Sprig Muslin

‘No, I won’t betray your confidence, except, I think, to Lady Hester. When you have met her, you won’t, I fancy, object to her knowing the truth. I shall desire her not to divulge it to her father, or – if they should happen to be at Brancaster – to her brother and his wife.’

She was quick to catch a certain inflexion in his voice, and lifted her eyes to his profile, saying: ‘I can tell you don’t like them above half, sir. Are they horrid?’

He smiled. ‘No, not horrid. I daresay very worthy p

eople, but it so happens that they are not particular friends of mine.’

‘Oh! Is Lord Brancaster a particular friend of yours, sir?’

‘Well, he is considerably older than I am,’ he temporized.

She digested this, enquiring presently: ‘Is Lady Hester a particular friend of yours, then?’

‘Why, yes! She and I have been good friends for many years now.’

He was prepared for even more searching questions, but she relapsed into silence. After several minutes, he said: ‘I have been wondering what I should tell Brancaster, and the Widmores, and I am strongly of the opinion, Amanda, that you are the daughter of some acquaintances with whom I have been staying at Baldock. You are on your way to visit relations at – Oundle, perhaps – and from some cause or another I offered to take you with me as far as to Huntingdon, where these relations had engaged themselves to meet you. Unhappily, there must have been a misunderstanding, for no carriage awaited you there. Being pledged to present myself at Brancaster Park today, what was I to do? Why, take you along with me, to be sure, with the intention of conveying you to Oundle tomorrow! How does that suit your notion of a splendid story?’

‘It is quite untrue,’ she said primly.

‘I wonder why I should have thought that that would have recommended it to you?’ he murmured.

The only reply he got to this sally was a dagger-glance. He said, over his shoulder: ‘I trust you heard that, Trotton?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Well, don’t forget it!’

‘Pray have the goodness to inform me, sir,’ said Amanda, with awful civility, ‘where you have the intention of taking me tomorrow?’

‘I hope, to your grandfather.’

‘No!’

He shrugged. ‘As you wish.’

Intrigued, she demanded: ‘Where, then?’

‘That, my child, you will see, in good time.’

‘I believe you are at a stand!’ she challenged him.

‘Not a bit of it!’

Conversation languished after that, Amanda occupying herself for the remainder of the journey in turning over in her mind various plots for Sir Gareth’s discomfiture, and returning only monosyllabic replies to his occasional remarks.

They reached Brancaster Park as the shadows were beginning to lengthen, passing through impressive lodge-gates, and driving for some way up an avenue which had been allowed to deteriorate into something akin to a cart-track. The trees, growing rather too thickly beside it, rendered it both damp and gloomy; and when the pleasure gardens came into sight these too bore unmistakable signs of neglect. Amanda looked about her with disfavour; and, when her eyes alighted on the square, gray mansion, exclaimed: ‘Oh, I wish you had not brought me here! What an ugly, disagreeable house!’

‘If I could have thought of any other place for you, believe me, I wouldn’t have brought you here, Amanda!’ he said frankly. ‘For a more awkward situation I defy anyone to imagine!’

‘Well, if it seems so to you, set me down now, while there is still time!’ she urged.

‘No, I am determined not to let you escape me,’ he replied lightly. ‘I can only hope to be able to pass you off with some credit – though what the household will think of a young lady who travels with her belongings contained in a couple of bandboxes heaven only knows! I trust at least that we may not find the house full of guests. No, I fancy it won’t be.’

He was right, but his host, who did not scruple to exaggerate in moments of acute vexation, had been so describing it ever since the unwelcome arrival, earlier in the day, of the Honourable Fabian Theale.

Mr Theale was his lordship’s brother, and if he had been born with any other object than to embarrass his family, his lordship had yet to discover it. He was a bachelor, with erratic habits, expensive tastes, and pockets permanently to let. His character was volatile, his disposition amiable; and since he had a firm belief in benevolent Providence neither duns nor impending scandals had the power to ruffle his placidity. That it was first his father, and, later, his elder brother, who enacted the rôle of Providence troubled him not at all; and whenever the Earl swore that he had rescued him for the last time he made not the slightest effort either to placate his brother or to mend his extremely reprehensible ways, because he knew that while the Earl shared many of his tastes he had also a strong prejudice against open scandals, and could always be relied upon, whatever the exigencies of his own situation, to rescue one of his name from the bailiff’s clutches.

At no time was his lordship pleased to receive a visit from Mr Theale; when that florid and portly gentleman descended upon him on the very day appointed for Sir Gareth’s arrival he so far forgot himself as to say, in front of the butler, a footman, and Mr Theale’s own valet, that no one need trouble to carry the numerous valises upstairs, since he was not going to house his brother for as much as a night.