Black Sheep (30 page)

Fanny’s megrims might impose a severe strain upon Abby’s nerves, but it was Selina who rasped them raw, and broke down her command over herself.

Selina had seen Mrs Clapham, and she knew that it was all Too True. She had seen her in the Pump Room, whither a twinge of rheumatism had sent her (braving the elements in her carriage, with the hood drawn up) that morning. She had not at first known who she was, for how should she? She had merely been thinking that the bonnet she was wearing was in excellent style (though she had realized rather later that it bore too many plumes, and was of a disagreeable shade of purple, besides being a most unsuitable hat for a widow), when dear Laura Butterbank had whispered that she was Mrs Clapham.

“Which was a most unpleasant shock, as you may suppose, and almost brought on one of my distressing spasms. Fortunately, I had my vinaigrette in my reticule, for just when I was thinking that I did not at all like the look of her (not that I saw her face, for had her back turned to me, but one can always tell), whom
should I see but young Calverleigh, making his way towards
her, with that hoaxing smile on his face, all delight and cordiality as though he hadn’t been dangling after Fanny for weeks!
And
,
Abby, he had the impudence to
cut
me! It’s of no use to say that he didn’t see me, because I am persuaded he did, for he took very good care not to look in my way again, besides going off with that vulgar creature almost immediately. When I recall the way he has been running tame in this house, inching himself in—at least, he did so until you came home and snubbed him and although I thought it a little unkind in you at the time, you were perfectly right, which
1 freely
own—well, dearest, I was almost overpowered, and I trembled so much that I don’t know how I was able to reach the carriage, and if it hadn’t been for Mr Ancrum, who gave me his arm, very likely I never should have done so.”

She was obviously much upset. Abbey did what she could to soothe her agitation, but there was worse to come. That Woman (under which title Abby had no difficulty in recognizing the odious Mrs Ruscombe) had had the effrontery to come up to her to commiserate her, with her false, honeyed smile, on poor little Fanny’s humiliating disappointment. And not one word had she been able, in the desperation of the moment, to utter in crushing retort. Nothing had occurred to her!

Unfortunately, all too many retorts occurred to her during the succeeding days, and whenever she was alone with Abby she recalled exactly what Mrs Ruscombe had said, adding to the episode the various annihilating things she herself might have said, and reminding Abby of the numerous occasions when Mrs Ruscombe had behaved abominably. She could think of nothing else; and when, for the third time in one evening, she broke a brooding silence by saying, as though they had been in the middle of a discussion: “And
another
thing ...!”

Abby’s patience deserted her, and she exclaimed: “For heaven’s sake Selina, don’t start again! As though it wasn’t bad enough to have Fanny saying: ‘ If only it would stop raining!’ a dozen times a day! If you don’t wish to drive me into hysterics,
stop
talking about Mrs Ruscombe! What she said to you I have by heart, and as for what you
might
have said to her, you know very well you would never say any such things.”

She repented immediately, of course: indeed, she was horrified by her loss of temper. Begging Selina’s pardon, she said that she thought she was perhaps overtired.

“Yes, dear, no doubt you must be,” said Selina, “It is a
pity you wouldn’t rest, as I
repeatedly
recommended you to
do.”

Selina was not offended, oh, dear me, no! Just a little hurt, but she did not intend to say any more about that. She was sure Abby had not meant to wound her: it was merely that she was a trifle lacking in sensibility, but she did not intend to say any more about that either.

Nor did she, but her silence on that and every other topic was eloquent enough, and soon provided Abby with all that was needed to make her long passionately for Miles Calverleigh to come back, and to snatch her out of the stricken household without any more ado.

But it was not Miles Calverleigh who made an unexpected appearance in Sydney Place shortly before noon one morning. It was Mr James Wendover, carrying a small cloak-bag, and wearing the resentful expression of one forced, by the inconsiderate behaviour of his relations, to endure the discomforts of a night-journey to Bath on the Mail Coach.

