“Never!” said Miss Wychwood. “I trust you were able to convince her that she was mistaken?”
“Yes, but it was deuced hard work! Someone seems to have told her that you were the most beautiful woman in Bath—described you pretty thoroughly to her, too, for she talked of your eyes, and your hair, and your figure as though she had actually seen you! So I said Yes, you were very beautiful, and very clever too, and I’m dashed if she didn’t accuse me of having fallen a victim to your beauty!”
“I can almost hear her saying it!” murmured Miss Wychwood appreciatively.
“I daresay it would have made you laugh, but it didn’t make me laugh, though I suppose it was funny. The thing was that it made me very angry, and I told Mama that it was a great piece of impertinence to talk in that outrageous style about a lady whom everyone holds in respect, and who has been as kind to me as though I had been her nephew. Which you have been, ma’am, and I couldn’t leave Bath without telling you how very grateful I am to you for all the things you’ve done to make my stay in Bath so agreeable! Letting me run tame in your house, inviting me to go with you and Lucy to the theatre, making me known to your friends—oh, hosts of things!”
“My dear boy, I wish you won’t talk nonsense!” she protested. “It is I who am grateful to you! Indeed, I have made shameless use of you, and am wondering what I should have done without you, to take Lucilla about, and to stand guard over her! And another thing I wish you won’t do is to talk as though we were never to meet again! I hope you will often visit Bath, and promise you will always be a welcome guest in Camden Place.”
“Th—thank you, ma’am!” he stammered, blushing. “I mean to be a frequent visitor, I can tell you! I have made it plain to Mama that if I go home with her today it must be on the strict understanding that I am at liberty to come and go as I choose, and without having to coax Papa into giving his consent every time I wish to do something he doesn’t approve of!”
“Ah, that was very wise of you!” she said. “I daresay he may not like it at first, but depend upon it he will very soon grow accustomed to having a sensible man for his son and not a mere boy!”
“Do you think he will, ma’am?” he asked, rather doubtfully.
“I am very sure of it,” she smiled, getting up. “You will take some nuncheon with us before you go, will you not?”
“Oh, thank you, ma’am, but no! I mustn’t stay. My mother is anxious to reach Chartley today, because she fears my father will be fretting over the chance that she may have met with an accident. Which is very possible, for she never goes away without him. It would be much wiser, of course, if we postponed our departure until tomorrow morning, but when I suggested this to her, I saw at once that it would not do. I don’t mean that she tried to—to persuade me—in fact, she said I must be the only judge of what was best—but I could see that she wouldn’t get a wink of sleep tonight for worrying about Papa, so even if we don’t reach Chartley before midnight it will be better for her to go home today than to be worrying herself into a fever. And it don’t really signify if we do have to drive after dark, because it won’t be dark, the moon being at the full, and no fear that I can see of the sky’s becoming overcast.” He added imploringly, as though he had detected in Miss Wychwood’s expression what were her feelings on the subject: “You see, ma’am, Mama is not robust, and her disposition is nervous, and—and I know what trials she has to undergo—and—and—”
“You love her very much,” supplied Miss Wychwood, patting his flushed cheek, and smiling at him warmly. “She is a fortunate woman! Now you will wish to say goodbye to Lucilla, so we will go up to the drawing-room. I think I heard her come in, with my sister, a minute or two ago.”
“Yes—well, I must do so, though ten to one she will abuse me for not having any resolution!” he said resentfully.
However, Lucilla behaved with perfect propriety. She exclaimed, when he told her that he was obliged to return to Chartley: “Oh, no, Ninian! Must you do so? Pray don’t go away!” but when he explained the circumstances she made no further demur, but looked thoughtful, and said that she supposed he would be obliged to go. It was not until he had left the house that, emerging from a brown study, she said earnestly to Miss Wychwood: “It makes me almost glad I am an orphan, ma’am!”
Lady Wychwood uttered a slightly shocked protest, and said: “Good gracious, child, whatever can you mean?”
“The way the Iverleys bullock Ninian into doing what they want him to do in—in an infamous way!” Lucilla explained. “Lady Iverley appeals to his better self,and the pity of it is that he has a better self! I quite see that it is very creditable to have a better self, but it does make him rather milky.”
“Oh, no! I should never say he was milky,” responded Miss Wychwood. “You must remember that he is very much attached to his mama, and is, I believe, fully aware of the anxious life she leads. I rather fancy she is inclined to cling to him—”
“Yes, indeed she does, and in the most cloying way!” said Lucilla. “So do Cordelia and Lavinia! I wonder that he can bear it! I could not.”
“No, but you haven’t a better nature, have you?” said Miss Wychwood, quizzing her.
Lucilla laughed, but said: “Very true! And thank goodness I haven’t, for it must be excessively uncomfortable!”
Miss Wychwood was amused, but Lady Wychwood shook her head over it, and later told her sister-in-law that she thought the remark a melancholy illustration of the evils attached to growing up without a mother.
“Well, they could scarcely be worse than the evils of growing up with such a mother as Lady Iverley!” said Annis caustically.
Ninian’s absence was felt to have created a sad gap in the household; and even outside the household a surprising number of people told Annis how sorry they were that he had left Bath, and how much they hoped it would not be long before he revisited the town. He seemed to have made many friends, which circumstance increased Annis’s respect for him: very few young men would have sacrificed their pleasures to so lachrymose and unreasonable a parent as Lady Iverley. She hoped that he was not moped to death at Chartley, but feared that he must be finding life very flat.
However, some few days later she received a letter from him, and gathered from its closely written pages that although he thought wistfully of Bath and its inhabitants conditions at Chartley had improved. He had had a long talk with his father, the outcome of which was that he was now occupying himself with the management of the estate, and spent the better part of his time going about with the bailiff. Miss Wychwood would stare if she knew how much he was learning. His quarrel with Lord Iverley had been quite made up. He had found his lordship looking dragged and weary, but was happy to say that he was plucking up wonderfully, and had even said that if Ninian wished to invite any of his friends to visit him he should be glad to welcome them to Chartley.
Miss Wychwood concluded that his lordship had learnt a valuable lesson, and that there was no need to worry about Ninian’s future.
There was no need to worry about anything, of course: Lucilla was well, and behaving with great docility; little Tom’s toothache was remembered by no one but his mama and Nurse; Miss Farlow had won Nurse’s approval and had begun to spend a large part of the days either in the nursery or taking Tom for walks; and if Mr Carleton had thought better of his intention to return to Bath it was a very good thing, for they went on perfectly happily without him.