The Eldest Son Part 27

"I'm sorry I did," said Humphrey. "But I hope you won't say anything to him about this. I'll take charge of them and see that they behave themselves."

"Then you'll have your work cut out for you," said the Squire grumpily.

"You'd better set about doing it at once. I wish to goodness I'd never consented to people like that coming into the house. I may be old-fashioned--I dare say I am--but I don't understand their ways, and I don't want to."

That had been the end of it as far as he was concerned.

If he could have heard what pa.s.sed between Lady Aldeburgh and Bobby Trench when deprived of their legitimate amus.e.m.e.nt--but that thought is too painful. What had happened further on that Sunday evening was that feeling vaguely the need of some sort of comfort in the anxieties that beset him he had suddenly taken it into his head to go to church to the evening service, a thing he hardly ever did, and striding with firm and audible steps into the chancel pew during the saying of the Psalms, he had found, as well as most of the ladies from the house and George Senhouse, a.s.sembled there, Humphrey and Susan Clinton sitting together, and had come to the conclusion, during the sermon, that it was creditable on Humphrey's part to have stopped the card-playing on his behalf, instead of joining in it, as might have been expected of him, and that he seemed to be turning over a new leaf, and was probably exercising a good influence over the harmless daughter of a foolish mother.

So he was pleased with Humphrey, but displeased with Lady Aldeburgh, who had shown herself perverse at the dinner-table and in the drawing-room afterwards, had refused to talk more than was necessary, and had gone up to her room on the stroke of ten; and furious with Bobby Trench, who had made no effort to disguise his yawns throughout the evening, and fallen openly asleep in the library after the ladies had retired.

As for Walter, he had talked to him very sensibly later still in the evening about d.i.c.k. "Don't do anything," he had said, "till I have seen him again. I don't know what can be done, or if anything can be done. But it's quite certain that if you threaten him you will drive him straight into doing what you don't want him to do." So he had consented to Walter acting as his amba.s.sador, and felt that he could rely on him in that capacity, and even take some comfort in the hope that he might do something to lighten the state of gloom and depression in which most of his waking hours were now pa.s.sed.

It was with a feeling of relief that he saw the whole party, with the exception of Sir Herbert Birkett, set out later in the evening on their ten-mile drive to Kemsale. It had been his intention to go with them, but the thought that Virginia, with whom he had seen Lord Meadshire colloguing, would almost certainly have received an invitation, and would no doubt eagerly have accepted it, deterred him. When his wife's carriage, containing herself, Lady Birkett, and Lady Aldeburgh, who would far rather have been with the younger members of the party, had driven off, and the omnibus, with the rest of them, had followed it, he breathed a sigh of relief. "To-morrow we shall be able to settle down again, thank G.o.d!" he said to himself as the door was shut behind him.

Kemsale Hall, towards which carriages from every country house in South Meadshire within driving distance, and motor-cars from far beyond, were converging, was a very fine place, and the ball which Lord Meadshire gave that evening was a very fine ball. Amongst the numerous guests, whose names were all chronicled in the _Bathgate Herald and South Meadshire Advertiser_, were Lady George Dubec and Miss Dexter.

Virginia had gone home from the Hunt Ball vowing that nothing would induce her to accept the invitation which Lady Kemsale had given her so patronisingly when it should be confirmed by the promised card, and Miss Dexter had backed her up in her own dry way, while professing to combat her resolution.

"I don't know what you can be thinking of, Virginia," she said.

"Refuse an invitation to a house like Kemsale--the house of a Marquis, a Lord-Lieutenant! Why, lots of women would commit hari-kari to-morrow--or at least the day after the ball--if they could get an invitation."

"Well, I'm not one of them," said Virginia. "To think that I would go anywhere on sufferance! Lord Meadshire's an old darling, but as for his daughter-in-law, I should very much like to tell her what I think of her."

The opportunity of doing so occurred no later than the following afternoon, when Lady Kemsale came to Blaythorn Rectory to call, but Virginia did not take it.

Lady Kemsale's manners were naturally stiff, but she did her best to soften them when she was shown into Virginia's drawing-room. "I thought I would come over before Monday," she said, with a smile, "so as to put everything on the most approved basis of etiquette. We don't often get new people in this part of the world, and when we do we must make haste to show that we appreciate them."