It was Fanny, seated disconsolately by the window in the drawing-room, who saw him first. When the hack drew up, the hope that it had brought Stacy Calverleigh to her at last soared in her breast for one ecstatic moment, before it sank like a plummet at the sight of Mr Wendover’s spare, soberly clad figure. She exclaimed, startling Abby: “It is my uncle! No, no, I won’t—I can’t! Don’t let him come
near
me!”

With these distraught words, she rushed from the room, leaving Abby to make her excuses as best she might.

Forewarned, Abby betrayed neither perturbation nor astonishment when Mr Wendover presently entered the room, though she did say, as she got up from her chair: “Well, this is a surprise, “! What brings you to Bath, I wonder?”

Bestowing a perfunctory salute upon her cheek, he replied, in acrid accents: “ I must suppose that you know very well what has brought me, Abby! I may add that it has been most inconvenient—
most
inconvenient!—but since you have apparently run mad I felt myself compelled to undertake the journey! Where is Selina?”

“Probably drinking the waters, in the Pump Room,” replied Abby calmly. “She will be here directly, I daresay. Did you come by the Mail? What made it so late?”

“It was not late. I arrived in Bath punctually at ten o’clock and have already accomplished
part
of my mission. Why it should have been
necessary
for me to do so I shall leave it to your conscience to answer, Abby! If,” he added bitterly, “you
have
a conscience, which sometimes I am compelled to doubt!”

“It certainly seems as though I can’t have. However, I console myself with the reflection that at least I’m not as buffle-headed as the rest of my family!” said Abby brightly. “I collect that you came to try whether you could put an end to Fanny’s rather unfortunate flirtation with young Calverleigh. Now, if only you had warned me of your intention you would have been spared the journey! You have wasted your time, my dear James!”

His eyes snapped; he said, with a dry, triumphant laugh: “Have I? Have I indeed? I have already seen the young coxcomb, and I made it very plain to him that if he attempted to persuade my foolish niece into a clandestine marriage he would find himself taken very much at fault—
very
much at fault! I informed him that I should have no hesitation—none whatsoever!—in taking steps to have such a marriage annulled, and that under
no
circumstances should I disburse one penny of her fortune if she contracted an alliance without my sanction! I further informed him that he would have eight years to wait before deriving any benefit from that fortune!”

“I said you had wasted your time,” observed Abby, “I, too, informed him of these circumstances. I don’t think he believed me, and I am very sure he didn’t set much store by all this
bluster of yours. I have no great opinion of his intelligence but I fancy he is sufficiently shrewd to have taken your measure before ever he decided to make a push to captivate Fanny. Good God, if he
had
succeeded in eloping with Fanny you would have gone to any lengths to hush up the scandal, and so, depend upon it, he very well knows!”

An angry flush mounted into Mr Wendover’s thin cheeks “Indeed? In-deed! You are very much mistaken, my dear sister!
I am aware that you fancy yourself to be awake upon every suit, but in
my
humble opinion you are as big a wet-goose as Selina! I don’t doubt for a moment that he paid little heed to anything you may have said to him: only a gudgeon could have failed to take
your
measure! When, however, he was confronted by
me
,
the case was altered! I am happy to be able to inform you that this lamentable affair is now at an end!”

“Yes, it came to an end when Fanny took ill. You had really nothing to do with it, you know. According to all accounts, Stacy Calverleigh, for the past fortnight, has being laying determined siege to a rich widow—a far more desirable conquest than Fanny, I assure you! I have not myself had the felicity of meeting the lady, but I understand that she is much inclined to succumb to his attractions.”

He was so much surprised that his anger was instantly quenched. He exclaimed: “You don’t mean it! Is it indeed so? Well, upon my word! Nothing could be better! A widow, you say? Well! They say he is all to pieces, you know—quite gutted! And Danescourt falling to ruin! I was never more shocked in my life! Fanny is to be congratulated!”

“Very true, but I fear you won’t be able to do so. She is still far from well. In fact, I think it would be wiser if she doesn’t come downstairs today—in case she should still be infectious.”

