‘I must be grateful to whatever lucky chance it was that brought Sir Thomas into Lincolnshire,’ said Gervase.
She received this with a laugh, and a little shake of her head. She was young enough to feel embarrassment at broad compliments, but she betrayed none: plainly, she was accustomed to being very much admired, although the coming London Season, as she presently confided to the Earl, was to be her first. ‘For one does not count private parties, and although I was almost seventeen last spring, Mama could not be prevailed upon to present me, though even my Aunt Caroline, who is so strict and stuffy, counselled her most strongly to do so. However, this year I am to be presented, and I shall go to Almack’s, and the Opera, and everywhere!’
The Earl, concluding from this artless prattle that Miss Bolderwood moved in unexceptionable circles, began to wonder why no mention of her family had been made to him by his stepmother. In all her consequential enumerations of the persons likely to leave their cards at Stanyon he could not recall ever to have heard her utter the name of Bolderwood. But as he led Cloud into the village through which they were obliged to pass on their way to Whissenhurst Grange, an inkling of the cause of this omission was conveyed to him by an unexpected encounter with his half-brother.
Martin, who was hacking towards them in the company of a young gentleman who sported a striped waistcoat, and a Belcher tie, no sooner perceived who was the fair burden upon Cloud’s back than he spurred up, an expression on his brow both of astonishment and anger. ‘Marianne!’ he exclaimed. ‘What’s this? How comes this about? What in thunder are you doing on St Erth’s horse?’
‘Why, that odious Fairy of mine, having thrown me into the mire, would not allow me to catch her!’ responded Marianne merrily. ‘Had it not been for Lord St Erth’s chivalry I must still be seated miserably by the wayside, or perhaps plodding along this very dirty road!’
‘I wish I had been there!’ Martin said.
‘I wish I had been there!’ gallantly echoed his companion.
‘I am very glad you were not, for to be seen tumbling off my horse could not at all add to my consequence! Oh, Lord St Erth, are you acquainted with Mr Warboys?’
Martin, interrupting the exchange of civilities between his friend and his brother, said: ‘You might have been killed! I do not know what Lady Bolderwood will say! You must let me escort you home!’ He seemed to become aware of the fatuity of this utterance, and added awkwardly, and with a rising colour: ‘You will wish to be going on your way, St Erth!’
‘I am going on my way,’ replied the Earl, who was looking amused. ‘I must tell you, Martin, that I find you very much de trop!’
‘By Jove, yes!’ agreed Mr Warboys, with even more gallant intention. ‘Anyone would! Would myself!’ He encountered a fiery glance from Martin, which flustered him, and added hastily: ‘That is to say – what I meant was, that’s a devilish good-looking hunter you have there, St Erth! Great rump and hocks! Splendid shoulders! Not an inch above fifteen-three, I’ll swear! The very thing for this country!’
‘Oh, he is the loveliest creature!’ Marianne said, patting Cloud’s neck. ‘He makes no objection to carrying me in this absurd fashion: I am sure he must be the best-mannered horse in the world!’
‘My Troubadour would carry you as well!’ Martin muttered.
Mr Warboys was moved to contradict this statement. ‘No, he wouldn’t. Wouldn’t carry her as well as my Old Soldier! Got a tricky temper, that tit of yours.’
‘He is better-paced than that screw of yours!’ retorted Martin, firing up in defence of his horse.
‘Old Soldier,’ said Mr Warboys obstinately, ‘would give her a comfortable ride.’
‘You must be besotted to think so!’
‘No, I ain’t. Old Soldier has often carried m’sister. Your Troubadour has never had a female on his back.’
‘That can soon be mended!’
‘I wonder,’ said the Earl diffidently, ‘if you would think it rude in us to be proceeding on our way while you thrash the matter out between you? Miss Bolderwood will be in danger of contracting a chill, I fear.’
Martin cast him a smouldering look, but Mr Warboys at once responded: ‘By Jupiter, so she will! Nasty wind blowing! No sense in standing about – silly thing to do!’
‘I’ll accompany you!’ Martin said, wheeling his horse about.
