural Babel. I put the Manor to my back, and, since an aimless walk cannot hope to please, determined to make Scargrave Cottage my object — though with no intention of disturbing its occupants, the Hearsts; I desired some solitude, the better to consider the import of the maid Marguerite's latest letter. But I had no sooner summoned the Hearsts to my thoughts, than I espied a lonely black figure some distance before me, all but indistinguishable from the darker ranks of trees that lined the drive. The very Mr. Hearst, engaged in his habitual ramble! I faltered, and strained to make out his features; but his head was bent in thought, his countenance obscured. Should I turn back, or attempt to converse with the gentleman? I had little relish for the latter task. But I recalled the gravity of Sir William's parting look, and considered Isobel's unhappiness — two thoughts that could not but hasten me along my way. Did the Earl meet his end by violence, all within the Manor's walls must be suspect; and Mr. Hearst, at least, had quarrelled with his uncle the very night of that gentleman's untimely end. His low spirits were assuredly fled on The incipient curate's strides outstripped my own, and the way being decidedly encumbered by mud and wet snow, I progressed but poorly. And so, thrusting propriety to one side, I drew up my skirts and set off at a brisk trot in pursuit of Mr. Hearst. As I approached the gentleman, the ringing of my clumsy pattens upon a stone alerted him to my presence, and he turned to meet me with some surprise. “Miss Austen!” cried he. “I did not take you for an ardent walker.” “Indeed, sir, it is my chief enjoyment. As it appears to be your own.” He removed his hat, and bowed, and turned back to accompany me towards the Manor. “It is very healthful, assuredly, for mind as well as body. Particularly in this season, when one is confined so much within doors. I fear that too much sitting plays poorly upon my spirits.” “You do not ride, as your brother does?” “I find, Miss Austen, that my brother's passions instruct him to perfection in their pursuit. And thus I cede him whatever employment he chooses to master — I do not wish to attempt to emulate him, and suffer by comparison.” A silence then ensued, and I cast about for a means of introducing the subject of Mr. Hearst's quarrel with the Earl. How to attempt it with tact and decorum? Impossible! I should be forced to lower myself in his eyes, by appearing a malicious gossip. But what was the adoption of the meaner arts against the preservation of Isobel's peace of mind? A mere nothing. “And are you equally passionate, Mr. Hearst, though in pursuit of that which your brother spurns? For on one occasion at least, I have heard you argue with energy.” My words, I fear, were too oblique; and rather than respond to their import, he merely used the opportunity to distinguish himself from the Lieutenant. “I have so far learned from my brother's example, Miss Austen, as to spurn passion in anything. It is too often the means of unmastering a sober mind. Better to approach all that one can in life, with probity and discretion. “I commend you, sir — though I might consider a judicious mixture of the two, as the best guarantee of happiness.” He merely nodded, his thoughts apparently elsewhere, and left me as desperate for an opening as before. We laboured on in silence a few moments, but at the broad face of Scargrave approaching, I forced myself to the purpose. “I suppose the Earl's death has only heightened the attractions of the out-of-doors,” I observed, “for to sit by the fire in contemplation of his sudden exiting from this life, should do little good to anybody.” “Indeed,” Mr. Hearst replied, his eyes upon the muddied path at our feet. “I suppose you held the Earl in deep affection?” I persisted. At his expression of surprise, I added lamely, “It is just that I had so little opportunity to study his lordship's character — the Countess having married so recently, and the Earl departing his life almost upon the moment that I entered it.” “And are you a student of character; Miss Austen?” Mr. Hearst enquired, avoiding the necessity of answering my question. “Oh! But of course!” I exclaimed, with greater enthusiasm for the game than I felt; “is there anything more worth the study?” “In my opinion, there is little that is “Mr Hearst! I am all amazement! Are these the sentiments of a man of the Church? You must seek to reform your views, if Holy Orders remain your object.” “But perhaps it is my poor opinion of my fellows that spurs my aspirations heavenwards, Miss Austen.” “I dare say,” I rejoined, “your contempt for the human condition leaving you no alternative. But it cannot serve to improve your parishioners’ lot. As a clergyman's daughter; I must advise you to choose the solitude of the cloister; Mr. Hearst, rather than the pulpit. Its lofty