Since James, as she knew well, shared Selina’s dread of contracting any infectious complaint, he agreed hastily that it would be wisest for Fanny to remain in her room. He said that there was now no need for him to see her: a remark hardly calculated to endear him to his sister. He continued for several minutes to animadvert on Stacy Calverleigh’s character; but suddenly he fell silent, and the pleased expression vanished from his face. He began to fidget about the room, twice began to say something, an apparently thought better of it, and finally came to a halt in front of Abby’s chair, and said portentously; “Abby! There is something I must say to you!”

She could guess what was coming, but she merely raised her brows enquiringly.

“Something or more importance than Fanny’s frippery affair—of far graver importance! It has upset me very much. It made me bilious for two days. You must know that I have always been subject to stomach disorders, and nothing brings on one of my attacks more surely than shock! I suffered a severe shock, sister, when it came to my knowledge that not only was young Calverleigh in Bath, but also his uncle! I had not thought it to have been possible!”

“Why not?” asked Abby.

He seemed to find it difficult to answer this, for after glaring down at her for a moment, he ejaculated, somewhat lamely: “Here! In Bath! I had supposed him to be in India!”

“Well, so he was, but he has now returned to England. I believe it is quite customary for people to do so.”

“Customary! Ay, for
some
people! And here—
here
of all unlucky places! That I might be obliged actually to meet the fellow—!”

“Don’t let it distress you!” she said, in a deceptively kind voice. “I don’t wish to seem unfeeling, but you cannot be laid up with a bilious-attack in this house! I hope, since there is no likelihood of your meeting Miles Calverleigh, that
that
trial at least may be spared us. It so happens that he is
not
in Bath.”

“He is not?” he said eagerly. “Then where is he?”

“I have no notion where he may be,” she responded coldly.

He regarded her out of narrowed, suspicious eyes. “Does he mean to return?”

“Oh, I hope so!” she said, smiling in a way which should
have warned him of danger.

“You hope so! Then it is true, is it? Not only has the fellow had the effrontery to make you the object of his gallantry, but you have
encouraged him to do so! You have
not
outgrown that—unsteadiness of character, which my father was used to fear would one day lead you into serious imprudence. You still have what Cornelia has always believed to be a love of singularity. You still—”

“Do you know, James, I can’t but believe that you would be happier if you paid rather less heed to the reports Mrs Ruscombe so regularly sends to Cornelia?” she interrupted. “If you lived here, you would pay none at all!”

He reddened. “If you tell me that there is no truth in the intelligence she thought it her duty to send Cornelia, I must naturally accept your word.”

“The only thing I have to tell you is what I have already told you: you are wasting your time! I am not a child, and what I do is my own concern! Now, if you please, let us discuss some other subject before we come to dagger-drawing!”

She spoke quite quietly, but she was by this time very angry. He seemed to realize it, for when he had taken another turn about the room he said, in a more moderate tone: “I do not mean to set up your back. Recollect that although I have no authority over you I am your brother! What you do cannot but be of concern to me. I beg you will tell me—have you indeed a partiality for this man?”

She looked at him without speaking, but it was Miles Calverleigh’s face she saw, not his. A smile crept into her eyes; she turned them away from her brother, and sat looking into the fire. “Oh, yes!” she said softly.

He groaned. “And he? Has he had the imp—has he made you an offer?” She nodded, and again he groaned. “My poor girl! I do most sincerely pity you! Rest assured that not one word of what you have divulged to me shall ever pass my lips! You cannot marry Calverleigh. Good God, one would have thought that at your age—” He broke off, and said, with what was meant for an indulgent smile: “Well, well, you are not so old, after all, and one may fancy oneself in love at any age, eh? But you are old enough to reflect before you abandon yourself to folly—to an act of such madness as must ruin your life! You must allow me to speak plainly to you, little though I may relish the task. I own that I look upon it with repulsion: indeed, I never thought to be obliged to discuss such matters with any of my sisters! Calverleigh is a ne’er-do-well. His reputation—”