The Nonesuch

“Well. I hope to God it will be!” said Laurence, with another, and still more harried glance at the clock on the mantelshelf.

Chapter 17

Miss Trent, returning from a long, dull drive, which had afforded her far too much opportunity to indulge in melancholy reflection, reached Staples in a mood of deep depression. Relinquishing the reins to the monosyllabic groom who had accompanied her on the expedition, she descended from the gig, and rather wearily mounted the broad steps that led to; the imposing entrance to the house. The double-doors stood open to the summer sunshine, and she passed through them into the hall, pulling off her gloves, and hoping that she might be granted a respite before being obliged to devise some form of entertainment to keep her exacting charge tolerably well amused during an evening void of any outside attraction. She was momentarily blinded by the transition from bright sunlight to the comparative darkness of the hall, but her vision cleared all too soon; and a lowering presentiment assailed her that no period of repose awaited her. At the foot of the stairs, and engaged in close colloquy, were Mr Courtenay Underhill and Miss Maria Docklow, abigail to Miss Tiffany Wield. Both turned their heads quickly to see who had come into the house, and one glance was enough to confirm Miss Trent’s forebodings.

“Oh, dear!” she said, with a faint, rueful smile. “Now what’s amiss?”

“That damned resty, rackety, caper-witted cousin of mine—!” uttered Courtenay explosively. He saw Miss Trent’s delicate brows lift slightly, and reddened. “Oh—! Beg pardon, ma’am, but it’s enough to make anyone swear, by God it is!”

Miss Trent untied the strings of her straw bonnet, and removed it from her flattened locks. “Well, what has she done to vex you?” she asked, laying the bonnet down on the table.

“Vex me! She’s run off with that man-milliner, Calver!” declared Courtenay.

“Nonsense!” said Miss Trent, preserving her calm.

“Well, it ain’t nonsense! She’s been gone for three hours, let me tell you, and—”

“Has she? Some accident to the carriage, I daresay, or perhaps the horse has gone lame.”

“Worse, miss!” announced Miss Docklow, in sepulchral accents.

“Why, how can you know that?” Miss Trent asked, still undismayed.

“Ay! that’s what I said!” said Courtenay grimly.

“But,” interposed the abigail, determined to hold the centre of the stage, “‘if that, sir, is what you think,’ I said, ‘come upstairs, and see what I have seen, sir!’ I said.”

“And what did you see?” asked Miss Trent.

Miss Docklow clasped her hands to her spare bosom, and cast up her eyes. “It gave me a Spasm, miss, my constitution being what it is, though far be it from me to utter any word of complaint, which anyone acquainted with me will testify!”

“Oh, never mind that!” said Courtenay angrily. “There’s no need for you to put on those die-away airs: no one is blaming you!Tiffany has gone off with all her night-gear, and her trinket-box, ma’am!”

“Packed in the box where I had her best hat put away!” said Miss Cocklow. “The one she wore to Harrogate, miss; the Waterloo hat, ornamented with feathers! And her China blue pelisette,with the silk cords and tassels! And her riding-habit—the velvet habit, miss!—left on the floor! Never will it be the same again, do what I will!”

Startled at last, yet incredulous, Miss Trent hurried up the stairs, Miss Cocklow and Courtenay in her wake. She was brought up short on the threshold of Tiffany’s bedchamber, and stood blinking at a scene of the utmost disorder. It bore all the signs of a hasty packing, for drawers were pulled out, the wardrobe doors stood open, and garments had been tossed all over the room. “Good God!” said Miss Trent, stunned.

“Now,ma’am, perhaps you’ll believe me!” said Courtenay. “Pretty, ain’t it? Rare goings-on! Just one of dear little Tiffany’s whisky-frisky pranks, eh? By God, it’s past all endurance! It ain’t enough for her to set us all at odds: oh, no! nothing will do for her but to kick up the most infamous scandal—”

“Quiet!” begged Miss Trent. “I do beg of you—!”

“It’s all very well for you to say quiet,”retorted Courtenay savagely, “I’m thinking of my mother! And when I consider the way she’s cosseted that little viper, and pandered to her—”

“I perfectly understand your feelings,” interrupted Miss Trent, “but railing won’t mend matters!”

“Nothing can mend this matter!”

Looking round the disordered room, her spirit failed for a moment, and she was much inclined to agree with him. She pulled herself together, however, and said: “I can’t tell what may be the meaning of this, but I’m certain of one thing: she has not run off with Mr Calver.”

“That’s where you’re out, ma’am! She did go with him! He was seen waiting for her in that carriage he hired from the Crown.”

“True it is, miss, though I blush to say it! With his own eyes did Totton see him!”