Black Sheep (10 page)

Chapter V

For one awful moment Abby felt sick with dread of what he might say next. Then, just as she caught his eyes, a desperate appeal in her own, she realized that he was merely amusing himself at her expense, and was mischievously enjoying her discomfiture. Fright was succeeded by wrath, but not wholehearted wrath: there was apology as well as mockery in the smile directed at her over Fanny’s head, and a disarming suggestion of fellowship, as though Mr Miles Calverleigh believed that in Miss Abigail Wendover he had discovered a kindred spirit.

Fanny, looking up, in her unaffected way, into his face, exclaimed: “Oh, did you know my mother, sir? I never did—that is to say, I can’t remember that I did!” She hesitated, and then asked shyly: “Are you Mr Stacy Calverleigh’s uncle? He is a particular friend of mine!”

If anything, thought Abby, could convince Miles Calverleigh that Fanny was a lamb to be guarded from stray wolves, the artlessness of this remark must have done so. She hoped, but could not be sure. His expression was that of a man listening with slightly bored indulgence to a child’s prattle. He said: “ Then you will be able to introduce him to me, won’t you?”

It was evident, from the look of surprise in Fanny’s eyes, that Mr Stacy Calverleigh had told her nothing about his reprobate uncle: an omission for which, decided Abby, submitting the matter to dispassionate consideration, he could scarcely be blamed. Fanny said, on the edge of laughter: “Oh—! You are joking me, aren’t you? Did I say something gooseish? Of course you must know Stacy much better than I do!”

“On the contrary! I don’t know him at all—shouldn’t recognize him if he walked into the room at this moment! When I left England he must have been in leading-strings.”

“Oh,
I see!
”
said Fanny, her puzzled brow clearing.

“Well, I’ll venture to say that you won’t be disappointed in him!” said Lady Weaverham. “Though I won’t say you may not mistake him for a Bond Street Spark, for I did so myself, until I found he was no such thing. He’s not above being pleased, and, what is more, his head hasn’t been turned, which it might well have been for the caps that have been set at him in Bath!” She added, as Fanny blushed scarlet, and moved away from Mr Calverleigh: “No, no, my dear, I don’t mean
you!
The boot is quite on the other leg! Not a bit of heed will he pay to the other girls, and I’m sure I’m not surprised!” A fat chuckle shook her massive bosom; she completed Fanny’s discomfiture by saying: “Many’s the time Sir Joshua has said to me that you bear the palm, my dear—not that he had any need to, because well do I know it!”

At this point, Oliver won Abby’s approval by withdrawing Fanny a little away from the group, under pretext of pointing something out to her in the street. They sat down together, and were soon joined by Lavinia and Miss Sophia Weaverham, all four chatting happily until the party was broken up by Lady Weaverham, who heaved herself up from her chair, saying that she and Sophy must be off, or Sir Joshua would be wondering what had become of them. Abby would have followed her example, but received such an unmistakable signal from Fanny that she obediently postponed her leave-taking. The reason for the signal was disclosed as soon as the Weaverhams had departed, Lavinia eagerly asking her mama if Fanny might not stay to dine with them. “Do say she may, Mama! I want to show her the
ravishing
things Oliver bought for me in India, particularly the shawl—no,
not
a shawl: I don’t mean the Cashmere shawls, though they are the finest I ever saw in my life!—but the
other
thing—”

“Sari,” supplied her brother, smiling.

“Oh, yes! Sari!” said Lavinia, committing it to memory. “And the sketches you drew of all those strange places, and natives, and things! Mama—?”

“Why, certainly, my love!” Mrs Grayshott responded. “If Miss Wendover permits!”

“Miss Wendover thinks, as I am persuaded you do too, ma’am, that the invalid has had enough visitors for one day,” said Abby. “Another time, Fanny!”

Fanny nodded, and got up. “Yes, of course. I did think it might not be quite the thing to do!”