height cannot preserve you from the disaffection of your flock, if you offer them only scorn.” “You think me ill-suited to the office?” he enquired, with an anxious look. Rather than crush him entirely, I took refuge in a lady's prevarication. “I should never attempt to judge a gentleman's ambition,” I replied circumspectly. Mr. Hearst appeared to hesitate, as if in debate with himself, and then stopped in the lane, the better to hold my attention. “That is, perhaps, an answer to my question, though not one I should wish to hear — for had you unreservedly believed me fitted for the Church, I believe you should as readily have affirmed it. I fear my uncle was of your opinion, Miss Austen. He told me I should make a sorry clergyman. He would not hear of Holy Orders, and urged me to take instead the part of gentleman farmer.” “His lordship thwarted you deliberately?” “He did,” Mr. Hearst replied. “My uncle believed I lacked what is essential for a man of the cloth.” “That being, in the Earl's opinion?” “Obedience. Humility. The Earl would have it that I suffer from pride, Miss Austen, out of all proportion to my station in life. Though how I could be expected to do otherwise—” At this, he broke off, and glanced around the expanse of Scargrave Park. I understood him all too well. He was of good birth — his mother the daughter of an earl — but utterly without an income capable of supporting such claims as family imposed. Neither freedom of will, nor freedom from dependence, should be his so long as he remained in Scargrave Cottage; and yet, how go elsewhere, on so little means? Pride, indeed, might be all that remained to such a man. “And so you were subject to the Earl's whims,” I said, as we plodded on. Very little of the lane remained to be travelled, and if I were to learn anything to my advantage, I must press the case. “To his continued security, I was and am,” Mr. Hearst replied heavily. “All that I have in the world, I owe to his goodness. If he wished me to play at overseer for the estate, then overseer I should be, however ill formed for the office.” “How unfortunate was the Earl's lot,” I mused. “To have such power over others for happiness or despair. It might justly have made his dearest relations hate him.” Mr. Hearst did not immediately respond to this sally, as though lost in consideration of its merits. Finally, however, with a sidelong glance from his hollow eyes, he said, “Hate may perhaps be too strong an emotion. But in my breast, at least, the Earl assuredly engendered ill feeling.” “Did you quarrel with your uncle, Mr. Hearst?” I enquired boldly, though I hardly expected him to answer. Had he done the Earl some violence, he should be little likely to admit to the fact; and the very notion of discord would be one he must refute. “At seven-and-twenty, Miss Austen, I am as you see me,” he replied, stopping before the Manor's steps. “Ill-suited to my enforced profession, thwarted in my hopes, resentful of my fellows more graced by fortune. Of course I quarrelled with my uncle. Why else should I feel such a depth of remorse at his passing? It is ever thus. We find the words to speak when all hope of converse is past.” An unwonted frankness, perhaps — but lonely walks in winter's snows will sometimes urge a confidence. At the very least, Mr. Hearst's utter lack of dissembling suggested that the gentleman saw no utility in deceit. “I am heartily sorry for you, Mr. Hearst,” I said slowly. “I, too, have known what it is to wish for an estate that my means would not allow. But perhaps the Earl thought better of his opinion, and provided in his will for your adoption of the clerical life.” “Perhaps,” Mr. Hearst said, glancing back down the lane towards his cottage, “but I shall not hope for it. He is more likely to have left Tom an additional sum for the squandering in a gaming-hell. It was ever my uncle's way to reward with as much blindness as he punished.”[24] He bit back whatever bitterness had urged these words, and cast a penetrating glance in my direction, as though only just sensible that his thoughts had been shared with a lady, and a virtual stranger. Then, recollecting himself, as it seemed, Mr. Hearst bade me A curious gentleman, the would-be ecclesiastic. In one respect only does he resemble his brother the Lieutenant: They both of them are wont to say more than discretion would advise — although not enough, in this instance, for my purposes. For though I had learned much about Mr. Hearst's animus towards his uncle, I still knew nothing at all about one particular argument — the night of the Earl's death, and in his library. I WAS LOATH TO REENTER THE MANOR'S DARKENING HALLS; and so, snow or no, I betook myself to the shrubbery and made my way through its light drifts a little distance from the rear of the house, in an effort to organise my mind. Scargrave's gardeners had been