The Nonesuch

The interpolation was unheeded. “If you don’t take care,” continued Courtenay ruthlessly, “you’ll find yourself in the suds—and don’t think your precious beauty will save you, because it won’t! Lord, if ever I knew such a corkbrained wag-feather as you are! First you drove Lindeth off with your Turkish treatment, then it was Arthur, and to crown all you hadn’t even enough sense to keep your tongue about what happened in Leeds, when it was Patience that showed what a game one she is, not you! All you did was to scold like the vixen you are!”

“A game one?” Tiffany said, in a voice shaking with fury. “Patience? She’s nothing but a shameless show-off! I collect you had this from Ancilla! She positively dotes on dear, demure little Patience—exactly her notion of a well-brought-up girl!”

“Oh, no, I didn’t! Miss Trent never told us anything but that Patience had snatched some slum-brat from under the wheels of a carriage, with the greatest pluck and presence of mind! Nor did Lindeth! And as for Patience, she don’t talk about it at all! You did all the talking! You was afraid one of the others would describe the figure you cut, so you set it about that Patience had created an uproar just so that people should think she was a heroine, but that it was all a fudge: no danger to the brat or to herself!”

“Nor was there! If Ancilla says—”

“Wasn’t there? Well, now, coz, I’ll tell you something else! Ned Banningham was in York t’other day, staying with some friends, and who should be one of the people who came to the dinner-party but the fellow who nearly drove over Patience? I don’t recall his name, but I daresay you may. Very full of the accident he seems to have been! Told everyone what a trump Patience was, and how she didn’t make the least fuss or to-do, and what a stew he was in, thinking she was bound to be trampled on. Described you too. Jack wouldn’t tell me what he said, and I’d as lief he didn’t, because you are my cousin, and I ain’t fond of being put to the blush. But Ned told Jack, and of course Jack told Arthur, and then Greg got to hear of it—and that’s why you got the cold shoulder tonight! I daresay no one would have cared much if you’d said cutting things about Sophy Banningham, because she ain’t much liked; but the thing is that everyone likes Patience! What’s more, until you came back to Staples, and peacocked all over the neighbourhood, she and Lizzie were the prettiest girls here, and the most courted! So take care what you’re about, Beautiful Miss Wield!”

Chapter 16

By the time Miss Trent was at liberty to seek her own bed after that memorable party she was so much exhausted that she fell almost instantly into a deep, yet troubled sleep. The drive back to Staples had ended with Tiffany in floods of tears, which lasted for long after she had been supported upstairs to her bedchamber. Miss Trent, thrusting aside her own troubles, applied herself first to the task of soothing Tiffany, then to that of undressing her, and lastly to the far more difficult duty of trying to point out to her, while she was in a malleable condition, that however brutal Courtenay might have been he had spoken no more than the truth. Bathing Tiffany’s temples with Hungary Water, she did her best to mingle sympathy with her unpalatable advice. She thought that Tiffany was attending to her; and found herself pitying the girl. She was vain, and selfish, and unbelievably tiresome, but only a child, after all, and one who had been flattered and spoilt almost from the day of her birth. She had met with a severe check for the first time in her headlong career; it had shocked and frightened her; and perhaps, thought Miss Trent, softly drawing the curtains round her bed, she might profit by so painful a lesson.

She did not come down to breakfast, but when Miss Trent went to visit her she did not find her lying in a darkened room with a damp towel laid over her brow and smelling-salts clasped feebly in her hand, as had happened on a previous and hideous occasion, but sitting, up in bed, thoughtfully eating strawberries. She eyed Miss Trent somewhat defensively, but upon being bidden a cheerful good morning responded with perfect amiability.

“No letters yet from Bridlington,” said Miss Trent, “but Netley has just brought up a package from the lodge. I couldn’t conceive what it might be until I saw the label attached to it, for a more unwieldy parcel you can’t imagine! My dear, those idiotish silk merchants haven’t sent patterns, but a whole roll of silk! They must have misunderstood Mrs Underhill—and I only hope it may match the brocade! I shall have to take it to Mrs Tawton in the gig. Will you go with me? Do!”

“No, it will take hours,and I can’t, because I’ve made a plan of my own.”

“Well, that’s not very kind! Abandoning me to the company of James, who can never be persuaded to say anything but Yes, miss! and No, miss! What is this plan of yours?”