This was handsome enough, and it rather took Virginia's breath away.

When Lady Kemsale had been announced she had jumped to the conclusion that Lord Meadshire had sent her, which was true; but what was also true was that she had been quite pleased to come, and to have the opportunity of making amends for her frigidity at the Hunt Ball, which had been caused by the Squire's tale and thawed again by her own observations. When she drove away half an hour later Virginia said with a rare lapse into the American tongue, "Why, she's a perfectly lovely woman, after all, Toby. Now you can't say that I was wrong to say I'd go, after the way she behaved."

"Just a little soft-sawder, and you fall at her feet," said Miss Dexter. But she was pleased, all the same, that Virginia should be going to Kemsale, and that one more of d.i.c.k's people should have acknowledged her charm and her worth. She was pleased also to be going herself, for she had a little scheme of her own, which she had not imparted to her friend.

She had, in fact, made up her mind to speak to Mrs. Clinton, if she could find an excuse to do so, un.o.bserved by the Squire. She had watched her in the Bathgate a.s.sembly Room, and she had seen her in her turn watching Virginia with eyes whose meaning, whatever it was, was not one of hostility. "Now there's a woman with sense," she had said to herself. "_She_ wouldn't be tiresome. I wonder how much she is under the influence of her old bear of a husband?"

This was what she was going to find out, if she could, and she waited her opportunity, refusing invitations to dance, and wandering about the great string of rooms at Kemsale, stalking her prey, with a whole-hearted indifference as to what might be thought of a single lady so apparently friendless and partnerless.

It was Lord Meadshire himself, who, coming across her pa.s.sing through one of the smaller drawing-rooms, did what she wanted. "What! not dancing?" he asked in his friendly way; and with a searching glance at his kind old face she said, "I have something else to do. I want to speak to Mrs. Clinton, but I don't know her."

He looked at her in return with a momentary seriousness. "Want to gain a convert, eh?" he asked. He liked her plain sensible face, and the way she stood, square to him and to the world. "Tell me now, is this a serious business?"

She did not answer him directly. "She's one of the best women in the world," she said. "Perhaps I'm the only person who really knows what she's been through and how she has taken it. She has come out of her troubles pure gold. And anybody can see for themselves that she is beautiful and has a charm all her own."

"Oh yes, anybody can see that," said Lord Meadshire. "She's a sweet creature. And d.i.c.k Clinton wants to marry her. _He's_ serious, eh?"

"I think he has proved it," said Miss Dexter.

Lord Meadshire considered this. He had heard that d.i.c.k had retired from the army, but not about his having taken an estate agency. "I suppose he is," he said.

"They ought to know her," said Miss Dexter. "People ought not to hug prejudices that have no reason."

Lord Meadshire looked at her with his mischievous smile. "A matter of abstract right and wrong--what?" he said. "Well, come along, and I'll introduce you. But you must tell me your name, which I'm afraid I have forgotten, although I know quite well who you are, you know."

"Yes. I'm Lady George Dubec's companion, and my name is Dexter," she said.

Lord Meadshire loved a little conspiracy. His eyes twinkled at her as he said, "This dance is coming to an end, and people will be here in a minute. You would like to talk to her by yourselves. Go into the conservatory there, and leave it all to me."

So Miss Dexter went and deposited herself on one of two chairs under a palm. Couples in search of privacy wondered, sometimes audibly, why on earth the woman couldn't find some other place to sit and mope in, but she sat on undisturbed. A man whom she had danced with before, also unattached, mooned in with his hands in his pockets, and showed a disposition to take the vacant chair. "Please go away," she said. "I have got toothache, and anybody who talks to me will have his head snapped off," and he, being of a diffident nature, went. Presently the lilting sweep of strings and the sweet penetrating sound of horns came sweeping in from the distant orchestra, and she was left alone once more, except for one couple, who still sat on in a distant corner. But by and by she heard voices approaching. These were from Lord Meadshire and Mrs. Clinton, whom he had brought in to look at the flowers, which were banked up in gay, scented ma.s.ses underneath the spreading branches of the great palms. They came to where she was sitting, and Lord Meadshire said again, "What! not dancing?" She rose and stood before them. "I'm having a little rest," she said, with a smile; and then he made the introduction. "Do you know Miss Dexter, Nina?" he asked.

