The Nonesuch

“I had as lief you did not,” she said. “And liefer by far that we should tell no one at Oversett, except Mrs Underhill (whom I hope to heaven I can pledge to secrecy!), of our intentions. Think me foolish if you will, but I don’t feel I could bear it! It will be so very much disliked, you know, and—well, I need not tell you what things will be said by certain ladies of our acquaintance! Then there is Tiffany. Waldo, she mustn’t know until she has recovered a little from Lindeth’s engagement! It would be too cruel—when you encouraged the poor child by flirting with her! Besides, I shudder to think of what life at Staples would be if she knew that you had preferred me to her! We should all of us be driven distracted. I must give Mrs Underhill time to fill my post—don’t ask me to leave her in the lurch, for I couldn’t do it: I have had nothing but kindness from her, remember! But as soon as she has done so I’ll go home to Derbyshire, and we may meet there. Oh, how much I long to make you known to Mama and William! But as for escorts—! My dear, how can you be so absurd as to suppose that at my age I should need one? The journey will be nothing—no more than fifty miles! I have only to go by the stage to Mansfield, and from there—”

“You will not go by the stage anywhere at all,” said Sir Waldo. “I’ll send my chaise to fetch you, with my own boys, of course.”

“To be sure!” she said instantly. “Outriders, and a courier too, I hope! Now, do, do be sensible, my dear sir!”

They were still arguing the matter when they reached the King’s Head. Leaving the Nonesuch in the stableyard, Miss Trent walked into the inn. She had on several occasions refreshed there with Mrs Underhill, and the first person she encountered was an elderly waiter who was well-known to her. Greeting him with a smile, and speaking with studied coolness, she said: “Good-day to you, John! Are Miss Wield and Mr Calver still here, or have they given me up in despair? I should have been here long since, but was most tiresomely delayed. I hope they may not have left?”

Even as she said it she became aware of tension, and of curious glances cast in her direction, and her heart sank. The waiter coughed in obvious embarrassment, and replied: “No, ma’am. Oh, no, they haven’t left! The gentleman is in one of the parlours—the same one as you was in yourself, ma’am, when you partook of a nuncheon here the other day.”

“And Miss Wield?”

“Well, no, ma’am! Miss is in the best bedchamber—being as she is a trifle out of sorts, and the mistress not knowing what else to do but to persuade her to lay down on the bed, with the blinds drawn, till she was more composed, as you might say. Very vapourish, she was—but the mistress will tell you, ma’am!”

Sir Waldo, entering the house at that moment, encountered an anguished look from Miss Trent, and said: “What’s amiss?”

“I couldn’t take it upon myself to say, sir,” responded the waiter, casting down his eyes. “But the gentleman, sir, is in the parlour, the mistress having put some sticking-plaster over the cut, and one of the under-waiters carrying a bottle of cognac up to him—the best cognac, sir!—the gentleman, as I understand, having sustained an accident—in a manner of speaking!”

“We will go up to him!” said Miss Trent hastily.

“Sinister!” observed Sir Waldo, following her up the narrow stairs. “Where, by the way, is the heroine of this piece?”

“Laid down upon the bed in the best bedchamber,” replied Miss Trent, “with the landlady in attendance!”

“Worse and worse! Do you suppose that she stabbed poor Laurie with a carving-knife?”

“Heaven knows! It is quite appalling—and no laughing matter, let me tell you! Mrs Underhill is very well known here, and it is perfectly obvious to me that that atrocious girl has created a dreadful scandal! The one thing I was hopeful of avoiding! Whatever you do, Waldo, don’t let her suspect that you regard me even with tolerance!”

“Have no fear! I will treat you with civil indifference!” he promised. “I wonder what she did do to Laurie?”

He was soon to learn the answer to this. Mr Calver was discovered in the parlour, reclining on a sofa of antiquated and uncomfortable design, a strip of sticking-plaster adorning his brow, his beautifully curled locks sadly dishevelled, a glass in his hand, and a bottle of the King’s Head’s best cognac standing on the floor beside him. As she stepped over the threshold, Miss Trent trod on splinters of glass, and on the table in the centre of the room was an elegant timepiece, in a slightly battered condition. Miss Wield had not stabbed Mr Calver: she had thrown the clock at his head.

“Snatched it off the mantelpiece and dashed well hurled it at me!” said Laurence.

The Nonesuch shook his head. “You must have tried to dodge it,” he said. “Really, Laurie, how could you be such a cawker? If you had but stood still it would have missed you by several feet!”