Black Sheep (6 page)

In the event, this happened rather sooner than could have been expected. Shortly after noon one day, Abby entered her room to find her seated bolt upright on the day-bed, to which, support-ported by her maid, she had tottered an hour before, eagerly perusing the crossed sheet of a letter just delivered by the post.

“Oh, dearest, whatever
do
you think?” she exclaimed, in accents startlingly unlike those with which she had greeted her sister earlier in the day. “The Leavenings are coming to spend the winter in Bath! Good God, they may have arrived already! Mrs Leavening writes that they mean to put up at the York House while they look about them for lodgings, and depend upon us to advise them, for they were never in Bath before, you know! I wonder if the lodgings the Thursleys hired in Westgate Building—but they are in the
lower
part of the town, of course, and though it is a broad street—and anything
here
,
or in Pulteney Street, or Laura Place,
might
be above their price—not that Mrs Leavening tells what is the figure they have in mind, but I shouldn’t suppose Mr Leavening’s fortune to be more than
genteel
,
would you?”

“My dear, since I haven’t the least guess who the Leavenings may be, I can’t answer you!” replied Abby, her eyes alight with laughter.

Miss Wendover was shocked. “Abby! How
can
you have forgotten? From Bedfordshire—our
own
county! Almost our neighbours!
He
had a wart on his left cheek—such a pity!—but in all other respects
quite
unexceptionable! Or am I thinking of Mr Tarvin? Yes, I fancy it was he who had the wart, which makes it even more delightful, for there is something
about
warts, isn’t there? Dearest, I wish you will go to York House this afternoon! So unfriendly not to welcome them immediately, and I wouldn’t for the world have Mrs Leavening suspect that we had forgotten her! You will tell her how happy I am to hear of her arrival, and explain how it comes about that I am unable to visit her myself—not but what I am a great deal stronger today, and I daresay I may be able to come downstairs tomorrow. And if you were to walk up Milsom Street, Abby, you could pop into Godwin’s, to discover if they haven’t
yet
received that book Mrs Grayshott told me I should enjoy. It is called the Knight of something or other—not, of course, that I am an
advocate
for novel-reading. Perhaps Mrs. Leavening would come and sit with me for a little while tomorrow. What a lot she will have to tell us about our old friends, which James and Cornelia
never
do! I declare, it has put me in spirits only to think of it! We must hold one of our evening-parties, dearest! I shall occupy myself in making out a list of the people to be invited while you are in the town.” She added kindly: “Such a fine afternoon as it is! It will do you good to take a walk, dearest. You have been cooped up with me for too long.”

Abby was too glad to promote these cheerful plans to raise any objection to Miss Wendover’s disposal of her afternoon, which she had meant to have spent in quite another manner. Fanny had been persuaded to join a party of her friends on an expedition to Claverton Down, so Abby presently set forth alone on her two errands. Neither was successful: Godwin’s Circulating Library was still unable to supply Miss Wendover with a copy of Mrs Porter’s latest novel; and although Mr and Mrs Leavening were expected to arrive that day at York House they had not yet done so, and were scarcely looked for until dinner-time. Abby declined a civil invitation to await their coming in one of the hotel’s lounges, began to deliver a verbal message for them, and then thought that Selina would say that she ought to have written a note. She went into the lounge on one side of the hall, and sat down at one of its two writing-tables to perform this duty. There was no one in the room, but just as she was about to seal her brief letter with a wafer found in one of the table’s drawers she heard the sounds betokening an arrival, and paused, wondering if it could be the Leavenings. But only one person entered the hotel, a man, as she perceived, catching a glimpse of him through the open doorway. She fixed the wafer, and was writing the direction on the note when she saw, out of the corner of her eye, that he had strolled into the room. She paid no heed, but was startled, the next instant, by hearing someone in the hall command the boots to carry Mr Calverleigh’s portmanteaux up to No. 12.