‘Yes, pray do!’ said Marianne, thoroughly enjoying this rivalry for her favours. ‘Papa and Mama will be so glad to see you! And you too, Mr Warboys!’
‘If I and not St Erth had found you,’ said Martin, ‘we would soon have seen whether Troubadour would have carried you or not!’
‘Well, since the matter appears to trouble you, why should you not at once put it to the test?’ suggested Gervase. ‘You will not object to changing horses, Miss Bolderwood? I very much fear that nothing less will satisfy poor Martin.’
Martin looked to be at once surprised and scornful. He had no great opinion of his brother’s mettle, but he had not expected him to relinquish his advantage so very tamely. He smiled triumphantly, and dismounted, but not in time to forestall Gervase in lifting Marianne down from Cloud’s back. She was installed on Troubadour’s saddle; the Earl swung himself on to Cloud again; and Martin, preparing to lead his horse along the street, realized too late that between the horseman and the pedestrian the advantage lay with the former. The Earl, riding easily beside the lady, was able to engage her in conversation, while his brother, plodding along at Troubadour’s head, was obliged, whenever he wished to claim her attention, to turn his head to look up at her, and to repeat his remark several times. The playful nature of her exchanges with Gervase considerably exacerbated his temper; nor was he mollified to observe that the Earl’s gallantry seemed to be very much to Marianne’s taste. After one or two unsuccessful attempts to draw her into conversation with himself, he relapsed into sulky silence; and was very nearly provoked, at journey’s end, into giving his friend, Mr Warboys, a leveller. Mr Warboys, a mournful witness of his discomfiture, was ill-advised enough to say to him, as Marianne led the Earl up the steps to the door of Whissenhurst Grange: ‘Rolled-up, dear boy! Very shabby stratagem! Fellow must have been on the Staff, I should think!’
Marianne’s safe arrival was greeted by her mother, her father, the butler, the housekeeper, and her old nurse with the most profound thanksgiving. The news of Fairy’s riderless return to the stables had only just been brought up to the house, so that there was time yet to send one of the footmen running to stop the grooms and the stableboys setting forth to scour the countryside in search of her. Sir Thomas, who had been shouting for his horse, pulling on his boots, and issuing instructions, all in one breath, was only induced to cease shaking and hugging his daughter by the necessity of thanking her preserver. His wife, though very much more restrained in her expressions, was equally obliged to the Earl; and it was hard to imagine how either of them could have been more grateful to him had he rescued Marianne from some deadly peril. As for Marianne, she laughed, and coaxed, and begged pardon, and was very soon forgiven her imprudence. Her Mama bore her upstairs to put off her muddied habit; Sir Thomas shouted for refreshment to be brought to the saloon, whither he led the Earl; and Martin, fairly gnashing his teeth, said stiffly that he would take his leave, now that he had seen Marianne restored to her parents.
‘Yes, yes, there is no occasion for you to kick your heels, my boy!’ said Sir Thomas genially. ‘To be sure, we are always glad to see you at Whissenhurst, and you too, Barny, but you will be wanting to go about your business now! This way, my lord! To think I had been meaning to wait on you next week, and here you are, making it quite unnecessary for me to do so! I am glad of it: I am no hand at doing the punctilio, you know!’
Thus dismissed, Martin bowed grandly, and left the house, closely followed by Mr Warboys, who said helpfully, as they mounted their hacks: ‘No sense in getting into a miff, dear boy! Come about ag
ain presently, I daresay! Very unlucky chance your brother should have been riding in this direction, but not a bit of good staying there to outface him! Corkbrained thing to do! The devil of it is he’s a dashed handsome fellow. Good address too, besides the title.’
‘If he thinks I will permit him to trifle with Marianne – !’ said Martin, between his teeth.
‘No reason to think he means to do so,’ said Mr Warboys soothingly. ‘Seemed very taken with her!’
Martin turned his head sharply to look at him, so menacing an expression in his dark eyes that he was thrown into disorder. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, now you come to ask me,’ said Mr Warboys, with the air of one making a discovery, ‘I don’t know what I mean! Spoke without thinking! Often do! Runs in the family: uncle of mine was just the same. Found himself married to a female with a squint all through speaking without thinking.’