"She has come to live here for a time, Mrs. Clinton."

Mrs. Clinton acknowledged the introduction not without stiffness. She was taken by surprise, as was intended, but she was a woman whom it was not wise to take by surprise, if you wanted her to show you what was in her mind.

Lord Meadshire had intended to leave her with Miss Dexter, slipping away on some excuse with a promise to return, but when he had borne the brunt of a light conversation for a little time he perceived that he could not do so. He paused in some bewilderment, and Miss Dexter said, "May I have a few words with you, Mrs. Clinton?"

"Ah yes," he said, visibly relieved. "I'll leave you both here together, and come back."

But Mrs. Clinton said at once, "If it is about Lady George Dubec, I would rather not hear anything. I think I will go back to the ballroom, Cousin Humphrey." Then she turned resolutely, with a bow to Miss Dexter, who had plumped herself into her seat again and did not return it, and Lord Meadshire had nothing to do but to go away with her. "But you mustn't sit here all the evening," he said kindly, over his shoulder, to Miss Dexter. "I shall come back and fetch you."

But when he returned five minutes later she was not there, and he saw her dancing vigorously, and apparently anxious to avoid him.

But she could not dance the whole evening, owing to a lack of partners, and he had an opportunity of speaking to her later. "I'm afraid our little scheme miscarried," he said, with some concern.

She showed him a pink, angry face. "I wish to goodness I had left it alone," she said. "I don't like being snubbed."

"She won't go behind her husband," he said rather lamely.

"I thought, to look at her, she had a good deal more sense than he,"

said Miss Dexter uncompromisingly. "It seems I was mistaken."

CHAPTER XVIII

MRS. CLINTON CHOOSES A GOVERNESS

Mrs. Clinton sat in Lady Birkett's drawing-room prepared to interview, one by one, twenty or more of the ladies who had answered her advertis.e.m.e.nt for a governess for the twins. She expected to devote two consecutive mornings to her task, and was prepared to listen, to weigh, and to judge with all her faculties alert. On the table by her side was an orderly pile of letters, most of them running to two or three sheets of notepaper. They were the residuum of some scores, and she had read the contents of each several times over.

Punctually on the stroke of ten entered Miss Winifred Player, twenty-five, French, German, and Italian, elementary Hebrew, music, drawing, thorough English and composition, botany, physiology, dancing and calisthenics, needlework, swimming, elementary bookkeeping and typewriting; daughter of a clergyman of the Church of England; bright, persevering, and makes friends with pupils (see testimonials); bicycles, good walker, tennis. It was astonishing that she should have acquired so much learning during her short term of life, and also spent eight years in imparting it. She proved to be a self-confident young woman with a voluble tongue, and Mrs. Clinton had only to sit and listen to her while she made it quite plain that she would not do at all. But by way of gaining experience which might be useful in dealing with further applicants, Mrs. Clinton asked her a few questions when a lull in the storm of words allowed her an opportunity, going through her list of "subjects" from the letter she held in her hand.

Miss Player, it seemed, had not studied the languages she offered abroad. She had been neither to France, Germany, Italy, nor Syria.

French she had learned at school, German and Italian she had taught herself in spare moments. Hebrew--well, she had hardly supposed Hebrew would be wanted, but she had put that in because she had learnt the letters and helped her father by copying. She knew the Greek alphabet too. Thorough English meant that she was fond of reading, and had once reviewed a novel for a parish magazine. She had the article in her little handbag, and offered it as corroborating evidence. Botany and physiology she had "studied." But she seemed rather anxious to get away from her "subjects." "I always get on with my pupils," she said, "and I don't mind making myself useful in the house. In fact, I enjoy doing so, and feeling that I am one of the family. How old are your little girls, Mrs. Clinton?"

"They are fifteen," replied Mrs. Clinton. "I am afraid your accomplishments are not quite what I want."

There came a sudden droop. Miss Player was "bright" no longer, but plainly dejected.

"You offer a very high salary," she said somewhat inconsequently.

"Yes, you see I want a lady of high education."