The Nonesuch

Upon the following day she was driven over to Colby Place in Mrs Underhill’s smart new barouche to enquire after Elizabeth. Charlotte had been her companion designate, but as soon as Tiffany heard of the scheme she said that it was exactly what she had been meaning to do herself, and very prettily begged Miss Trent to grant her a place in the carriage. Forthright Charlotte, who suffered from few illusions, instantly cried off, saying that she preferred to bear Mama company at home than to occupy the forward seat in the barouche. So Tiffany went with Miss Trent, looking a picture of lovely innocence in a gown of sprig muslin, and a charming hat of chip straw, tied under her chin with blue ribbons. A parasol protected her complexion from the sun; and upon the forward seat reposed a basket of grapes. These were an offering from Mrs Underhill, whose succession-houses were the envy of her acquaintances; but Miss Trent, labouring under even fewer illusions than Charlotte, would not have hazarded a groat against the chance that Tiffany would not present them as the fruits of her own solicitude. Any doubts she might have cherished were dispelled by that damsel’s disarmingly naive explanation.

“So no one could think I was unkind to poor Lizzie, could they? and also, Ancilla, I have invited Patience to go with us to Leeds on Friday, because she wants to purchase new gloves and sandals for the Colebatches’ ball next week, just as I do, and was in quite a puzzle to know how to manage, on account of Mrs Chartley’s being laid up with one of her colicky disorders!”

“That was kind of you, Tiffany!” said Miss Trent admiringly.

“Well, I think it was,” said Tiffany. “For there’s nothing so uncomfortable as having a third person in one’s carriage! It means you will be obliged to sit forward—But I knew you wouldn’t care a button!”

“No, indeed!” agreed Miss Trent, with great cordiality. “I am only too happy to be allowed to contribute my mite to your generosity.”

“Yes,” said Tiffany, sublimely unconscious of satire, “I was persuaded you would say I had done just as I ought!”

When they reached Colby Place they perceived that they were not the only visitors. A glossy phaeton, to which was harnessed a team once described by Courtenay as a bang-up set-out of blood and bone, was drawn up in the shade of a large elm tree. A groom in plain livery touched his hat to the ladies; and Tiffany exclaimed: “Oh, Sir Waldo is here!”

But it was not Sir Waldo, as they discovered when they entered the house, and found Lord Lindeth chatting to Lady Colebatch in her morning-parlour. He jumped up as they were ushered into the room, and when he saw Tiffany a warm light sprang to his eyes, and he said, in a low tone, as soon as she had greeted her hostess and turned to hold out her hand to him: “That’s right! I knew you would come!”

“But of course!” she said, opening her eyes to their widest. “Poor Lizzie! Is she better, Lady Colebatch? I have brought some grapes for her.”

Lady Colebatch, accepting the basket with thanks, replied placidly that there was nothing the matter with Lizzie that would not be amended by a day’s repose, and invited Tiffany to run upstairs to join Miss Chartley at her bedside.

“Patience? Why, what brings her here?” demanded Tiffany, astonished, and by no means pleased to discover that the Rector’s daughter had been before her in paying a visit of condolence.

Still less was she pleased when she learned that Patience, hearing the news of her friend’s collapse through the mysterious but inevitable village-channels, had set out to walk the three miles that separated Colby Place from the village, but had been overtaken by Lindeth, driving his cousin’s phaeton, and bent upon the same charitable errand. He had naturally taken her up beside him, which, said Lady Colebatch, with unruffled serenity, she was excessively relieved to know, because although she knew Patience to be an indefatigable walker it would have cast her into high fidgets to have thought of her having trudged so far in such warm weather.

Lindeth did not seem to have wasted his time during the short drive. Miss Chartley had chanced to mention the forthcoming shopping expedition to Leeds, and he had instantly proposed a capital plan to her, which he now propounded to Miss Trent. “I know my cousin has business in Leeds on Friday, so I am hereby issuing an invitation to you all to partake of a nuncheon at the King’s Head!” he said gaily. “Do say you will come, ma’am! I’ve extracted a promise from Miss Chartley that she will, if her mama should not object!”

“I see!” said Miss Trent, quizzing him. “She would object if I were not there to chaperon the party! My dear Lord Lindeth, how can I find the words to thank you for your very flattering invitation? I am quite overcome!”