Джорджетт Хейер: Lady of Quality

“Oh, no, not at all!” responded Lucilla sunnily. “They are very agreeable people and pay a most handsome rent, besides keeping the grounds in excellent order. I should be happy to live in Cheltenham if my aunt would but take me to the Assemblies, and the theatre—but she won’t, because she says I am too young, and it would be improper for me to go to balls and routs and drums until I have been regularly presented! But she doesn’t think me too young to be married! That,” she said, her eyes kindling wrathfully, “is why she took me to Chartley Place!” She paused, her bosom swelling with indignation. “Miss Wychwood!” she said explosively. “C—could you have conceived it possible that anyone could be so—so cockle-brained as to suppose that Ninian, having formed a strong attachment to another lady, would feel the least inclination to make me an offer? Or that I would be so obliging as to accept his offer? But they did!—all of them!” She stopped, deeply flushed, and it was a minute or two before she could overcome her agitation. She managed to do so, however, and continued, in a tight voice, saying: “I thought that if I consented to visit the Iverleys I could depend on Ninian to—to stand buff, even though he lacked the—the spunk to tell his father he didn’t wish to marry me if I wasn’t there to support him! I should have known better!”

Considerably astonished, Miss Wychwood asked: “But am I to understand that he told his father he was willing to offer for you? If that is so, isn’t it possible that—”

“It isn’t so!” said Lucilla flatly. “I don’t know what he said to Lord Iverley, but to me he said that it would be unwise to provoke a quarrel, and that the best thing would be for us to seem to be willing to become engaged, and to trust in providence to rescue us before the knot was tied between us. But I have no faith in providence, ma’am, and I felt as though—as though I was being tangled in a net! And the only thing I could think of to do was to run away. You see, there isn’t anyone I can appeal to since my uncle died—and I daresay he wouldn’t have been of much use, because he always let Aunt Clara have her own way in everything! He was a great dear, but not a man of resolution.”

Miss Wychwood blinked. “Is he dead, then? I beg your pardon, but I thought you said that your uncle would very likely come to find you, if he could be persuaded to bestir himself!”

Lucilla stared at her, and suddenly gave a crack of scornful laughter. “Not that uncle, ma’am! The other one!” she said.

“The other one? To be sure! How stupid I am to have supposed you only had one uncle! Do, pray, tell me about your horrid uncle, so that I shan’t become confused again! Was your amiable uncle his brother?”

“Oh, no! My Uncle Abel was Mama’s brother. My Uncle Oliver is a Carleton, and Papa’s elder brother—though only three years older!” said Lucilla, in further disparagement of Mr Oliver Carleton. “He and my Uncle Abel were appointed to be my guardians, but naturally they weren’t obliged to take care of me while Mama was alive, except for managing my fortune.”

“Have you a fortune?” asked Miss Wychwood, much impressed.

“Well, I think I have, because Aunt Clara is for ever telling me to beware of fortune-hunters, but it seems to me that it belongs to my Uncle Oliver, and not to me at all, because I am not allowed to spend it! He sends my allowance to Aunt Clara, and she only gives me pin-money, and when I wrote to tell him that I was old enough to buy dresses myself ,he sent me a disagreeable answer, refusing to alter the arrangement! Whenever I have appealed to him he always says that my aunt knows best, and I must do as she bids me! He is the most odiously selfish person in the world, and hasn’t a particle of affection for me. Only fancy, ma’am, he has an enormous house in London, and has never asked me to visit him! Not once! And when I suggested that he might like me to keep house for him he answered in the rudest way that he wouldn’t like it at all!”

“That was certainly uncivil, but perhaps he thought you rather too young to keep house. I collect he is not married?”

“Good gracious, no!” said Lucilla. “Which just shows you, doesn’t it?”

“I must own that he does sound very disagreeable,” admitted Annis.

“Yes, and what is more his manners are most disobliging—in fact, he is detestably top-lofty, never takes the least trouble to behave with civility to anyone, and—and treats one with the sort of stupid indifference which makes one long to hit him!”

Since it was obvious that she was fast working herself into a state of considerable agitation, it was perhaps fortunate that the entrance of Miss Farlow acted as an effectual stop to any further animadversions on the character of Mr Oliver Carleton. Miss Farlow’s demeanour informed her employer that she was deeply wounded, but determined to bear the slight cast upon her with Christian resignation. Nothing could have exceeded her civility to Lucilla, which was so punctilious as almost to crush that ebullient young lady; and the manner in which she listened to whatever Annis said, and instantly agreed with it, was so servile that an impartial observer might well have supposed her to be the slave of a tyrannical mistress. But just as Annis, exasperated beyond endurance by these tactics, was on the point of losing her temper, Mr Elmore was announced, creating a welcome diversion.

He was looking decidedly out of temper, and, with only a glowering glance at Lucilla, devoted himself to the task of apologizing to his hostess for presenting himself in topboots and breeches: a social solecism which plainly lacerated all his finer feelings. In vain did Miss Wychwood beg him not to give the matter a thought, and draw his attention to her own morning-dress: nothing would do for him but to explain the circumstances which had compelled him to appear before her looking, as he termed it, like a dashed shabrag. “Owing to the haste in which I was obliged to set out on the journey I had no time to pack up my gear, ma’am,” he said. “I can only beg your forgiveness for being so improperly dressed! And also for being, I fear, so late in coming here! I was detained by the necessity of providing myself with additional funds, what little blunt I had in my pockets having been exhausted by the time I reached Bath!”

“I knew it was wrong of me to have deserted you!” cried Lucilla remorsefully. “I am so very sorry, Ninian, but why didn’t you tell me you were brought to a standstill? I have plenty of money, and if only you had asked me for it I would have given you my purse!”

Revolted, Mr Elmore was understood to say that he was not, he thanked God, reduced to such straits as that. He had laid his watch on the shelf, which was bad enough, but better than breaking the shins of his childhood’s friend. These mysterious words left his listeners at a loss, so he was obliged to explain that he had pawned his watch, which he considered to be preferable to borrowing money from Lucilla. Miss Farlow said that such sentiments did him honour; but his childhood’s friend said roundly that it was just the sort of nonsensical notion he would take into his head; and Miss Wychwood was obliged to intervene hastily to prevent a lively quarrel between them. Miss Farlow, who, whatever her opinion might be of girls who ran away from their homes and insinuated themselves into the good graces of complete strangers, had (like many elderly spinsters) a soft spot for a personable young man, encouraged him to unburden himself of his several grievances, and lavished so much sympathy on him that by the time the dinner-bell was heard he was in a fair way to forgetting the humiliating experiences he had undergone, and was able to make a hearty meal, washed down with the excellent claret with which Sir Geoffrey kept his sister provided. At which point Miss Wychwood ventured to ask him whether he meant to remain in Bath, or to return to his anxious parents.