before me; a footpath of sorts was dredged along the broad avenues and terraces. The day that had dawned in storm was now graced by a thin sun; the long blue shadows of afternoon advanced before me like cheerful ghosts of last summer's growth, dancing past the withered flower borders and the stiff hedges to fall at the feet of a stone nymph, her cascade of water frozen in her urn. The brilliant winter landscape could not effect a similar elevation in my spirits, however; for I could not shake the apprehension that further trouble lay in wait for the intimates of Scargrave. I chose a stone bench swept clean of snow, but fear-somely cold against my backside, for all that, and settled into my pelisse to mull over all that had occurred. I turned first to Sir William's interview. That the maid Marguerite found no opportunity to turn a coin from the whole affair must baffle; for without mercenary motives, I was left with only two — the desire to mortally wound her mistress, and Fitzroy Payne into the bargain; or an honest attempt to bring foul murder to light. Neither made for happy consideration. If the former was Marguerite's motivation, it suggested some great wrong had been done to the creature that Isobel was loath to avow. Or perhaps Isobel was as yet ignorant of it, and Payne was guilty of the evil. Was the sober young Earl the sort to dally with a lady's maid, and think no more of it than he might a morning's ride to the hounds? Many a woman has attempted to place her foot upon the neck of a man she loved in vain, or hated for just cause, whether that neck be stations above her or no. When I considered Fitzroy Payne, however, I could not imagine him causing such injury. What I have seen of that gentleman's conduct is irreproachable. His temper is always held in check, despite the absurdities of his nearest relations; his words reveal nothing but a fine understanding and the exercise of good sense. In general, Fitzroy Payne is so far removed from what is base in human nature, that I should think him guilty of the grossest duplicity, were I to discover him prey to vice. But I must needs discover it, if vice there be. Marguerite should surely have good cause for revenge against Isobel if she felt herself ill-used by Payne. And if the maid's motive is nothing less than a desire to expose murder? Such a powerful aim would seem necessary to drive a girl of the islands from the security of Scargrave in the midst of an English winter. If this be the force that moves her, then it cannot be denied that she If the maid's desire is to expose Isobel, rather than blackmail her, then my faith in my friend might be profoundly shaken. But I am not so lightly possessed of friendship. Marguerite must be in error, however firmly she believes herself in the right; and my object I raised my head and sniffed the wintry air, revelling in its power to clear my senses. The disposition of Isobel's trouble seemed, in that instant, to be the subject of only a few hours. I drove my hands more deeply into my muff, the better to warm them, and took up the matter once more. If not Fitzroy Payne, if not Isobel — then whom? The villain must be an intimate of the household, and was hardly likely to be a servant; another member of the family, or Lord Harold, was all that remained to me. Harold Trowbridge I could readily cast in the role of murderer. He had the resolve, the ruthless aspect, and the motivation — for the late Earl had stood between him and his acknowledged goal, the acquisition (at a pittance) of Isobel's West Indies estates. Intent that Trowbridge should not secure her birthright, the Countess had implored her husband's protection; and by all appearances, the late Earl had been empowered and inspired to settle all her financial troubles. In favour of Lord Harold's guilt, I noted that Frederick's death occurred the very night of Trowbridge's arrival at Scargrave — the night that gentleman was summoned to the Earl's library for an interview, the conduct of which we knew nothing. Had it provoked Trowbridge to such violence that he poisoned the Earl's wine — drained to the dregs but a few moments before poor Frederick's fatal indisposition? Yet, I reminded myself, I had no proof that Trowbridge in fact In fairness to the scoundrel, however, I should as readily consider the motivations of others. It was but an instant's work to turn from a I must endeavour to learn more about Rosie, the better to weigh the strength of Mr. Hearst's outrage against his frankness during our walk in the Park. As I sat engrossed in my thoughts, the sound of feet rapidly coursing through the snow fell upon my ears, and I looked up to see Lieutenant Hearst, his smart blue uniform the most vivid spot in all that grey landscape. “And so I have found you at last,” he cried, approaching my seat with alacrity. “I had feared you returned this morning