Джорджетт Хейер: The Nonesuch

“Oh, I’ve never done more for Julian than send him a guinea under the seal, when he was a schoolboy!” said Sir Waldo, laughing.

“So I knew! Of course, you may say he was pretty well-breeched, but—”

“I shan’t say anything of the sort. I should have done no more for him whatever his circumstances might have been. By the time he went to Harrow I wasn’t such a cawker as I was when Laurie was a boy.” He paused, slightly frowning, and then said abruptly: “You know, George, when my father died, I was too young for my inheritance!”

“Well, I own we all thought so—made sure you’d play ducks and drakes with it!—but you never did so, and—”

“No, I did worse: I ruined Laurie.”

“Oh, come now, Waldo—” George protested, adding after a moment’s reflection: “Encouraged him to depend on you, you mean. I suppose you did—and I’m damned if I know why, for you never liked him above half, did you?”

“I didn’t. But when I was—what did he call it?— swimming in riches ,and my uncle was possessed of no more than an independence—besides being as big a screw as our cousin Joseph, and keeping Laurie devilish short—ft seemed so hard-fisted not to come to Laurie’s rescue!”

“Yes, I see,” said George slowly. “And having once begun to frank him you couldn’t stop.”

“I might have done so, but I didn’t. What, after all, did it signify to me? By the time I’d acquired enough sense to know what it signified to him,the mischief had been done.”

“Oh!” George turned this over in his mind. “Ay, very likely! But if you think the fault is yours, all I can say is that it ain’t like you to leave him to sink or swim now! What’s more, I don’t believe you would!”

“No, I was afraid he wouldn’t believe it either,” admitted Sir Waldo. “He seems to have done so, however, which makes me hopeful that the mischief has not gone beyond repair.”

George uttered a bark of sceptical laugher. “He’ll be gapped in some hell before the week’s out—and don’t tell me you’ve tied him up, because he ain’t such a bottlehead that he don’t know you’d never compel him to pay the forfeit!”

“I haven’t, but I paid his gaming debts only on his promise that he would incur no more of them.”

“His promise—! Good God, Waldo, you don’t depend on that, do you?”

“But I do, Laurie won’t go back on his word: witness his rage today, only because I’ve compelled him to pledge it!”

“Once a gamester always a gamester!”

“My dear George, Laurie is no more a gamester than I am!” replied Sir Waldo, amused. “All he wishes to do is to sport a figure in the world. Do believe that I know him much better than you do, and take that frown off your face!” He slipped his hand within his cousin’s arm, grasping it lightly. “Instead, tell me this, old chap! Do you want Broom Hall? Because, if you do—and you need not fly up into the boughs!—I hope you know you’ve only to—”

“I do not!” interrupted George, with unnecessary violence. “Merely because I said I thought it an odd start in Cousin Joseph to have left his property to you—By the bye, my aunt didn’t like it above half, did she?”

“No—most understandable! But I really can’t feel that Lindeth stands in the least need of Broom Hall.”

“Oh, lord, no!—any more than I do! Bless the boy, he never gave it a thought! You know, Waldo, it’s my belief he’s going to cut up all her hopes! Ever since he came down from Oxford she’s been trying to push him into the first style of fashion— and into an eligible marriage—and then, when there isn’t a ton party he ain’t invited to attend, what does he do but beg you to let him go with you into the wilds of Yorkshire! I promise you, I was hard put to it not to burst out laughing at the look in her face when young Julian said the Season was a dead bore! Mark me if she don’t prevent his going with you!”

“She won’t even make the attempt. She’s by far too fond of him to try to thrust him down any path he doesn’t wish to follow—and has too much commonsense as well. Poor Aunt Lindeth! I do most sincerely pity her! She was obliged to abandon her efforts to bring her husband into fashion, for he despised nothing more; and to discover now that Julian, who has all in his favour to blossom into a Pink of the Ton , is as bored by such stuff as ever his father was is really very hard.”

“I think the better of him for it,” declared George. “To own the truth, I always looked to see him trying to follow in your steps! Well, if she does let him go with you next week, take care he don’t fall into mischief—unless you have a fancy for getting your eyes scratched out!”

“None at all! Are you apprehensive that he will form an attachment to a milkmaid? Or set the countryside by the ears? You terrify me, George!”

“No, no!” George said, chuckling. “It’s you who will do that! Well, I don’t mean you’ll set ’em all by the ears precisely, but, lord, what a flutter there will be when they find the Nonesuch amongst ’em!”

“Oh, for God’s sake, George—!” said Sir Waldo, withdrawing his hand abruptly from his cousin’s arm. “Don’t talk such nonsense! If I were a betting man, I’d lay you odds against the chance that anyone at Oversett has ever heard of me!”

Neither prophecy hit the mark, but, in the event Mr Wingham came nearer to it than Sir Waldo. Broom Hall belonged to a country parish whose centre was the village of Oversett, situated in the West Riding, rather closer to Leeds than to Harrogate, and not above twenty miles from York; and although the majority of the Reverend John Chartley’s parishioners knew nothing about Sir Waldo, and several elderly gentlemen, such as Squire Mickleby, took very little interest in any member of the Corinthian set, amongst the ladies, and the younger gentlemen, a good deal of excitement was felt. No one was acquainted with Sir Waldo; but several ladies had at some time or another spent a few weeks in London, and had had him pointed out to them in the Park or at the Opera as one of the leaders of the ton ; and every budding young whip who prided himself on his light hands and the prime nature of his turn-out was torn between longing to see just how Sir Waldo did the trick and dread lest such an out-and-out top-sawyer should regard with contempt the efforts of his admirers to emulate his skill.

The first person to learn the news was the Rector, and it was his daughter who carried it to Staples, the most considerable house in the neighbourhood, where it was variously received. Mrs Underhill, who knew no more of Sir Waldo than the Rector’s most illiterate parishioner, but understood, from the awe in Miss Chartley’s face, that the news was remarkable, said, in a placid voice: “Fancy!” Miss Charlotte, a bouncing fifteen-year-old, looked for guidance at Miss Trent, her adolescent adoration of her young preceptress having led her to regard that lady as an authority on any subject which came under discussion; and Mrs Underhill’s niece, Miss Theophania Wield, fixed her large, suddenly sparkling eyes on Miss Chartley’s face, and uttered breathlessly: “Is it true? Coming to Broom Hall? Oh, you’re shamming it, Patience—I know you are!”

Miss Trent, though the announcement had caused her to look up from her stitchery, her brows raised in momentary surprise, resumed her work, volunteering no remark; but Mr Courtenay Underhill, who had lounged in to pay his respects to his mama’s visitor, exclaimed in the liveliest astonishment: “Sir Waldo Hawkridge? Old Calver’s heir? Good God! Mama, did you hear? Sir Waldo Hawkridge!”