Taken thus by surprise, it was several moments before she was able to decide whether to make herself known to him, or to await a formal introduction. The strict propriety in which she had been reared urged her to adopt the latter course; then she remembered that she was not a young girl any longer, but a guardian-aunt, and one sufficiently advanced in years to be able to accost a strange gentleman without running the risk of being thought shockingly forward. She had wondered how she could contrive, without Fanny’s knowledge, to talk privately to Mr Calverleigh, and here, by a veritable stroke of providence, was her opportunity. To flinch before what would certainly be an extremely disagreeable interview would be the act, she told herself, of a pudding-heart. Bracing herself resolutely, she got up from the writing-table, and turned, saying, in a cool, pleasant tone: “Mr Calverleigh?”

He had picked up a newspaper from the table in the centre of the room, and was glancing through it, but he lowered it, and looked enquiringly across at her. His eyes, which were deep-set and of a light gray made the more striking by the swarthiness of his complexion, held an expression of faint surprise; he said: “Yes?”

If he was surprised, Abby was wholly taken aback. She had formed no very precise mental picture of him, but nothing she had been told had led her to expect to be confronted with a tall, loose-limbed man, considerably older than she was herself, with harsh features in a deeply lined face, a deplorably sallow skin, and not the smallest air of fashion. He was wearing a coat which fitted too easily across his very broad shoulders for modishness, with buckskins and topboots; his neck-tie was almost negligently arranged; no fobs or seals dangled at his waist; and his shirt-points were not only extremely moderate, but even a little limp.

She was so much astonished that for a full minute she could only stare at him, her brain in a whirl. He had been
described
to her as a young, handsome town-beau, and he was nothing of the sort. He had also been described, by her brother-in-law, as a loose fish, and that she could far more readily believe: there was a suggestion of devil-may-care about him, and these deeply carven lines in his lean countenance might well (she supposed) betray dissipation. But what there was in him to have captivated Fanny—and Selina too!—she found herself quite unable to imagine. Then, as she continued to stare at him, she saw that a look of amusement had crept into his face, and that a smile was quivering at the corners of his mouth, and she perceived very clearly why Fanny had allowed herself to be fascinated by him. But, even as an answering smile was irresistibly drawn from her, it occurred to her that Selina, even in her sillier moments, would scarcely refer to a man of her own age as
a very pretty-behaved young man
,
and she exclaimed, with that impetuosity so frequently deplored by the elder members of her family: “Oh, I beg your pardon! I mistook—I mean,—I mean—
Are
you Mr Calverleigh?”

“Well, I’ve never been given any reason to suppose that I’m not!” he replied.

“You
are?
But
surely
—?” Recollecting herself, Abby broke off, and said, with all the composure at her command: “I must tell you, sir, that I am Miss Wendover!”

She observed, with satisfaction, that this disclosure exercised a powerful effect upon him. That disturbing smile vanished, and his black brows suddenly snapped together. He ejaculated: “
Miss who?
”

“Miss Wendover,” she repeated, adding, for his further enlightenment : “Miss
Abigail
Wendover!”

“Good God!” For a moment, he appeared to be startled, and then, as his curiously light eyes scanned her, he disconcerted her by saying: “I like that! It becomes you, too.”

Roused to indignation, Abby, losing sight of the main issue, allowed herself to be lured into retorting: “Thank you! I am excessively obliged to you! It is an outdated name, commonly used to signify a maidservant!
You
may like it, but I do not!” She added hastily: “Nor, sir, did I make myself known to you for the purpose of discussing my name!”

“Of course not!” he said, so soothingly that she longed to hit him. “Do tell me what it is you
Jo
wish to discuss! I’ll oblige you to the best of my power, even though I don’t immediately understand why you should wish to discuss anything with me. Forgive me!—I’ve no social graces!—but have I ever met you before?”

“No,” replied Abby, her lips curling in a contemptuous smile. “You have not, sir—as well you know! But you will scarcely deny that you are acquainted with another member of my family!”

“Oh, no! I won’t deny that!” he assured her. “Won’t you sit down?”

“I, sir,” said Abby, ignoring this invitation, “am Fanny’s aunt!”

“No, are you indeed? You don’t look old enough to be anyone’s aunt,” he remarked.