This instantly drew protests and assurances from Lavinia and Oliver, under cover of which Mrs. Grayshott said: “I wish you will let her stay! She is doing Oliver so much good! He does his best to hide it from me, but he is in very low spirits, feeling, I think, that he has failed to justify his uncle’s confidence—oh, absurd, of course, but one knows how it is with boys! But dear little Fanny has
three times
made him laugh, quite in his old way! Let her remain with us! You know we keep country-hours! Martha shall bring her home before it is dark, I promise you.”

“My dear ma’am, if you do indeed wish it—! But as for putting your Martha to the trouble of escorting her, most certainly not! I’ll send the carriage for her, and only hope she may not be very much in your way!”

She then took leave of her hostess. So did Mr Miles Calverleigh: a circumstance which she regarded with mixed feelings. He followed her down the stairs, and it occurred to her that his object might be to apologize for having alarmed her so much half-an-hour before. But as she had by this time formed a very fair estimate of his character she was not much surprised when his first words to her, as soon as the street-door was shut behind them, were: “Do tell me!—Who, and what, is Sir Joshua?”

“Sir Joshua,” she replied primly, “is Lady Weaverham’s husband, sir.”

“Yes, my pretty pea-goose, and Sophy’s father too!” he said outrageously. “My powerful intellect has enabled me to assimilate those barren facts! Don’t act the dunce!”

“Let me tell you, sir, that if you wish to be accepted into Bath society you will do well to mend your manners!” retorted Abby.

“I’ve none to mend, and not the smallest wish to be accepted into Bath, or any other, society. And if Bath society is composed of Lady Weaverham and her like—”

“Of course it isn’t!” she interrupted impulsively. “I mean—Oh, what a detestable man you are!”

“Well, if that’s what you meant to say you must have a very hubble-bubble mind!” he commented. “I may be detestable—in fact, I know I am—but what has that to say to anything ?” He added, as she resolutely bit her lip: “Yes, do laugh! You have a pretty laugh, and I like the way your eyes dance.”

Guiltily aware that this very improper speech had pleased rather than offended her, she said, as coolly as she could: “We were discussing the Weaverhams, I think. They are very kind, worthy people, and although they are not—not the pink of gentility, they are generally well-liked.”

“Full of juice, eh?” he said, showing at once his understanding and his disregard for polite ambiguities. “Where did they pick up the title? In the City?”

“I don’t know. Sir Joshua certainly was engaged in Trade, until he retired—they make no secret of that—but—but in a perfectly respectable way!”

“No need to defend him,” he said kindly. “I’ve been engaged in trade myself, though I daresay you wouldn’t say
respectably
.”

“I should be astonished if I discovered that you had done
anything
respectably!” declared Abby, goaded into retort. Shocked by her own lapse from propriety, she was thankful to see that they had reached York House, and added hastily: “Our ways part here, sir, so I will say goodbye!”

“No, don’t! it would be premature! I’m going to escort you to your home.”

“I am obliged to you, but it is quite unnecessary, I assure you!”

She had stopped by the entrance to the hotel, and held out her hand, repeating; “Goodbye, Mr Calverleigh!”

“If you imagine that I am going to walk behind you, like a footman, all the way to Sydney Place, you are mightily mistaken, Miss Abigail Wendover!” he said, taking her hand, and drawing it within his arm. “Is it now the established mode for young females to jaunter about the town unattended? It wasn’t so when I lived in England!”

“I am not a young female, and I don’t
jaunter!
” replied Abby hotly, pulling her hand away, but walking on beside him. “Times have changed since
you
lived in England, sir!”

“Yes, alas, and not for the better!” he agreed, in a mournful tone. “Bear with my foibles, ma’am! Being yourself stricken in years, that shouldn’t be difficult!”

