The Nonesuch

Miss Trent closed her eyes for an anguished moment. “I see. How prudent of you to slip away, sir! Would that I could do so too! She will sulk for days!”

Chapter 12

That Tiffany refrained from sulking was due to Miss Trent, who waited only until they were alone in the room to utter words which provided her with food for reflection. She said cheerfully that she did not wonder at it that Tiffany was bored with her admirers, but that she thought she might have chosen a better way of being rid of them. Tiffany stared at her.

“Nothing, of course, makes a gentleman retire more quickly than a fit of the tantrums; but you should recollect that a reputation for being ill-tempered would be most prejudicial to your success. As for being rude and unkind to your aunt—indeed, Tiffany, I had not thought you such a wet-goose! What will become of you if you drive off all your admirers?”

“I d-don’t! I c-couldn’t!” Tiffany stammered.

“It can be done more easily than you know,” replied Ancilla. “You have accomplished it with Lord Lindeth; and, unless I am much mistaken, we shan’t see Arthur Mickleby at Staples for some time to come. Your aunt tells me that you spoke slightingly of his sisters. How stupid of you, Tiffany! and how dreadfully ill-bred! How came you to do such a thing?”

“I don’t care! I only said they were stuffy, and they are! And I don’t care a button for Arthur either! And I didn’t drive Lindeth off! I didn’t! He’s jealous, because his cousin is teaching me to drive! I have only to smile, at him—How dare you look like that? I tell you—”

“You will be wasting your breath,” interrupted Miss Trent. “Try to believe that I am rather more up to snuff than you! I am, you know. Don’t glare at me! When your aunt Burford engaged me to be your companion, she particularly desired me to teach you how to go on in society, and if I didn’t warn you that your conduct lately has been such as to give people a disgust of you, I should be failing in my duty.”

“Disgust! Of me?It’s not true!” Tiffany gasped, white with rage.

“If you will stop preening yourself on your beauty, and allow yourself the indulgence of a few moments’ reflection, I think you must realize that it is true,” responded Miss Trent. “Before you began to fancy yourself to be a Nonpareil beyond criticism you were used to take care not to fly into unbecoming rages when any stranger was present; but during these past weeks you have grown to be so puffed up in your own conceit that you seem to think you may go your unbridled length and still command everyone’s admiration. Well, you were never more mistaken! That is all I have to say to you—and I’ve said it only because I can’t reconcile it with my conscience not to warn you to mend your ways.”

She then opened a book, and apparently became so absorbed in it that the furious tirade directed at her did not cause her to betray by the flicker of an eyelid that she heard a word of it. Tiffany slammed out of the room, and was not seen again until she came down to dinner; but as she then seemed to be in her softest mood, even speaking affectionately to Charlotte, and politely to her aunt, Miss Trent was encouraged to suppose that her words had not failed of their intended effect. Towards her, Tiffany adopted a manner of frigid disdain, which had not abated by the following morning, when she refused every offer made by her companion to minister to her entertainment. So Miss Trent, unabashed, left her to her own devices, or (as she suspected) to the attentions of Mr Calver, and seized the opportunity to pay a call on Mrs Chartley, with a copy of the recipe for pickling white mushrooms tucked into her reticule. Charlotte was fretful, and would not go with her, so she went to the village alone, and, having delivered a large parcel at the Crown, to be picked up by the carrier, drove the gig into the Rectory stableyard.

She found Mrs Chartley in her morning-parlour, and received the usual kind welcome from her. Mrs Chartley thanked her for the recipe, enquired after Charlotte, and, when Ancilla would have taken her leave, begged her to sit down for a few minutes.

“I am very glad to see you, Miss Trent,” she said, “because I fancy you can perhaps answer a question which is teasing me a good deal.” She smiled. “Rather an odd question, you may think—but I know I may depend upon your discretion.”

“Certainly you may, ma’am.”

Mrs Chartley hesitated. “Yes. If I did not—Miss Trent, I find myself in a quandary! I daresay you are aware that Lord Lindeth is growing extremely particular in his attentions to Patience?”

“I wasn’t aware of it, ma’am. I have been constantly with Charlotte, you know. But I am not at all surprised. He always liked her, and I have frequently thought that he and Miss Chartley might have been made for one another. I hope you don’t dislike it? I have a great regard for Lord Lindeth—as far as I know him—and I believe him to be really worthy of Miss Chartley.”