The Nonesuch Read online

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ replied Sir Waldo, rather absently.

  ‘Do pay attention!’ begged Julian. ‘From Staples! Isn’t that the place with the wrought-iron gates, beyond the village? They must have called, but I can’t find any card!’

  ‘Presumably they haven’t called, then.’

  ‘No, but – Of course, the name might not be Wield: she spoke of her aunt, and I suppose – But there’s no card bearing that direction that I can find!’

  Sir Waldo looked up at this, a laugh in his eye. ‘Oho! She ?’

  ‘Oh, Waldo, I’ve met the most ravishing girl!’ disclosed his lordship. ‘Now, think! Who lives at Staples?’

  ‘Miss Wield, I collect.’

  ‘Yes, but – Oh, don’t be so provoking! Surely you must know who owns the place.’

  ‘I can see not the smallest reason why I must know – and I don’t.’

  ‘I wish you may not have lost the card! You would suppose her uncle must have called, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Well, I haven’t so far given the matter any consideration,’ said Sir Waldo apologetically. ‘Perhaps he doesn’t approve of me?’

  Julian stared at him. ‘Nonsense! Why shouldn’t he?’

  ‘I can’t imagine.’

  ‘No, nor anyone else! Do stop talking slum, and try to be serious!’

  ‘I am serious!’ protested Sir Waldo. ‘Quite perturbed, in fact! I have sustained an introduction to someone who, unless I am much mistaken, does disapprove of me.’

  ‘Who?’ demanded Julian.

  ‘A female whose name I can’t recall. A remarkably good-looking one, too,’ he added reflectively. ‘And not just in the common style, either.’

  ‘She sounds a maggoty creature to me!’ said Julian frankly. ‘Not but what I think you’re shamming it! Why should she disapprove of you?’

  ‘I rather fear, my fatal addiction to sport.’

  ‘What a ninnyhammer! No, but, Waldo, do think! Are you perfectly sure no one from Staples has been here?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge. Which leaves us quite at a stand, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Well, it does – except that she may be at the party. She didn’t precisely say so, but – Lord, what a fortunate thing it was that we stayed with the Arkendales on our way here! I might not else have brought my evening rig with me!’

  This ingenuous observation made Sir Waldo’s lips twitch, for Julian’s reception of the news that his journey north was to be broken by a visit to the home of one of the highest sticklers in the country would not have led anyone to foresee that he would presently think himself fortunate to have undergone a stay which he had stigmatized as an intolerable bore. Similarly, when he knew that he had been included in Mrs Mickleby’s invitation to Waldo he had denied any expectation of enjoyment, saying that if he had guessed that he had fled from the London scene only to be plunged into a succession of country dinner-parties he would not have accompanied his cousin.

  But all such unsociable ideas were now at an end; it was not he but Sir Waldo who deplored the necessity of attending a dinner-party on a wet evening: Julian had no doubt of its being a delightful party; and as for the ancient vehicle brought round from the coach-house for their conveyance, he told his cousin, who was eyeing it with fastidious dislike, that he was a great deal too nice, and would find it perfectly comfortable.

  Miss Wield would have been pleased, though not at all surprised, to have known how eagerly his lordship looked forward to meeting her at the Manor, and how disappointed he was not to see her there; but if she had been an invisible spectator she would not have guessed from his demeanour that he was at all disappointed. He was far too polite to betray himself; and of too cheerful and friendly a disposition to show the least want of cordiality. It was a great shame that his ravishing girl was absent; but he had discovered her aunt’s name, and had formed various plans for putting himself in this lady’s way. Meanwhile, there were several pretty girls to be seen, and he was perfectly ready to make himself agreeable to them.

  A quick survey of the drawing-room was enough to inform Sir Waldo that the beautiful Miss Wield was not present. Miss Chartley and Miss Colebatch were the best-looking ladies, the one angelically fair, the other a handsome redhead, but neither corresponded to the lyrical description Julian had given him of Miss Wield’s surpassing beauty. He glanced towards Julian, and was amused to see that he was being very well entertained amongst the younger members of the party. He was not surprised, for he had not taken Julian’s raptures very seriously: Julian had begun to develop an interest in the fair sex, but he was still at the experimental stage, and during the past year had discovered at least half-a-dozen goddesses worthy of his enthusiastic admiration. His cousin saw no need to feel any apprehension: Julian was enjoying the flirtations proper to his calf-time, and was some way yet from forming a lasting passion.

  For himself, Sir Waldo was resigned to an evening’s boredom, denied even the amusement of pursuing his acquaintance with the lady who disapproved of him. He had looked in vain for her, and was conscious of disappointment. He could not recall her name, but he did remember that he had been attracted by her air of cool distinction, and the smile which leaped so suddenly into her eyes. She was intelligent, too, and had a sense of humour: a rare thing, he thought, amongst females. He would have liked to have known her better, and had looked forward to meeting her again. But she was not present, and he was provided instead with a number of middle-aged persons, as dull as they were worthy, and with a sprinkling of boys and girls. Amongst the girls, he awarded the palm to Miss Chartley, with whom he exchanged a few words. He liked, as much as the sweetness of her expression, the unaffected manners which, in spite of a not unbecoming shyness, enabled her to respond to his greeting without blushing, nervously giggling, or assuming a worldly air to impress him. As for the boys, he would have had to be extremely dull-witted not to have realized, within a very few moments of entering the room, that most of them were taking in every detail of his dress, and, while too bashful to put themselves forward, were hoping that before the evening was out they would be able to boast of having talked to the Nonesuch. He was well-accustomed to being the object of any aspiring young sportsman’s hero-worship, but he neither sought nor valued such adulation. Mr Underhill, Mr Arthur Mickleby, Mr Jack Banningham, and Mr Gregory Ash, bowing deeply, and uttering reverently Sir! and Honoured! would have been stunned to know that the only young gentleman to engage Sir Waldo’s amused interest was Humphrey Colebatch, a redheaded youth (like his sister), afflicted with an appalling stutter. Presented by his fond father somewhat dauntingly as this silly chub of mine, and further stigmatized by the rider: not of your cut, I’m sorry to say! he had disclosed, in the explosive manner of those suffering an impediment of speech, that he was not interested in sport.

  ‘He’s bookish,’ explained Sir Ralph, torn between pride in his son’s scholastic attainments and the horrid fear that he had fathered a miscreature. ‘Worst seat in the county! But there! No accounting for tastes, eh? Take my daughter, Lizzie! Never opened a book in her life, but rides with a light hand and an easy bit, and handles the reins in form.’

  ‘Does she?’ Sir Waldo said politely. He smiled encouragingly at Humphrey. ‘Oxford?’

  ‘Cam-Cam-Cambridge!’ He added, after a brief struggle: ‘M-Magdalene. J-just d-down. Th-third year.’

  ‘Magdalene! So was I – Magdalen, Oxford, though. What do you mean to do next?’

  ‘G-go up for a fourth year!’ replied Humphrey doggedly, and with a challenging look at his father.

  ‘Fellowship?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I hope !’

  But at this point Sir Ralph intervened, testily adjuring him not to keep boring on about his affairs; so he bowed awkwardly to Sir Waldo, and walked away. Upon which Sir Ralph said that scholarship was all very well in its way, but that if he had guessed that