The Nonesuch Read online

  Critically surveying Miss Trent, Laurence doubted whether she would prove a satisfactory flirt. Not striking au fait de beauté, and too much of a Long Meg for his taste, but a distinguished-looking woman: nothing of the dasher about her! If Waldo didn’t take care he’d find himself riveted, and a rare kettle of fish that would be! The last of the Hawkridges leg-shackled to a nobody who earned her bread by teaching provincial schoolgirls to write and to cipher and to stitch samplers! Devilish funny that would be! But it was odd of Waldo to raise false expectations. Come to think of it, all his flirts were married women of the world, well up to snuff; and he had some pretty Gothic notions about trifling with females on the catch for eligible husbands. Still odder that he shouldn’t have seen that this Long Meg of his was badly love-bitten.

  Hot on the scent of this really succulent on-dit, Laurence sought information of his younger cousin, saying casually: ‘You didn’t tell me that Waldo had set up a new flirt. Who is she?’

  Julian stared at him. ‘New flirt? Waldo?’

  ‘Running rather sly, ain’t you?’ drawled Laurence. ‘Tall female – somebody’s governess, I collect. Lord, Julian, do you take me for a flat?’

  ‘Miss Trent! Good God, what next? New flirt, indeed! She’s Miss Wield’s companion: a most agreeable woman, but as for being Waldo’s flirt – ! You should know him better!’

  ‘No need to take a pet! All I know is that between the pair of ’em they set all the tabbies in an uproar last night!’

  ‘I daresay! They live on scandal-broth!’

  ‘But who is she?’ insisted Laurence. ‘Or is that one of those questions one shouldn’t ask?’

  ‘Not in the least. You are probably acquainted with her cousin, Bernard Trent. Her father was killed in the assault on Ciudad Rodrigo, and left the family all to pieces, I fancy. General Trent is her uncle.’

  ‘Is he, though?’ said Laurence, his eyes widening a little.

  He asked no more questions, because he didn’t want Waldo to think he was prying into his affairs, and Julian was such a bagpipe that you never knew what he might blurt out, in his artless way. Besides, Julian probably didn’t know any more. He had said enough to put quite a different complexion on the matter: it began to look as though Waldo was thinking of becoming a tenant-for-life at last. Nothing wonderful about that: he was bound to marry one day. The wonder was that with the pick of the ton to choose from he should throw the handkerchief to a mere Miss Trent, who might be well-enough born, but who was quite unknown, and hadn’t rank, fortune, or any extraordinary degree of beauty to recommend her. Lord, what a sensation it would cause! Laurence knew of several top-lofty beauties who would look blue when they heard of it, one of whom had once rudely snubbed him. It would be pleasant to whisper the news in her ear.

  Of course, it might not be true; he would be better able to judge when he had seen them together again. He hoped Miss Trent would be present at Mrs Underhill’s turtle-dinner: it seemed likely that she would be; and if she was he had every intention of making himself very agreeable to her. If there was the least chance of her becoming Waldo’s wife, it was a matter of the highest importance to stand well with her. Really, it was very fortunate that he had come to Yorkshire!

  Miss Trent was present at the dinner, but had she been able to do so without disarranging Mrs Underhill’s carefully planned table she would have excused herself. She did indeed venture to suggest that since Charlotte was suffering from severe tooth-ache, and would make no appearance in the drawing-room, it would be better if she remained upstairs with her, but Mrs Underhill would not hear of it. Where, she demanded, was she to find a lady to take Miss Trent’s place?

  ‘I thought, perhaps, since the Micklebys are coming, ma’am, you might invite the elder Miss Mickleby,’ suggested Ancilla, but without conviction.

  ‘Don’t talk so silly!’ begged Mrs Underhill. ‘As though you didn’t know as well as I do that Mrs Mickleby takes an affront into her head if anyone invites one of those dratted girls without t’other! Yes, and so she would if I was to invite either of them at the last minute, like this is, and I can’t say I blame her, for a very poor compliment that would be!’

  So Miss Trent submitted, and no one could have supposed, observing her cold composure, that she was suffering from acute embarrassment. To a proud woman of her upbringing the imputation of setting her cap at the Nonesuch was so abhorrent that she was nauseated every time she thought of it. Like some vulgar, scheming creature, without delicacy or conduct, throwing out her every lure to snare a husband! Worse! – a husband so wealthy and so distinguished as to be considered one of the biggest prizes to be won! And she the penniless daughter of an officer in a marching regiment! She could not accuse herself of having thrown out lures, but when she looked back over the past month it was upon a vista of rides with the Nonesuch, evenings spent in his company, strolling walks with him in the gardens of Staples, tête-à-tête, with him, jokes shared with him: all culminating in that disastrous ball, which she ought never to have attended. How indiscreet she had been! It must have appeared to everyone that she had gone to the ball, breaking her own rule, for no other purpose than to dance with the Nonesuch, and the dreadful truth was that she had. And who, seeing her waltz with him twice, and go in to supper on his arm, and allow him to fetch her shawl, would believe that she had committed these imprudencies unthinkingly, because she loved him, and had been too happy in his company to remember the delicacy of her situation, or even common propriety? She might as well have tied her garter in public!

  It was a severe ordeal to be obliged to appear at Mrs Underhill’s dinner-party, knowing that Mrs Mickleby’s sharp eyes would be watching her: perhaps, even, Mrs Chartley’s? She chose from her slender wardrobe the most modest and sober-hued of her few evening-dresses, and set a cap over her tightly braided locks, to which Mrs Underhill took instant exception, exclaiming: ‘Whatever made you put on a cap, as if you was an old maid of forty? For goodness’ sake, go and take it off ! There’ll be time enough for you to wear caps when you’re married!’

  ‘I have no expectation of being married, ma’am, and you know it is customary for a gover –’

  ‘No, and nor you will be if you don’t prettify yourself a bit!’ interrupted Mrs Underhill tartly. ‘If you aren’t wearing that old, brown dress, too, which is enough to give anyone the dismals! I declare you’re as provoking as Tiffany, Miss Trent!’

  So Miss Trent went away to remove the offending cap, but she did not change her dress, or come downstairs again until the guests had all arrived, when she slipped unobtrusively into the drawing-room, responding to greetings with smiles and slight curtsies, and sitting down in a chair as far removed from Sir Waldo as was possible.

  She was seated at dinner between the Squire and the Rector, and with these two uncritical friends she was able to converse as easily as usual. It was more difficult in the drawing-room, before the gentlemen joined the ladies. Mrs Mickleby talked of nothing but the waltzing-ball, and contrived, with her thin smile, to plant quite a number of tiny daggers in Miss Trent’s quivering flesh. Miss Trent met smile with smile, and replied with a calm civility which made Mrs Mickleby’s eyes snap angrily. Then Mrs Chartley, taking advantage of a brief pause in these hostilities moved her seat to one beside Ancilla’s, and said: ‘I am glad of this opportunity to speak to you, Miss Trent. I have been meaning for weeks to ask you if you can recall the details of that way of pickling mushrooms which you once described to me, but whenever I see you I remember about it only when we have parted!’

  Ancilla could not but be grateful for the kindness that prompted this intervention, but it brought the colour to her cheeks as Mrs Mickleby’s barbs had not. She promised to write down the recipe, and bring it to the Rectory; and wished very much that she could retire to the schoolroom before the gentlemen came in. It was impossible, however: Mrs Underhill expected her to pour out tea later in the evening.