Abby, who thought that some of Mr Calverleigh’s tales were exactly like fairy stories, was able to agree to this with perfect sincerity. She had every intention of maintaining her punctilious civility, and might have done so had he not said, as he took his seat beside her in the carriage he had hired for the evening: “I wish I had ordered a hot brick to be provided.”
“Thank you, but there was not the least need to do so: I don’t feel at all cold.”
“I daresay icebergs don’t feel cold either, but I do!”
She was betrayed into a smothered choke of laughter, whereupon he added: “From having lived so long in a hot climate, you understand.”
“I understand you perfectly, sir, and shall take leave to tell you that there’s neither truth nor shame in you!”
“Well, not much, perhaps!” he owned.
Since this quite overset her gravity, she was obliged to relent towards him, and by the time Beaufort Square was reached their former good relationship had been so well restored that she was able to look forward to an evening of unalloyed enjoyment, which not even the surprised stares of several persons with whom she was acquainted seriously disturbed. Mr Calverleigh proved himself to be an excellent host: not only had he hired one of the handsomely appointed first-tier boxes, but he had also arranged for tea and cakes to be brought to it during one of the intervals. Abby said appreciatively: “How comfortable it is not to be obliged to inch one’s way through the press in the foyer! You are entertaining me in royal style, Mr Calverleigh!”
“What, with cat-lap and cakes? If I entertained you royally I should give you pink champagne!”
“Which I shouldn’t have liked half as well!”
“No, that’s why I didn’t give it to you.”
“I expect,” said Abby, quizzing him, “it is invariably drunk in India—even for breakfast! Another of the strange customs you described to my sister!”
He laughed. “Just so, ma’am!”
“Well, if she recounts your Canterbury tales to young Grayshott you will have come by your deserts! He will refute them, and you will look no-how!”
“No, no, you wrong the boy! He’s not such a clodpole!”
“Incorrigible! It was a great deal too bad of you to make a May-game of poor Selina.”
“Oh, I didn’t! It was made plain to me that she has a very romantical disposition, and delights in the marvellous, so I did my best to gratify her. Turning her up sweet, you know.”
“Trying how many brummish stories you could persuade her to swallow is what you mean! How many did you tell me?”
He shook his head. “None! You should know better than to ask me that. I told you once that I don’t offer you Spanish coin, I’ll tell you now that I don’t offer you Canterbury tales either “ He saw the startled look in her eyes, the almost imperceptible gesture of withdrawal, and added simply: “You wouldn’t believe ‘em.”
This made her laugh again, but for a moment she had indeed been startled, perceiving in his light eyes a glow there could be no mistaking. She had felt suddenly breathless, and embarrassed, for she had hitherto suspected him of pursuing nothing more serious than an idle flirtation. But there had been a note of sincerity in his voice, and his smile was a caress. Then, just as she was thinking: This will never do! he had uttered one of his impishly disconcerting remarks, which left her wondering whether she had allowed her imagination to mislead her.
His subsequent behaviour was irreproachable, and there was so little of the lover in his manner that her embarrassment swiftly died. She reflected that he was really a very agreeable companion, with a mind so much akin to her own that she was never obliged to explain what she meant by some elliptical remark, or to guard her tongue for fear of shocking him. He was attentive to her comfort, too, but in an everyday style: putting her shawl round her shoulders without turning the office into an act of homage; and neither pressing nor retaining her hand when he assisted her to enter the carriage. This treatment made her feel so much at her ease that when he asked her casually if she would join an expedition to Wells, and show him the cathedral there, she had no hesitation in replying: “Yes, willingly: going to Wells, to see the knights on horseback, has always been a high treat to me!”
“What the deuce are they?” he enquired.
“A mechanical device—but I shan’t tell you any more! You shall see for yourself! Who else is to join your expedition?”
“I don’t know. Yes, I do, though! We’ll take Fanny and young Grayshott!”
She smiled, but said: “You should invite Lavinia too.”
“Oliver wouldn’t agree with you. Nor do I. There will be no room in the carriage for a fifth person.”
“She could take my place. Or even Mrs Grayshott. She would enjoy the drive.”
“She would find it too fatiguing. Can’t you think of anyone else to take your place?”
“Yes, Lady Weaverham!” she said instantly, a gurgle of merriment in her throat.
“No, I think, if I must find a substitute for you, I shall invite your sister’s bosom-bow—what’s her name? Buttertub? Tallow-faced female, with rabbit’s teeth.”
“Laura Butterbank!” said Abby, in a failing voice. “Odious, infamous creature that you are!”
“Oh, I can be far more odious than that!” he told her. “And if I have any more wit and liveliness from you, Miss Abigail Wendover, I’ll give you proof of it!”
“Quite unnecessary!” she assured him. “I haven’t the least doubt of it!”
She could not see his face in the darkness of the carriage, but she knew that he was smiling. He said, however, in stern accents: “Will you go with me to Wells, ma’am, or will you not?”
“Yes, sir,” said Abby meekly. “If you are quite sure you wouldn’t prefer Miss Butterbank’s company to mine!”
The carriage had drawn up in front of her house. Mr Calverleigh, alighting from it, and turning to hand her down, said: “I should, of course, but having already invited you I feel it would be uncivil to fob you off.”
“Piqued, repiqued, and capoted!” said Abby, acknowledging defeat
Chapter X
The visit to the theatre produced its inevitable repercussions. Only such severe critics as Mrs Ruscombe saw anything to shock them in it, but it was surprising how quickly the word sped round Bath that Mr Miles Calverleigh was becoming extremely particular in his attentions to Miss Abigail Wendover. There was nothing in this to give rise to speculation, for Abby had never lacked admirers; but considerable interest was lent to the affair by what was generally considered to be her encouragement of the gentleman’s pretensions.
“Only think of her going to the play with him all by herself! When Lady Templeton told me of it I could only stare at her! I’m sure she has never done such a thing before!” said Mrs Ancrum.
“Mark my words,” said Lady Weaverham, “it’s a Case! Well, I’m sure I wish them both very happy!”
“Quite a new come-out!” said Mrs Ruscombe, with her thin smile. “It doesn’t astonish me: I have always thought her a trifle bold.”
Abby was well aware that she had become overnight an object for curiosity; and so, within a couple of days, was Selina, who was thrown into what she called a taking by the arch efforts of one of her acquaintances to discover whether dear Miss Abigail was about to contract an engagement.
“I was never so much provoked in my life!’ she declared. ‘Such impertinence! I gave her a sharp set-down, as you may suppose! You and Mr Calverleigh—! If I hadn’t been vexed to death, I could have laughed in her face! Why, he isn’t even well-favoured, besides being quite beneath your touch—not, of course, by birth, but a man of most unsavoury reputation, though that Mrs Swainswick knows nothing about, and you may depend upon it I didn’t breathe a syllable to her. But how she could have the impudence to imagine—not but what I knew how it would be from the start, and I must beg you, dear Abby, to keep hint at a proper distance!”