Джорджетт Хейер - The Nonesuch

“Indeed, he said nothing more than you told me yourself!” she said earnestly. “Only that people would be bound to disapprove of the use to which you mean to put Broom Hall! He said nothing in your dispraise, I do assure you! In fact, he said that although one of your cousins thinks it not at all the thing to—to house children of that sort in a respectable neighbourhood—”

“George,” interpolated Sir Waldo. “Are you sure he didn’t refer to them as Waldo’s wretched brats ?”

“I believe he did,” she replied stiffly.

“You shouldn’t tamper with the text. Go on!”

She eyed his profile with hostility. “There is nothing more to say. I wished merely to make it plain to you that Lord Lindeth spoke of you with as much admiration as affection.”

“I daresay. Heaven preserve me from affectionate and admiring relations! Laurie couldn’t have served me a worse turn! So you won’t help me to set up schools for my wretched brats, Miss Trent?”

“ Schools ?” she repeated, startled.

“In course of time. Oh, don’t look so alarmed! Only one at the moment! Those of my brats who are established in Surrey are already provided for.”

Dazed, she demanded: “How many children have you?”

“I’m not perfectly sure. I think they numbered fifty when I left London, but there’s no saying that there may not be one or two more by now.”

“ Fifty ?”

“That’s all. I expect shortly to double the number, however,” he said affably.

Her eyes kindled. “I collect that you think it a joking matter, Sir Waldo! I do not!”

“I don’t think it anything of the sort. It is, in fact, one of the few matters which I take seriously.”

“But you cannot possibly have fif—” She broke off abruptly, her eyes widening. “Schools—wretched brats—carrying eccentricity too far—and only the Rector knew—! Oh, what a fool I’ve been!” she cried, between laughter and tears. “And Lindeth said, when we took that child to the infirmary, that you were the man we wanted in such a situation! But how could I guess that you were interested in orphans ?”

“Easier to think that I was a loose-screw, was it?” said Sir Waldo, who had once more halted his team. “Let me tell you, my girl, that I’m swallowing no more of your insults! And if I hear another word from you in disparagement of the Corinthian set it will be very much the worse for you!”

Since he palliated this severity by putting his arm round her she was undismayed. Overwhelming relief making her forgetful of the proprieties, she subsided thankfully into his embrace, clutching a fold of his driving-coat, and saying into his shoulder: “Oh, no, you never will! But I didn’t find it easy to believe! Only people said such things—and you talked of making a clean breast of it—and then Lindeth! Don’t scold me! If you knew how unhappy I’ve been—!”

“I do know. But what you don’t know is that if you don’t take your face out of my coat, and look at me, you will be still more unhappy!”

She gave a watery chuckle, and raised her head. The Nonesuch, his arm tightening round her, kissed her. The phaeton jerked forward, and back again, as Sir Waldo, who had transferred the reins to his whip-hand, brought his restive wheelers under control. Miss Trent, emerging somewhat breathlessly from his embrace, said, in shaken accents: “For goodness’ sake, take care! If I’m thrown into a ditch a second time I’ll never forgive you!”

“You must teach me sometime how to handle my cattle,” he said. “I imagine your lessons—Miss Educationist!—will bear a close resemblance to Laurie’s efforts to instruct Tiffany.”

“Good God! Tiffany!” she exclaimed. “I had quite forgotten her! Waldo, this is no time for dalliance—and it isn’t the place, either! What William would say if he knew—! You are an atrocious person! Since the day I met you I have become steadily more depraved. No, no, don’t! We must make haste to Leeds: you know we must! There’s no saying what Tiffany may do, if she becomes impatient.”

“To be honest with you,” said Sir Waldo, “I have very little interest in what she may do.”

“No, but I cannot cast her off so lightly. She was left to my guardianship, and if anything were to happen to her how dreadfully to blame I should be!”

“Yes, the sooner you’re rid of her the better. Is this fast enough for you, or do you wish me to spring ’em?”

“Oh, no! Not that I would venture to dictate to you, dear sir! Tell me about your orphanage! Lindeth said that you squandered a fortune on your wretched brats, and, indeed, I should think you must, if you mean to support a hundred of them. Is it for infants?”

“No, I don’t encroach on the Foundling Hospitals. Nor do I squander a fortune on my brats. Broom Hall, for instance, will be largely self-supporting; subsisting on rents, you know.”

She smiled. “Don’t think me impertinent!—But I am not wholly devoid of intelligence! What will it cost you to bring that estate into order?”

“No more than I can well afford!” he retorted. “Are you fearful of finding yourself in ebb-water if you marry me? You won’t! Lindeth misled you: only half my fortune is devoted to my favourite charity! My aunt Lindeth will inform you that the whole is indecent —if she doesn’t describe it in rather stronger terms, which, in moments of stress, she is prone to do.”

“My mind now being relieved of care, I wish you will tell me what prompted you to found an orphanage?”

He said reflectively: “I don’t know. Tradition, and upbringing, I suppose. My father, and my grandfather before him, were both considerable philanthropists; and my mother was used to be very friendly with Lady Spender—the one that died a couple of years ago, and was mad after educating the poor. So you may say that I grew up amongst charities! This was one that seemed to me more worth the doing than any other: collecting as many of the homeless waifs you may find in any city as I would, and rearing them to become respectable citizens. My cousin, George Wingham, swears they will all turn into hedge-birds, and, of course, we’ve had our failures, but not many. The important thing is to enter them to the right trades—and to take care they’re not bound to bad masters.” He stopped, and said, laughing: “What induced you to mount me on my pet hobby-horse? We have matters of more immediate importance to discuss than my wretched brats, my little educationist!—my mother, by the way, will welcome you with open arms, and will very likely egg you on to bully me into starting an asylum for female orphans: she’s got about a dozen of ’em already, down at Manifold. How soon may you leave Staples? I warn you, I don’t mean to wait on Mrs Underhill’s convenience, so if you’ve any notion of remaining there until Tiffany goes back to London—”

“I haven’t!” she interrupted. “Nor, I assure you, would Mrs Underhill ask it of me!”

“I’m happy to hear it. The devil of it is that I must leave with Julian, on Monday: I told the boy I would support his cause with my aunt, and I think I must. I should have wished to have postponed my departure until I could have escorted you to Derbyshire, but as things have fallen out I shall be obliged to leave you here until Julian’s affairs are settled, and one or two other matters as well. I’ll return as soon as I can, but—”

“I had as lief you did not,” she said. “And liefer by far that we should tell no one at Oversett, except Mrs Underhill (whom I hope to heaven I can pledge to secrecy!), of our intentions. Think me foolish if you will, but I don’t feel I could bear it! It will be so very much disliked, you know, and—well, I need not tell you what things will be said by certain ladies of our acquaintance! Then there is Tiffany. Waldo, she mustn’t know until she has recovered a little from Lindeth’s engagement! It would be too cruel—when you encouraged the poor child by flirting with her! Besides, I shudder to think of what life at Staples would be if she knew that you had preferred me to her! We should all of us be driven distracted. I must give Mrs Underhill time to fill my post—don’t ask me to leave her in the lurch, for I couldn’t do it: I have had nothing but kindness from her, remember! But as soon as she has done so I’ll go home to Derbyshire, and we may meet there. Oh, how much I long to make you known to Mama and William! But as for escorts —! My dear, how can you be so absurd as to suppose that at my age I should need one? The journey will be nothing—no more than fifty miles! I have only to go by the stage to Mansfield, and from there—”