‘Oh, to hell with your uncle!’ Martin said angrily.
‘No use saying that, dear boy. The old gentleman took a pious turn years back. Won’t go to hell – not a chance of it! Aunt might – never met such a queer-tempered woman in my life!’
‘Will you stop boring on and on about your relatives?’ said Martin savagely.
‘Don’t mind doing that: no pleasure to me to talk about them! But if you think you’re going to have a turn-up with me, old fellow, you’re devilish mistaken!’
‘Saphead! Why should I?’
‘There ain’t any reason, but whenever you take one of your pets,’ said Mr Warboys frankly, ‘it don’t seem to signify to you whose cork you draw! All I say is, it ain’t going to be mine!’
Meanwhile, Sir Thomas, having ushered the Earl into one of his saloons and furnished him with a comfortable chair, and a glass of Madeira, had arrived at a more precise understanding of the service which had been rendered to his daughter. He chuckled a good deal over it, rubbing his hands together, and ejaculating: ‘Cow-handed little puss! I shall roast her finely for this, I can tell you! All’s well that ends well – though I’ll wager her Mama will have something to say to her giving her groom the slip! But there! she is our only chick, my lord, and we don’t care to be too strict, and that’s the truth! Yes, the Almighty never saw fit to give us another, and though I shan’t deny we did wish for a son – for there will be no one to inherit the baronetcy when I’m gone, you know – it was not to be, and, damme, we wouldn’t exchange our naughty puss for all the sons in creation!’
Gervase said what was proper, and sipped his wine, watching Sir Thomas, as he bustled about, casting another log on to the fire, altering the position of a screen to exclude a possible draught, tugging at the bell-rope to summon a servant to bring in the ratafia-wine for Miss Marianne. He was a stout little man, with a shrewd pair of eyes set in a round face whose original ruddy complexion had been much impaired by a tropical climate. He was dressed without much pretension to fashion in a blue coat and buckskin breeches, but he wore a large ruby-pin in his neckcloth, and another set in a ring upon his finger, so that he was clearly a person of affluence, if not of taste. The Earl was at a loss to decide from what order of society he had sprung, for although the cast of his countenance was aristocratic, with its aquiline nose, and finely-moulded lips, and his voice that of a well-bred man, his manners lacked polish, and he had a rough, colloquial way of expressing himself. His wife, on the other hand, had the appearance and the manners of a gentlewoman, and the style in which his house had been furnished was as elegant as it was expensive. That he had at some period during his lifetime visited the East was indicated by various specimens of oriental art which were scattered about the room. He saw the Earl glancing at the ornaments on the mantelshelf, and said: ‘Ay, you are looking at my ivories, my lord. I bought them for the most part in Calcutta, and a pretty sum they cost me, I can tell you! You won’t find any finer, for although I don’t know much about art, I won’t buy trumpery, and I’m a hard man to cheat.’
‘You have resided in India, sir?’
‘Spent the better part of my life there,’ replied Sir Thomas briskly. ‘If you hear anyone speak of the Nabob, that’s me, or, at any rate, it’s what they call me here at home, and I won’t deny it’s true enough, though I could name you a good few men who made bigger fortunes in India than ever I did. Still, I’m reckoned to be a warm man, as they say. Queer world, ain’t it? I often wonder what my poor father would think if he had lived to see the Prodigal Son come home only just in time to save the family from landing in the basket! Ay, I was a wild young fellow, I can tell you, and caused my father a deal of trouble, God forgive me! The end of it was I was shipped off to India, and I daresay they all hoped I should be heard of no more. I don’t say I blame them, but it was a desperate thing to do, wasn’t it? I wouldn’t serve a son of mine so, but it all turned out for the best; and when I came home, with a snug fortune, and my girl just six years old, and as pretty as a picture, the tables were turned indeed! For what should I find but that brother of mine that was always used to have been as prim and as tonnish as the starchiest nob of them all regularly under the hatches! The silly fellow had been speculating, and he hadn’t the least head for it. A bubble-merchant, that’s what I called him! I found him as near to swallowing a spider as makes no matter, and what he found to squander his money on, with never a chick nor a child to call his own, is more than I can tell you. I daresay it was my lady who spent it, for it was always my lady who must have this, and my lady who was used to have that, till I told him to his head his lady might go hang for all of me! For ever prating about her grand family, she was, but she came to the wrong shop, for I married a girl who was better-born than she, and never any fine-lady nonsense about her, bless her! Well, the long and the short of it was that poor George was never so glad to see anyone in his life as he was to see me, for he actually had an execution in the house! And the worst set of Jeremy Diddlers hanging round him – well, well, I soon sent them packing, you may be sure! The joke of it was that George wasn’t pleased above half, because he had been always in the way of thinking himself much above my touch! Ah, well, he’s dead now, poor fellow, and I should not be laughing at him! Ay, he died a matter of six years ago, leaving no one but me to succeed him. He felt it, and so, I warrant you, does Caroline, though between you and me that don’t by any means stop her expecting me to drop my blunt into her purse every now and then!’ He laughed heartily at this reflection, and his guest, considerably taken aback by these revelations, and scarcely knowing what to say in reply to them, was thankful when the door opened just then to admit the two ladies.
