Джорджетт Хейер - Lady of Quality

The elegant travelling carriage which bore Miss Wychwood from her birthplace, on the border of Somerset and Wiltshire, to her home in Bath, proceeded on its way at a decorous pace. This was dictated by her coachman, an elderly autocrat, who, having known her from the day of her birth, almost thirty years before, drove her at the pace he considered proper, and turned a deaf ear to her requests to him to “put ’em along!” If she didn’t know what was due to her consequence, as Miss Wychwood of Twynham Park, he did; and even if she was an old maid—in fact, almost an ape-leader, though he would never call her one, and had turned off the impudent stable-boy who had dared to do so, after giving him a rare box on the ear—he knew very well how his late master would have wished his only daughter to be driven about the country. He had a pretty good idea, too, of what Sir Thomas would have felt had he known that Miss Wychwood had set up her own establishment in Bath, a few months after his death, with only a squinny old Tough to lend her countenance. A mean bit, Miss Farlow, if ever he saw one: more like a skinned rabbit than a woman, and a regular gabble-grinder into the bargain. It was a marvel to him that Miss Wychwood was able to endure her bibble-babble, for she wasn’t short of a sheet, not by any means she wasn’t!

The lady thus stigmatized was seated beside Miss Wychwood in the carriage, beguiling the tedium of the journey with a stream of small talk. She was of uncertain age, but it was unkind to describe her as an old Tough; and although she was certainly very thin it was unjust to liken her to a skinned rabbit. She was a distant relation of Miss Wychwood, left by an improvident parent in indigent circumstances; and when she had received a visit from Sir Geoffrey Wychwood, and had grasped that she owed this unprecedented honour to his urgent wish to procure her services as chaperon to his sister she had seen in his unromantically stout person a Paladin sent by Providence to rescue her from a drab lodging, mean fare, and the constant dread of finding herself in debt. She was not to know that her prospective charge had fought strenuously against having her, or any other female, foisted on to her; but when she had presented herself at Twynham Park, nervously clutching her old fashioned reticule, desperately anxious to please, and staring up into Miss Wychwood’s face with frightened, pleading eyes, Miss Wychwood’s heart had overcome her judgment, and she had had no other thought than to make the poor little creature welcome. Lady Wychwood, quite unable to picture meek little Miss Farlow as a companion, and far less as a chaperon, to the lively Miss Wychwood, took the earliest opportunity that offered to beg her sister-in-law not to accept Miss Farlow’s services without careful consideration. “I am persuaded, dearest, that you will find her a dreadful bore!” she said earnestly.

“Yes, very likely, but I should find any chaperon a dreadful bore,” said Annis. “So, if I must have a chaperon—not that I see the least need of one, at my age!—I’d as lief have her as any other. At least she won’t try to rule my house, or to dictate to me! Besides, I’m sorry for her!” She laughed suddenly, perceiving the doubtful look in Lady Wychwood’s mild blue eyes. “Ah, you are afraid she won’t exercise any control over me! You are perfectly right: she won’t! But nor would anyone else, you know.”

“But, Annis, Geoffrey says—”

“I know exactly what Geoffrey says,” interrupted Annis. “I’ve known what he would say any time these twenty years, and I find him far more of a bore than poor Maria Farlow. No, no, don’t try to look shocked! I daresay no one knows better than you that he and I cannot deal together. The only time when we have been in perfect agreement was when he assured me that I should love his wife!”

“Oh, Annis!” protested Lady Wychwood, blushing, and turning away her head. “You shouldn’t say such things! Besides, I can’t believe you mean it, when you won’t continue living with me!”

“What a rapper!” commented Annis, the laughter still dancing in her eyes. “I could live happily with you for the rest of my days, as well you know! It’s my very worthy, starched-up, and consequential brother with whom I can’t and won’t live. Yes, isn’t it unnatural of me?”

“So sad! ”mourned her ladyship.

“Oh, no, why? You would have cause to say so if I did remain here. You must surely own that life would be very much more peaceful without me provoking Geoffrey a dozen times a day!”

Lady Wychwood did not deny this, but she sighed and said: “But you are far too young to be setting up your own establishment, dearest! I quite agree with dear Geoffrey about that!”

“You always do agree with him, Amabel: indeed, you are the perfect wife for him!” interjected Annis irrepressibly.

“I am sure I’m no such thing, though I do try to be. And as for agreeing with him, gentlemen are so much wiser than we are, and so much better able to judge of—of worldly matters—don’t you think?”

“Emphatically, No!”

“But indeed Geoffrey is right when he says it will present a very odd appearance if you go to live in Bath all by yourself!”

“Well, I shan’t be all by myself, for I shall have Maria Farlow with me.”

“Annis, I cannot persuade myself that she is the right person for you!”

“No, but the beauty of it is that having chosen her, and foisted her on to me, Geoffrey will never acknowledge that he was in error. Depend upon it, he will soon be discovering all manner of virtues in her, and telling you that her meek disposition will have an excellent influence over me.”

Since Sir Geoffrey had already said something very like this to her, Lady Wychwood was obliged to laugh; but she shook her head as well, and said: “It’s all very well for you to turn everything to a joke, but it won’t be funny for Geoffrey—or for me either!—when we have people thinking that you left home because we were unkind to you!”

“My dear, they won’t think any such thing when they see that we are on terms of perfect amity. I hope you don’t mean to cut my acquaintance? I expect to entertain you frequently in Camden Place, and give you fair warning that I shall always look on Twynham as my second home, and am likely to descend upon you without ceremony for long visits. You will be wishing me at Jericho, I daresay!” She saw that Lady Wychwood was looking melancholy still, and went to sit beside her, taking her hand, and saying: “Try to understand, Amabel! It isn’t only because Geoffrey and I rub against one another that I am going to set up a home for myself. I want—I want a life of my own!”

“Oh, I do understand that!” said Lady Wychwood, in quick sympathy. “From the moment I set eyes on you I have felt that it was positively wicked that such a lovely girl as you should be wasting her life! If only you would accept Lord Beckenham’s offer, or Mr Kilbride’s—well, no, perhaps not his! Geoffrey says he’s a here-and-thereian, and a gamester, and I suppose that would hardly do for you, though I must confess that I thought he was excessively charming! Well, if you couldn’t like Beckenham, what did you find to dislike in young Gaydon? Or—”

“Stop, stop!” begged Annis laughingly. “I found nothing to dislike in any of them, but I couldn’t discover in myself the smallest wish to marry any of them either. Indeed, I haven’t any wish to marry anyone at all.”

“But, Annis, every woman must wish to be married!” cried Lady Wychwood, quite shocked.