The Nonesuch

Miss Trent began to pull on her gloves. “I do recollect it,” she said, in a low voice. “I am very much obliged to you for your kindness in—in warning me, ma’am, but I beg you to believe that it was unnecessary! You have told me nothing that I haven’t told myself.” She rose. “I must go. I wish I might have been able to give you the assurance you want. I cannot—but I don’t think Sir Waldo would ever stand in the way of what he saw to be Lindeth’s happiness.”

“Thank you: I hope you may be right. Did you come in the gig? I’ll walk with you to the stables. By the bye, what has been the outcome of Mr Calver’s Harrogate scheme? I can picture your dismay! We heard of it from Lindeth, and from what he did not say I collect that Tiffany was sadly disappointed by her aunt’s refusal to countenance it!”

Ancilla laughed. “Not sadly, ma’am! Furiously! Lord Lindeth made good his escape when he saw the storm about to break. I fancy we shall hear no more of the scheme.”

“You must be thankful for it! A very rackety suggestion to have put forward! I daresay you will be glad to see the last of that young man.”

“Well, I own that I can’t like Mr Calver, but I should be doing him less than justice if I didn’t tell you that when he saw that Mrs Underhill disliked the scheme he let it drop immediately. I must say, too, that I have felt very much more cordial since he confessed to me that he had spoken without reflection, meaning only to divert Tiffany’s mind, and was sincerely sorry for it. He assured me I might depend upon him to discover a hundred reasons, if it should be necessary, why the scheme was ineligible! He was extremely civil—as, indeed, he has always been.”

They had reached the stables; and they parted on this lighter note. Mrs Chartley stayed only until Ancilla had stepped up into the gig, and then walked back to the house, along the garden-path. Ancilla drove out of the stable-gate, and turned into the village street. Before the cob had broken into a trot a phaeton, drawn by a team of chestnuts, swept round the bend immediately ahead. Knowing herself to be in full view of the Rectory, Miss Trent saw with dismay that Sir Waldo was checking his team, with the evident intention of pulling up alongside the gig. There seemed to be nothing to do but to follow suit, since to urge the cob into a trot at that moment would be so uncivil as to make Sir Waldo think that she was trying to avoid a meeting.

The next instant the phaeton had stopped beside the gig, driven up so close that if she had not known how expert was the driver she would have feared that the wheels would be locked; the groom had jumped down, and run to the wheelers’ heads; and Sir Waldo was raising his hat, and smiling at her. “How do you do, ma’am? I must have been born under a lucky star! A moment earlier, and I should have missed you. I have been thinking myself singularly unlucky for the past sennight, you know.”

She replied, as easily as she could: “So, too, has poor Charlotte. Are you on your way to Leeds?”

“Yes; have you any commissions for me?”

“No, I thank you, none. I must not detain you.”

“I have the impression that it’s I who am detaining you,” he said quizzically.

She smiled, but said: “Well, I certainly ought not to linger: I have been with Mrs Chartley, and stayed longer than I meant to. And you, I expect, have a great deal of business to attend to in Leeds.”

“Not so very much. I’m happy to say that I am nearing the end of it.”

“You must be heartily tired of it,” she agreed. “Have the builders finished their work?”

“No, not yet. I am having rather extensive alterations made.”

She laughed. “No need to tell me that, Sir Waldo! Your alterations are a matter of the greatest interest in the neighbourhood, I promise you!”

“Yes, so I’ve been told. Speculation is rife, is it? I should have known better than to suppose that no one would care a rush what I did with the house, for my own home is in the country. That’s the worst—and sometimes the best—of country life: intense interest in one’s neighbours!”

“Very true. And you, I would remind you, are an exceptionally interesting neighbour in these backward parts! Besides which, you have whetted curiosity by not choosing to disclose whether you mean to sell Broom Hall, or to keep it as a suitable house to stay in when the York Races are run. This reserve, sir, is felt to indicate that there is some mystery attached to your alterations, which you are afraid to make known!”

She spoke in a tone of raillery, and was surprised to see that although he smiled he looked rather rueful. “I think I am,” he admitted. “My purpose will be known, but I prefer that it should remain a secret while I remain in the district.”

She said: “I was only joking you! Not trying to pry into your concerns!”