Marianne, who had changed her habit for a dress of sprigged muslin, tied with blue ribbons, was looking lovelier than ever; and the Earl found that he had not been mistaken in his first reading of Lady Bolderwood’s character. A fair, slender woman of considerable beauty, she was affable without being effusive. Without assuming any airs of consequence, or seeming to deprecate her husband’s free manners, she had a quiet dignity of her own, and talked very much like a sensible woman. While Sir Thomas boisterously rallied his daughter on her lack of horsemanship, she sat down beside the Earl, and conversed amiably with him. He decided that he liked both her and Sir Thomas. He was made to feel at home, and although both, in their several degrees, were grateful to him for the service he had rendered Marianne, neither showed the least disposition to toad-eat him. As for Marianne, he could not suppose that a lovelier or a sunnier-tempered girl existed. She bore all her father’s roasting with laughter, and coaxing pleas to be forgiven for having caused him anxiety; and when she saw that he had finished his wine, she jumped up to set down his glass for him.
‘I hope that now we have been so unceremoniously introduced, you will visit us again, Lord St Erth. We do not pretend to entertain in any formal style while we are in the country, for Marianne cannot be considered to be out, you know, until we remove to London next month; but if you don’t disdain a game of lottery-tickets, or to stand up to da
nce in a room with only perhaps half a dozen couples, I shall be very happy to welcome you whenever you should care to come.’
‘That’s right!’ said Sir Thomas, overhearing. ‘No state or flummery! We reserve all that for Grosvenor Square. If I had my way – but, there! this little puss of mine is determined to drag me to all manner of routs and soirées and balls, aren’t you, my pretty?’
She was seated on the arm of his chair, and at once bent to lay her cheek against his, and to say caressingly: ‘Dear Papa! Now, confess! You would not forgo any of it for the world!’
‘Ay, I know you! You are a rogue, miss, and think you may twist me round your finger! Come and eat your mutton at Whissenhurst when you feel so inclined, my lord! You know your way, and if you did not, young Martin would show it to you fast enough. No offence, but I’ve a pretty good notion of the way things are at Stanyon, and although I’m sure her ladyship is a very good sort of a woman, I’ll go bail you are yawning till your jaws crack six days out of the seven!’
The Earl laughed, thanked him, and rose to take his leave. As he shook hands with Marianne, she smiled up at him in her innocent way, and said: ‘Do come again! We sometimes have the merriest parties – everyone comes to them!’
‘I shall most certainly come,’ Gervase said. ‘And you, I hope –’ his glance embraced them all – ‘will honour Stanyon with a visit. My mother-in-law is planning one or two entertainments: I believe you must shortly be receiving cards from her.’
‘Oh, famous!’ Marianne cried, clapping her hands. ‘Will you give a ball at Stanyon? Do say you will! It is the very place for one!’
‘Miss Bolderwood has only to give her commands! A ball it shall be!’
‘My love, it is time and more that you ceased to be such a sad romp!’ said Lady Bolderwood, with a reproving look. ‘Pray do not heed her, Lord St Erth!’