A Civil Contract Read online

  It was a moment or two before Adam could master himself enough to answer temperately. He limped over to the table on which Dunster had set down decanters and glasses, and said, as he poured out some Madeira: ‘Yes, sir: she is much too good for me.’

  Mr Chawleigh blew his nose defiantly into a large and lavishly embroidered handkerchief. He took the glass that was being held out to him with a muttered Thankee! and gulped down the wine.

  ‘I do care, you know,’ Adam said. ‘If anything were to go amiss now, you won’t blame me as much as I shall blame myself.’

  Mr Chawleigh grabbed his hand. ‘Nay, you did what you thought right! I’d no call to fly out at you. It’s being regularly worn down with worrying over my girl, and nothing I can do to help. I’m not one to sit kicking my heels, the way you and me have been doing, not without getting into high fidgets. Don’t you heed me, my lord, for I promise you I don’t mean the rough things I say when I’m in a passion! Well, I don’t rightly know what I do say, and that’s a fact!’ He shifted ponderously in his chair, to restore his handkerchief to his pocket, and said, with an apologetic glance up at Adam: ‘She’s all I’ve got, you see.’

  These simple words went straight to Adam’s heart. He said nothing, but laid his hand on Mr Chawleigh’s shoulder for a moment. One of Mr Chawleigh’s own, ham-like hands came up to pat it clumsily. ‘You’re a kind lad,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’ll take another glass of wine, for I need something to pluck me up!’

  He did not again allow his anxiety to get the better of him, though he paced up and down the floor a good deal, until, as the evening wore slowly on, he perceived that Adam was looking very haggard, and realized that there was one thing at least which he could do. He remembered that Adam had shaken his head at every dish offered him at the dinner-table, and went plunging off in search of Dunster, returning presently with a plate of sandwiches, which he bullied Adam into eating. He then applied himself to the task of convincing him that there was no need to get in a stew, because it stood to reason Dr Tilford wouldn’t have shabbed off home if Jenny wasn’t going on promisingly.

  Just before midnight the Dowager entered the library, with a swathed bundle in her arms, which she held out to Adam, saying in thrilling accents that showed clearly whence Lydia derived her histrionic talent: ‘Lynton! I have brought your son to you!’

  He had sprung up at the opening of the door, but he did not attempt to take the infant, which was just as well, since the Dowager had no real intention of entrusting so precious a burden to his inexpert handling. ‘Jenny?’ he said sharply.

  ‘Quite comfortable!’ replied the Dowager. ‘Sadly exhausted, poor little thing, but Dr Purley assures me that we have no need to feel alarm. I must tell you that you are very much obliged to him, my dear Adam: most skilled! So gentlemanlike, too!’

  ‘May I see her?’ Adam interrupted.

  ‘Yes, for a very few minutes.’

  He went towards the door, but was checked. ‘Dearest!’ said his mother, in pained reproof. ‘Have you no thought to spare for your son?’

  He turned back. ‘Yes – of course! Let me see him, Mama!’

  ‘The most beautiful little boy!’ she said fondly.

  He thought he had never seen anything less beautiful than the red and crumpled countenance of his son, and for a moment suspected her of irony. Fortunately, since he could think of nothing whatsoever to say, Mr Chawleigh, who had been obliged to blow his nose for the second time that day, now surged forward, wreathed in smiles, and diverted the Dowager’s attention from her son’s deplorable want of enthusiasm by tickling the infant’s cheek with the tip of an enormous finger, and uttering sounds which put Adam in mind of one calling hens to be fed.

  ‘Eh, the young rascal!’ said Mr Chawleigh, apparently delighted by the infant’s lack of response. ‘So you won’t take notice of your granddad! Top-lofty, ain’t you?’ He looked at Adam, and chuckled. ‘Pluck up, lad!’ he advised him. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but never you fear! Lor’, when I first clapped eyes on my Jenny I pretty near suffered a palsy-stroke!’

  Adam laughed, but said: ‘I must own I don’t think him beautiful! How tiny he is! Is he – is he healthy, Mama?’

  ‘Tiny?’ repeated the Dowager incredulously. ‘He is a splendid little fellow! Aren’t you, my precious?’

  Mr Chawleigh winked at Adam, and jerked his thumb towards the door. ‘You go on up to Jenny!’ he said. ‘My dear love to her – and don’t go putting it into her head she’s got a sickly baby, mind!’

  Only too glad to escape from the besotted grandparents, Adam slipped out of the room, to find that he had to run the gauntlet of his household, all lying in wait to felicitate him.

  He entered Jenny’s room very quietly, and paused for a moment, looking across at her. He saw how white she was, and how wearily she smiled at him. Pity stirred in him, and with it tenderness. He crossed the room, and bent over her, kissing her, and saying softly: ‘My poor dear! Better now, Jenny?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ she said in the thread of a voice. ‘Just so very tired. But it is a son, Adam!’

  ‘A very fine son,’ he agreed. ‘Clever Jenny!’

  She laughed weakly, but her eyes searched his face. ‘Are you pleased?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘Very pleased.’

  She gave a little relieved sigh. ‘Your mama says he’s like your brother. Would you like to have him christened Stephen?’

  ‘No, not at all. We’ll have him christened Giles, after my grandfather, and Jonathan, after his,’ he replied.

  Her eyes lit up. ‘Do you mean that? Thank you! Papa will be so pleased and proud! You’ll give him my love, won’t you, and tell him that I am very well.’

  ‘I will. He sent his love to you – his dear love. I left him making the most peculiar noises to his grandson, who treated them with utter contempt – very understandably, I thought!’

  That made her laugh so much that Nurse, who had tactfully joined Martha at the far end of the room, brought Adam’s visit to an end, informing him in a voice that in no way matched the respectful curtsy she dropped, that my lady must go to sleep now, and would be glad to see him in the morning.

  Twenty-three

  When Mr Chawleigh learned from Jenny that his name was to be bestowed upon his grandson, and at Adam’s suggestion, he was more than pleased: he was overcome. It was several moments before he was able to utter a word. He sat staring at Jenny, his hands on his knees; and when he did at last speak all he could find to say was: ‘Giles Jonathan Deveril! Giles-Jonathan-Deveril!’

  Nor was this by any means the last time he uttered the names. Every now and then a look of profound satisfaction was seen to spread over his face; his lips would move; he would rub his hands together, and give a little chuckle; and all who observed these signs knew that he was savouring his grandson’s names yet again. He was embarrassingly grateful to Adam, telling him that he hadn’t looked to have such a compliment paid him, and assuring him that he meant to do the handsome thing by the boy. Adam had learned to hear such remarks without wincing; but he soon grew extremely bored by the next manifestation of Mr Chawleigh’s pride in his grandson. The discovery that the infant had no title was a disappointment that seemed likely to bring a lasting cloud to his horizon, nor was his dissatisfaction eased when Adam, rather amused, told him that when he had occasion to write to Giles he would be able to direct his letter to the Honourable Giles Deveril. Mr Chawleigh had a poor opinion of Honourables. He had seen the word written, but he regarded it with suspicion, because he had never heard anyone called by it.

  ‘No, you wouldn’t. It isn’t used in speech,’ said Adam.

  ‘Well, I don’t see the sense of having a title which ain’t used,’ said Mr Chawleigh. ‘Shabby, I call it! Who’s to know he’s got it?’

  ‘I don’t know – and, speaking as one who held the title until very recently, I promise you Giles won’t care!’

  ‘I’d have liked him to have been a lord,’ said Mr Chawleigh wistfull