For on one point her resolution was fixed: there could be no question of marriage with him, even if marriage was what he had in mind, which, in the light of Lindeth’s revelations, now seemed doubtful. But when she thought it over she could not believe that he meant to offer her a less honourable alliance. A libertine he might be, but he was no fool, and he must be well aware that she was no female of easy virtue. She wondered why he should wish to marry her; and came to the dreary conclusion that he had probably decided that the time had come for him to marry, and hoped that by choosing a penniless nobody to be his wife he would be at liberty to continue to pursue his present way of life, while she, thankful to be so richly established, turned a blind eye to his crim. cons.,and herself behaved with all the propriety which he would no doubt demand of the lady who bore his name.
By the time Tiffany and Courtenay returned from Colby Place her headache was no longer feigned. Only a sense of duty kept her from retiring to bed hours earlier; and she could only feel relief when Tiffany, instead of prattling about the party, yawned, shrugged up her shoulders, said that it had been abominably insipid, and that she was fagged to death. An expressive grimace from Courtenay informed Miss Trent that he had a tale to disclose; but as she felt herself to be quite incapable of dealing with Tiffany’s problems at that moment she did not stay to hear what the tale was, but went upstairs with her wayward charge.
Tiffany put in no appearance in the breakfast-parlour next morning. Her maid told Miss Trent that she was suffering from a headache: a statement interpreted by Nurse as “in one of her dratted miffs.” So Courtenay, cheerfully discussing an enormous breakfast, was able to regale Miss Trent with the history of the previous night’s entertainment.
“Lindeth wasn’t there,” he said, cracking his second egg. “Told Lady Colebatch he was already engaged. Deepest regrets: all that sort of flummery! But,ma’am, Patience wasn’t there either! She had a previous engagement too, and if you can tell me what it could have been but Lindeth’s being invited to the Rectory, it’s more than anyone else can! Because Arthur Mickleby and his sisters were at Colby Place, and Sophy and Jack Banningham, and the Ashes, so where did Lindeth go if it wasn’t to the Rectory? Plain as a pikestaff! But what must Mary Mickleby do but—no, it wasn’t Mary! it was Jane Mickleby, and just the sort of thing she would do!—well, she said, with that silly titter of hers, that she was sure no one could give the least guess as to why Patience and Lindeth were both engaged on the same evening. And, if you ask me,ma’am,” concluded Courtenay, in a very fair-minded spirit, “she didn’t say it only to pay off a score with Tiffany, but because she’s as cross as crabs herself that Lindeth never showed the least preference for her! But, however it may have been, you should have seen Tiffany’s face!”
“I am thankful I did not!” responded Miss Trent.
He chuckled. “Ay, so you may be! Lord, what a ninny-hammer she is! It’s my belief she’d never had the least suspicion that Lindeth had a tendre for Patience—and, I must say, I felt quite sorry for her!”
“That was kind of you,” said Miss Trent politely.
“Well, I think it was,” owned Courtenay. “For I don’t like her, and never did! But she’s my cousin, after all, and I’m dashed if I wouldn’t as lief have her for a cousin as an antidote like Jane Mickleby!” He paused, his fork spearing a vast quantity of ham, halfway to his mouth and said, in portentous accents: “But that wasn’t the whole!”
Miss Trent waited with a sinking heart while he masticated this Gargantuan mouthful. “Well?”
“Arthur!” he pronounced, a trifle thickly. He washed down the ham with a gulp of coffee, and handed her his cup to be replenished. “Mighty cool to her!”
“Very likely. She didn’t speak of his sisters as she ought.”
“I know that, but I’ve got a notion there was more to it than that. Seemed to me—Well, you know what cakes he, and Jack, and Greg have been making of themselves over that chit, ma’am?”
“Yes?”
“Seemed to me they weren’t. Don’t know why, but I daresay Jack will tell me, even if Greg don’t. Not that they were uncivil, or—or—Dashed if I know what it was! Just struck me that they weren’t any of ’em so particular in their attentions. Good thing! For,” said Courtenay, about to dig his teeth into a muffin, “they were getting to be dead bores!”
Miss Trent could not share his satisfaction. Since she knew no more than he did what had happened to cause Tiffany’s local admirers to grow suddenly cold, she could only hope either that he had been mistaken, or that these ill-used gentlemen were trying a change of tactics in their attempts to attach her.
“Was Mr Calver present?” she asked.
“No, but he wasn’t invited,” replied Courtenay. “Sir Ralph can’t abide him: he told me. Said he wouldn’t have any man-milliners running tame at Colby Place!”
It was in a mood of considerable foreboding that Miss Trent presently went upstairs to visit Tiffany. Never before had that turbulent beauty sustained a rebuff, and what the repercussions might be Miss Trent could only, shudderingly, guess.
She found Tiffany seated, partially clothed, at her dressing-table, while her maid, who was looking aggrieved, brushed out her lustrous black locks. Tiffany made no mention of the previous night’s party, but complained of a sleepless night, of a headache, and of unutterable boredom. “I want to go back to London!” she said. “I hate Yorkshire! I declare I had liefer by far be with the Burfords than at Staples, which is dowdy, and slow, and horrid!”
Miss Trent did not think it worth while to remind her that the Burfords were hardly likely to be in Portland Place in the middle of July, or that they had evinced no desire to have their niece restored to them. Instead, she reminded Tiffany that she had the Ashes’ party to look forward to, and, not so very far ahead, the York Races. Tiffany disclaimed any interest in either event; so, after trying several more gambits with as little success, Miss Trent left her, hoping that one at least of her admirers would present himself at Staples that day, to restore the discontented beauty to good humour.
At the foot of the staircase she encountered Totton, who informed her that Sir Waldo had called, to enquire if any tidings had yet been received from Mrs Underhill.
“He asked for Miss Tiffany, ma’am, but I told him Miss had the headache,” disclosed Totton. “So he said if you was at home he would like to see you instead. I was just coming to find you, ma’am. Sir Waldo is in the Green Saloon.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell the butler to deny her, but she mastered the impulse. The interview must be faced, since she could not run away from Staples, deserting her post, as she longed to be able to do. She had made up her mind that she must be prepared to meet the Nonesuch, and to conduct herself, when she did so, with calm and dignity.
She entered the Green Saloon to find him standing by the table in the middle of the room, and glancing through the latest issue of the Liverpool Mercury.He looked up as the door opened, and at once laid the paper down, saying with the smile that made her heart tremble: “At last!”
“I beg your pardon! Have you been waiting for long?” she returned, determined to maintain an attitude of friendly civility, and desperately hoping that he would understand from this that it would be useless to make her any sort of declaration.
“More than a sennight! Yes, I know you feel that the delicacy of your position makes it ineligible for you to receive visitors, but I have been very discreet, I promise you! I told the butler that I came to enquire after the travellers—and even went so far as to ask first if Miss Wield was at home.”