to Bath. But my heart rises to learn that you have not deserted us quite yet.” He peered at me closely, his banter trailing away. “Miss Austen, I declare, you look as though you had seen a ghost.” “Is the entire household arrayed against me?” I muttered crossly, and stood up, dusting off my skirts. “Can not a woman lose sleep of nights, without exciting the concern of her entire acquaintance?” Tom Hearst's handsome face was instantly contrite. “I beg your pardon,” he said hastily. “I meant no harm.” “Oh, Lieutenant — the apology must be mine,” I said, recovering myself. “One consequence of broken sleep is assuredly diminished civility.” “So you “It is only the First Earl,” I replied, attempting humour. “He treads the boards nightly in my dreams, mourning the late Lord Scargrave.” Rather than laughing as I expected, Tom Hearst looked pensive. “I would that I might believe you to speak in jest,” he said gravely, holding my eyes, “but I saw him once myself, while yet a child, before my dear mother died. This is not a household for peaceful dreams, I fear.” Then he slapped his thigh and assumed his customary grin. “Come for a short ride on Lady Bess. The air will do you good.” “Indeed, I am no horsewoman,” I said with a smile. “My father lacked the resources to furnish us with mounts when we were children, and I must confess to some trepidation at the prospect of assuming the art at my advanced age.” “Nonsense!” The Lieutenant tucked my arm firmly under his own and led me back up the path. “I shall do everything in my power to render the experience so delightful, Miss Austen, and your trust so well-placed, that you shall hesitate to refuse me anything in future.” “And have you been taught to fear the refusal of young ladies, Lieutenant?” I enquired archly. He LADY BESS PROVED TO BE A GENTLE MOUNT, AND WHEN taken at a walk, her stride was so little disturbing as to quell even my violent fears of being unseated. Lieutenant Hearst spent some time walking before me, his hand on the bridle, and his own horse blowing contentedly at my side; but after a little, he thought it wise to rest by the hedgerow in conversation, and I was glad enough to dismount while Lady Bess nosed at the snow. An awkwardness here ensued; my hands being engaged in supporting myself upon the saddle, the Lieutenant gripped my waist and abruptly pulled me to the ground. A furious blush overcame my features at being thus made so closely acquainted with his jacket front; but Tom Hearst was unabashed. “Come, come, Miss Austen,” he said teasingly, his hands still about my waist, “a young lady of your experience and perspicacity cannot be entirely a stranger to a gentleman's embrace.” “An unmarried lady of my station cannot admit to being anything The Lieutenant laughed heartily and released me, but I failed to see the humour in his affront. “Is it Fanny Delahoussaye who has taught you such indelicacy, Lieutenant? Or is it thus you school her on your snowy walks?” I turned on my heel and would have left him in my anger, but he caught me up in a moment, the horses on the rein, and apologised most prettily. “I must declare myself a complete reprobate, Miss Austen,” he avowed. “A life too long spent among the soldiers of the garrison has made my conduct rough and ungentlemanly. You, who have brothers in the Navy, must acknowledge we have few opportunities for the study of civility. In your company, perhaps, I shall learn better how to behave than in Miss Fanny's.” “I do not think you shall have another chance at my company, Lieutenant,” I said, refusing to meet his eye and increasing my pace. “Miss Austen!” he cried, halting the horses in the midst of the field, “what cruelty is this? Does my gentle offence truly merit such censure? And are you not in part responsible? I should not have been tempted, did the winter cold not heighten the beauty of your cheeks, bring sparkle to your eyes, and in general make of you such a picture!” “I fear you give way all too often to temptation, Lieutenant,” I replied, thinking of Fanny Delahoussaye. Tom Hearst can have little constancy in his attachments if he plays as idly with her as he has done with me. “I beg your forgiveness,” he said earnestly, dropping to his knees in the snow, “and your heart cannot be so hard as to withhold it. I meant no dishonour to your virtue — if anything, Miss Austen, I meant to honour your charms.” He made a pretty enough picture, his curling head raised in supplication, his uniform a darker splash against the horses’ chestnut. As I watched, Lady Bess exhaled a steamy breath, and nuzzled Tom Hearst's shoulder; he looked around and fondled the mare affectionately. “Lady Bess would have your forgiveness on my behalf,” he continued penitently. “And in return I will pledge to molest you no more.” It is not in my nature to preserve a prudish distance; the Lieutenant's present