A chuckle escaped her. “Don’t be so absurd!” she admonished him. “I may not be stricken in years, but I am no longer of an age when I need chaperonage. I don’t care to let Fanny go out alone, though I know several mothers who see no objection to it
here
.
Not in London, of course.” She paused, and said, after a moment: “May I request you, sir, to take care what you say to Fanny? Since you have seen fit to inform her that you knew her mother
very well
,
she may try to talk to you about Celia, and she is sufficiently needle-witted to add two and two together. I’m aware that you did it to put me in a quake, but, having succeeded, pray be satisfied!”

He laughed. “No, no! just bantering you a little! You were looking such daggers at me that I couldn’t resist!”

“Chivalrous!” she remarked.

“Not a bit! I warned you that there’s no virtue in me.”

“Then why do you insist on escorting me home?”

“Because I want to escort you home, of course. What a bird-witted question!”

Her eyes began to dance, and her lips to quiver. “You know, you are the most provoking creature I ever encountered!” she told him.

“Oh, come, now, that’s doing it rather too brown!” he expostulated. “Remember, I was acquainted with your brother Rowland! I never saw much of James, but I shouldn’t wonder at it if he’s as bad. Or don’t you find consequential bores provoking?”

“If I didn’t believe you to be dead to all proper feeling,” said Abby, in a shaking voice, “I should endeavour to point out to you that that is a—an
abominable
thing to say!”

“Well, thank God you do realize it!” he replied. “Now we shall go on much more comfortably!”

“No we shan’t. Not until you stop trying to hoax me into thinking you are uniformly odious! Pray, did you bring Oliver Grayshott home because you
wanted
to?”

“Yes, I like the boy. Don’t you?”

“Yes, I daresay, but—”

“Now, don’t run away with the notion that I came back to England on his account!” he admonished her. “Nothing could be farther from the truth! All I did was to take charge of him on the voyage: no very arduous task!”

“And subsequently put yourself to the trouble of bringing him down to Bath,” said Abby pensively.

“Oh, that was because—” he checked himself, but continued blandly, after an infinitesimal pause: “—because his uncle is a man of vast interests, and one never knows when the favour of such a man might stand one in good stead.”

“How quickly you made a recover!” said Abby admiringly. “You were within an ace of telling me that you came to Bath to see your nephew, too!”

“Ah, I
did
tell you that I didn’t know he was here! I rather thought I did,” he said, quite unperturbed. “I hope he means to return: according to Lady Weaverham, he is a perfect paragon, and I
should
like to meet a Calverleigh who fitted that description.”

“You won’t meet him in the person of your nephew!”

“How do you know? You’ve never clapped eyes on him!”

“No, but—”

“Furthermore, Selina likes him,” he pursued. “You told me that yourself, and I have the greatest respect for her judgment.”

“Oh, have you indeed?” she said wrathfully. “When
you
have never clapped eyes on
her
—!”

“Not to my knowledge,” he admitted. “However, I understand her to be your eldest sister, and there’s no saying but what I may have met her—before I was excluded from polite circles, of course. If I didn’t, I look forward to making her acquaintance.”

They had reached the corner of Bridge Street, and Abby came to an abrupt halt. “
No!
”
she said forcefully. “I don’t wish you to make her acquaintance! She knows nothing of what you disclosed to me—she doesn’t even know that I met you yesterday! And I have no intention—none whatsoever!—of introducing you to her!”

“Haven’t you? But you’ll be made to look no-how if you don’t, won’t you? If Mrs Grayshott doesn’t perform that office, would you wager a groat on the chance that Lady Weaverham won’t?”

“No—or on the chance that you wouldn’t instantly tell my sister of our previous meetings!” said Abby, with considerable bitterness. “Without a blush!”

“Very likely,” he agreed.

Unable to think of any suitable rejoinder, she walked on in silence.

“And I promise you I won’t blush,” he added reassuringly.

She choked, but managed to retort with tolerable gravity: “I shouldn’t suppose that you know how to!”

“No, I don’t think I do,” he said, subjecting the matter to consideration. “At my age, it is rather too late to acquire the accomplishment, don’t you think?”