Джорджетт Хейер - The Nonesuch

“About that, and a great many other things,” he interrupted, smiling reassuringly down at her. “Why didn’t you confess like a man, Lindeth? Afraid to give your head to Mrs Wedmore for washing, no doubt! Go away, and I’ll try what I can do to make your peace with her!”

“Oh, sir —!” protested Mrs Wedmore, much flustered. “As though I would think of such a thing! I was only wishful to explain to you—”

“Of course you were! It’s quite unnecessary, however. What I wish is that you will tell me what must be purchased to make this house habitable, and where it may be most quickly obtained.”

Mrs Wedmore could not remember when more welcome words had fallen on her ears. She gave a gasp, and said in a strangled voice that quite failed to conceal her emotions: “Yes, sir! I shall be most happy to—if you mean it, sir!” She read confirmation in his face, drew a deep breath, and launched into a catalogue of her more pressing needs.

The outcome of this interview would have vexed him very much, had he known of it; but as his staff at Manifold had always taken it for granted that whatever was needed in the house might instantly be ordered, and none of his neighbours considered anything less than the installation (by his mother) of the very newest and most revolutionary of closed kitchen-stoves to be worthy of interest, he had no idea that the carte blanche he gave the Wedmores would instantly become a topic for wonder and discussion in the district.

It was Mrs Underhill who brought the news back to Staples, after visiting the Rectory one day for a comfortable gossip with Mrs Chartley. Mrs Wedmore, of Broom Hall, and Mrs Honeywick, of the Rectory, were old cronies, and into her friend’s receptive ear had Mrs Wedmore poured forth every detail of a never-to-be-forgotten orgy of spending in Leeds.

“And let alone all the linen, and the china, and such, he’s got the builders at Broom Hall as well, looking to see what must be done to the roof, and inspecting every bit of timber in the house, so it looks as though he means to stay, doesn’t it, my dear?” said Mrs Underhill. Miss Trent agreed that it did.

“Yes, but on the other hand,” argued Mrs Underhill, “he told Wedmore he wouldn’t be entertaining guests, so he didn’t want any smart footmen hired. Well, of course, he is a single man, but you’d expect him to be inviting his friends to stay with him, wouldn’t you?”

Not having considered the matter, Miss Trent had formed no expectations, but again she agreed.

“Yes,” nodded Mrs Underhill. Her face clouded. “But there’s something I don’t like, Miss Trent—not above half I don’t! He’s got a lord with him!”

“Has he, indeed?” said Miss Trent, trying to preserve her countenance. “What sort of a—I mean, which lord, ma’am?”

“That I can’t tell you, for Mrs Honeywick couldn’t remember his name, so she wasn’t able to tell her mistress: only that he’s Sir Waldo’s cousin, and very young and handsome. Well! The Squire’s lady may be in high croak—which I don’t doubt she is, for, you know, my dear, she does think herself the pink of gentility—but for my part I had as lief we hadn’t got any handsome young lords strutting about the neighbourhood! Not that I don’t care for modish company. When Mr Underhill was alive we were for ever increasing our covers for guests, not to mention going to the Assemblies in Harrogate, and the York Races, and I’m sure if I’ve passed the time of day with one lord I’ve done so with a dozen. What’s more, my dear, for all the airs she gives herself, Mrs Mickleby won’t set such a dinner before this one as I shall, that you may depend on! Yes, and that puts me in mind of another thing! She’s sent out her dinner-cards, and not a word on mine about Tiffany! She told Mrs Chartley that she knew I shouldn’t wish her to invite Tiffany to a formal party, her not being, properly speaking, out yet. Well, if that’s what she thinks she’s never seen Tiffany in one of her tantrums! It isn’t, of course: she don’t want Tiffany to be there, shining down her daughters, and I can’t say I blame her, for a plainer pair of girls you’d be hard put to it to find!”

It was evident that she was torn between her hope of securing the heiress for her son, and a strong desire to out-do the Squire’s wife. Her intelligence was not of a high order, but she had a certain shrewdness which informed her that the graciousness of Mrs Mickleby’s manners was an expression not of civility but of condescension. Mrs Mickleby, in fact, was coming the great lady over her, and that (as she had once, in an expansive moment, told Miss Trent) was something she wouldn’t put up with, not if it was ever so! Mrs Mickleby might be related to persons of consequence, and she certainly was the Squire’s wife, but Staples was a far larger house than the Manor, and Mrs Underhill, however inferior her breeding, knew better than to employ a Female to cook for herself or her guests.

Miss Trent did not for a moment suppose that the issue was in doubt; so she was not surprised when Mrs Underhill launched immediately into a discussion on the number of persons to be invited to dinner; how many courses should be served; and whether or not the dinner should be followed by a dance. The question was, which would Sir Waldo prefer? What did Miss Trent think?

“I think that Sir Waldo’s preferences don’t signify, ma’am,” replied Ancilla frankly. “It is rather which would you prefer!”

“Well, if ever I thought to hear you say such a nonsensical thing!” exclaimed Mrs Underhill. “When the party’s to be given in his honour! Not that I should be consulting my own tastes however it might be, for you don’t give parties to please yourself—at least, I don’t!”

“No, indeed you don’t, ma’am!” Ancilla said affectionately. The smile which made her look younger, and decidedly mischievous, danced in her eyes. “In general, you give them to please Tiffany! You should not, you know.”

“Yes, it’s all very well to talk like that, my dear, but I’m sure it’s natural she should want a bit of gaiety, even though her Aunt Burford didn’t see fit to bring her out this year. What’s more, my dear—and I don’t scruple to own it, for well I know I can say what I choose to you, and no harm done!—if Tiffany was to find it too slow for her here there’s no saying but what she’d beg her uncle to fetch her away, which he would do, because it’s my belief he didn’t like sending her back to me above half—and no wonder!”

Ancilla hesitated for a moment; and then, raising her eyes to Mrs Underhill’s face, said, a little diffidently: “I understand you, ma’am—of course! but—but do you think that Mr Courtenay Underhill shows the least disposition to—to fix his interests with his cousin? And—could you be comfortable with her as your daughter-in-law?”

“No, but that’s no matter. It was the wish of both their fathers—and she’s young yet! I daresay she’ll grow to be more conformable,” said Mrs Underhill optimistically. Her mind reverted to the more immediate problem; after pondering deeply for a few moments, she said: “Twenty-four couples could stand up in my drawing-room, and very likely more, but the thing is there ain’tas many young persons in the district: not without I was to invite a set of company, like the Butterlaws, which I wouldn’t for my life do! It might be that Sir Waldo would as lief sit down to a rubber of whist, but then there’s this young lord of his! It has me quite in a worry to decide what to do for the best!”

“How would it be, ma’am, if you were to make no decision, but to leave it to chance? Then, if you thought your guests would like to get up a set or two, I can play the music for them.”