earnestness called to mind my brother Frank, the darling of my concerns; and so I unbent my stiffened posture and walked to his side. “Please rise, Lieutenant,” I said. “The snow cannot be good for your breeches.” “Nor my knees,” he said, jumping to his feet. “My batman will have my head in the morning, when I'm too stiff to get out of bed. But I shouldn't mention such things to a lady. I forget myself. Will you walk back to the house with me, Miss Austen, and teach me the proprieties Miss Fanny cannot?” “I will consent to accompany you, Lieutenant, on one condition.” “Anything, dear lady.” “That you will instruct me in the art of horsemanship while I remain at the Manor,” I said, by way of reward for his penitence. “Lady Bess is a mount to suit my tastes, and I believe I should profit from the exercise.” “Capital!” Tom Hearst cried, slapping his thigh, “and I from your gentle schooling.” “Let us talk no more of that.” “Very well. Though of what else we may converse, I hardly know. All subjects are contraband. Did we talk of our intimates here at Scargrave, we should touch upon death; and I refuse to traffick in melancholy in the company of a lovely woman.” “Lieutenant!” “What, no compliments may I extend?” He stopped, as one amazed. “No praise of all that is before me? Miss Austen! Your cruelty is beyond belief! You provoke my enthusiasm, and then chide me for its expression!” I may, I think, declare myself to be no fool. I have looked at my face and figure in the glass these six-and — no — At his next observation, I felt all the force of my latter conjecture. “Have you known Sir William Reynolds long?” the Lieutenant enquired, as though to turn the conversation. I hesitated before replying, wondering what possible interest he could have in the good Justice. “Since before memory serves,” I replied, picking my way through the snow. I had discarded my pattens in order to ride, and my boots should “He avails himself of your presence to visit Scargrave with greater frequency than in the past.” “It cannot be surprising,” I said, studying his face. Did Tom Hearst desire to learn of “Certainly Sir William finds it so,” the Lieutenant commented, “though any man might find attraction enough in your presence, summer or winter.” I could not suppress a smile at his relentless gallantry, and thought it best to seek refuge in a different subject. “An officer such as yourself must be wedded to his horse,” I said. “Have you been a rider since infancy, Lieutenant?” “I have,” he replied, reaching up to stroke his hunter's nose. “My father placed me astride at the tender age of two, thereby predestining his second son for the cavalry. It was perhaps his last fatherly act before departing for the Continent, his mistress, and his death.” “You are very much attached to your profession?” “I would sooner be an officer in the Blues,”[25] he avowed cheerfully, “than a duke. There is all the style of a position at Court, and the elegance of such a set, aligned with the freedom and adventure of military service; the command of men, and the camaraderie of one's fellows — all things which I find delightful. I owe much to my uncle's goodness, Miss Austen, for it was he who purchased my commission.” “Did he?” I enquired, though it was no more than I had suspected. “Then he served you better than your brother, Lieutenant. Had the Earl treated you both in a similar fashion, he should have made you a clerk, to be shut up indoors in every season — your inclination being so clearly in the opposite direction.” “And so George has availed himself of your kindness, and poured out his grievances,” the Lieutenant observed, amused. “He is never done lamenting his thwarted hopes, though he knows my uncle thought better of his choice, and has left him a living. It seems to me that George suffers vastly in parting with regret — though he but exchanges it for his heart's desire. Perhaps he has grown fond of the attitudes of blighted youth.” “Mr. Hearst is to receive a living under the Earl's will?” I exclaimed, in some surprise. “So I believe, though I have not seen the document,” the Lieutenant replied, “my cousin Fitzroy and his solicitors being too bound up in affairs of the estate to give us all a proper reading. But my uncle informed my brother of the fact, upon his return from his wedding trip; marital bliss had made the Earl even more generous. In amending the will's terms to provide for the Countess, my uncle attended to George's affairs as well. If there is cause for any rejoicing in the melancholy event of the Earl's demise, my brother may justly claim it.” “Indeed,” I said distractedly, my thoughts in some confusion. Had Mr. Hearst ignored this point in conversing with me, out of a natural delicacy? Or from the counsel of a guilty conscience? For he clearly benefited from his uncle's death; and that death had been achieved not long after