This piece of audacity was uttered in the most casual way, as though it had been a commonplace instead of an impertinence. He did not seem to have any idea that he had said anything improper, nor, from his general air of indifference, could she suppose him to have intended a compliment. She began to think that he was a very strange man, and one with whom it was going to be more difficult to deal than she had foreseen. He was obviously fencing with her, and the sooner he was made to realize that such tactics would not answer the better it would be. So she said coldly: “You must know very well that I am Fanny’s aunt.”

“Yes, you’ve just told me so,” he agreed.

“You knew it as soon as I made myself known to you!” She checked herself, determined not to lose her temper, and said, as pleasantly as she could: “Come, Mr Calverleigh! let us be frank! I imagine you also know why I did make myself known to you. You certainly contrived to ingratiate yourself with my sister, but you can hardly have supposed that you would find
all
Fanny’s relations so complaisant!”

He was watching her rather intently, but with an expression of enjoyment which she found infuriating. He said: “No, I couldn’t, could I? Still, if your
sister
likes me—!”

“My sister, Mr Calverleigh, was not aware, until I enlightened her, that you are not, as she had supposed, a man of character, but one of—of an unsavoury reputation!” she snapped.

“Well, what an unhandsome thing to have done!” he said reproachfully. “Doesn’t she like me any more?”

Abby now made the discovery that it was possible, at one and the same time, to be furiously angry, and to have the greatest difficulty in suppressing an almost irresistible desire to burst out laughing. After a severe struggle, she managed to say: “This—this is useless, sir! Let me assure you that you have no hope whatever of gaining the consent of Fanny’s guardian to your proposal; and let me also tell you that she will not come into possession of her inheritance until she is five-and-twenty! That, I collect, is something you were not aware of!”

“No,” he admitted. “I wasn’t!”

“Until that date,” Abby continued, “her fortune is under the sole control of her guardian, and he, I must tell you, will not, under any circumstances, relinquish that control into the hands of her husband one moment before her twenty-fifth birthday, if she marries without his consent and approval. I think it doubtful, even, that he would continue to allow her to receive any part of the income accruing from her fortune. Not a very good bargain, sir, do you think?”

“It seems to be a very bad one. Who, by the way,
is
Fanny’s guardian?”

“Her uncle, of course! Surely she must have told you so?” replied Abby impatiently.

“Well, no!” he said, still more apologetically. “She really had no opportunity to do so!”

“Had no—Mr Calverleigh, are you asking me to believe that you—you embarked on this attempt to recover your own fortune without first discovering what were the exact terms of her father’s will? That is coming it very much too strong!”

“Who
was
her father?” he interrupted, regarding her from under suddenly frowning brows. “You talk of her inheritance—You don’t mean to tell me she’s
Rowland
Wendover’s daughter?”

“Yes—if it should be necessary for me to do so—which I strongly doubt!” said Abby, eyeing him with hostility. “She is an orphan, and the ward of my brother James.”

“Poor girl!” He studied her appraisingly. “So you are a sister of Rowland Wendover! You know, I find that very hard to believe.”

“Indeed! It is nevertheless true—though in what way it concerns the point at issue—”

“Oh, it doesn’t!” he said, smiling disarmingly at her. “Now I come to think of it, he had several sisters, hadn’t he? I expect you must be the youngest of them. He was older than I was, and you are a mere child. By the by, when did he die?”

This question, put to her in a tone of casual interest, seemed to her to be so inapposite that the suspicion that he was drunk occurred to her. He showed none of the recognizable signs of inebriation, but she knew that her experience was limited. If he was not drunk, the only other explanation of his quite fantastic behaviour must be that he was slightly deranged. Unless he was trying, in some obscure fashion, to set her at a disadvantage? She found it impossible to understand what he hoped to gain by his extraordinary tactics, but the look of amusement on his face made her feel, uneasily, that he had an end in view: probably an unscrupulous end. Watching him closely, she said: “My brother died twelve years ago. I
am
his youngest sister, but you are mistaken in thinking me
a mere child
.
I daresay you wish I were!”