that gentleman had imparted the news of his inheritance. Given the violence of argument I overheard the night of the Scargrave ball, Mr. Hearst's entire aspect appeared worthy of probing. I suddenly became sensible of the Lieutenant's narrow gaze, and endeavoured to shift our “Your commission in the Blues, now, Lieutenant — it affords you an added advantage in your role as a rival for Miss Delahoussaye's affections, in that she dearly loves the military profession,” I said, with an attempt at playfulness. “And being attached to the Royal Household, you are unlikely to serve in garrison towns far from places and people of fashion; this must decidedly recommend you to her mother, who will often make of the two of you a third.” I had meant the remark in jest, of a piece with his own raillery against that lady; but he flushed and regarded me earnestly. “You have discerned, then, Miss Fanny's partiality for me?” he asked anxiously. “I would that it were less pronounced. But she was never a lady to conceal her affections from the object of them, though propriety would counsel such. I cannot expect her to do so now, even before those less intimate with my family.” “My apologies, sir,” I said hastily. “I spoke rashly, when I intended to speak lightly. As a stranger to Scargrave, I should have held my tongue. One cannot be a part of a household without sometimes giving offence, however, and that when one least intends it.” The Lieutenant ran a gloved hand through his hair, his expression remained troubled. “It is just that you have touched upon a point that I have been at pains to avoid. I may have reacted thus too warmly. Madame Delahoussaye's dearest object is to affiance her daughter to my cousin Fitzroy, whose fortune may be said to eclipse Fanny's own; but Lord Scargrave's accustomed aloofness has told against him, and so Miss Fanny searches elsewhere for flattery.” “Which “I have been acquainted with Miss Delahoussaye some seven months,” he replied, “full as long as she has known my cousin. During the last London Season, I was as much a party to their revels as it was possible to be.” “And it being summer, and she a pretty girl, you thought it no harm to engage in light flirtation. I see how it was.” “Her attentions were marked whenever we met.” Tom Hearst laughed shortly. “Her attentions! Can such a word encompass Fanny's absurdity? She has completely thrown herself in my way. No man would scruple to take what Fanny offers, Miss Austen. Certainly not I. Though it pains me to admit it. I must regard myself with contempt, for succumbing to physical charms, where character and sense are so lacking.” Such frankness! The Lieutenant hesitated not in revealing himself as utterly wanting in principle. But his careless derogation of Fanny Delahoussaye was such as another lady could not suffer to pass in silence, even one who esteemed her as little as I. “And since her fortune is not a small one,” I observed, “you should have been a further fool to offer coldness in the face of such warmth. Self-interest has been your sole mover where Miss Delahoussaye is concerned.” “You The Lieutenant pretends, now, to have no notion that Fitzroy Payne's affections were already engaged elsewhere, as he so clearly intimated during our dance at the Scargrave ball. A curious omission, as though Tom Hearst would wipe clean the blot of his former impropriety. “Whatever Fanny's fortune,” I said, recovering myself, “the retention of your cousin's good opinion must be said to have greater value.” “Indeed.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “But I fear I tarried too long. Miss Delahoussaye's teasing ways have lately brought the wrath of her mother upon my head. Madame has had the temerity to suggest that I have encouraged her daughter in displays that offend propriety!** “I am all amazement,” I said, with deliberate irony. “You would laugh,” Tom Hearst replied, “but Madame went so far as to request it of my uncle before his death that I be barred from Scargrave for the Christmas season.” “Did she!” I cried. “I had not an idea of it! And what did your uncle reply?” “I remain here, as you see,” the Lieutenant said, smiling, “and feel myself completely free to devote myself to others more worthy of my interest.” And so we turned for home, absorbed in forming a plan for further riding lessons in subsequent days. Lieutenant Hearst appears eager for my company; and though he is an untrustworthy rogue, he is charming enough for all that. He amuses me, and I am in no danger from his attentions; I have too much sense to credit the Lieutenant's flattery, particularly when I feel it to be offered by design. Thus, we have struck a bargain, of sorts, though the terms remain unspoken. My skill as a horsewoman shall benefit from his attentions; and in turn I shall be much persecuted on the subject of Sir William Reynolds. The |
||
|