The Shocking Miss Anstey (11 page)

‘No. But thank you for being patient.’ Ann could be Anice, and the age fitted too. She had said she was twenty-three. But he could ask no more just now, and he managed a smile as he accepted the change of topic. ‘And what does that mean? The higher education?’

‘Oh . . .’ She was smiling at once, and plainly more interested. ‘It was the London season, my first, and I had to learn the way of it--what to do, what to wear, what sort or manners to use.’

‘And did you?’

‘Oh yes--with some mistakes. Of course, I was only twenty, and wildly excited, so I thought about nothing else, and you can’t help learning if you do that. And I must say that Barford--for a man--was as good a guide as I could have had.’

‘About clothes?’

‘I did say, for a man.’ She was smiling broadly for a moment. ‘He was a little prejudiced there--wrong by about half a century--but I soon found out. What really mattered was to get the right dressmaker, and that wasn’t difficult with the introductions he gave me. That was the point, of course. He knows everyone and took me everywhere--even Almack’s. He always had the entry, and, of course, as Lord Barford’s niece--nearly his daughter, by the way he talked--I was accepted.’

‘Very pleasant.’

‘Oh yes, but it was very deceiving too. I simply posed as Lord Barford’s niece. I let them think I’d been brought up like that, and I’d always lived like that, and they’d no idea what a simple life I’d had at home. They thought I lived at the Manor, and they accepted me on those terms.’ She was frowning thoughtfully for a moment. ‘I did try to stop it, once, and I was told not to be a fool--by my dear uncle. He takes the world as it is, of course.’

‘He probably knows what it is.’

‘And he likes the fact to be appreciated, I may tell you.’ The smile came quickly back as she gave a sardonic nod. ‘He was good to me, and very kind, but I did think now and then that he was enjoying letting me see how high in the world he’d reached, and how many people he knew. It’s human, I suppose.’

‘And I should think his lordship is very human.’

‘He is. But don’t say his lordship, to me.’

‘Sorry. But it must have been a good experience for you. I think you were lucky.’

‘Does lucky include getting married?’

‘Getting---‘

‘Married, I said. Because that’s what it did to
me.
You don’t think Charles would have looked twice at me, do you, if I hadn’t been Lord Barford’s niece and all the rest of it? Possibly with expectations.’

‘Then--then why did you do it?’

‘I suppose I was dazzled. It’s a glittering sort of world, till you’re used to it. So it was that--and the St. Hollith charm, and manners. He had those, of course. They all have.’ She was looking at him now with a steadiness that could have been her brother’s. ‘So don’t feel deficient because you don’t know
that
world. You’re better as you are.’

‘It’s been all Navy with me, I’m afraid.’

‘It seems to have been all Army with---‘

She stopped short as they heard the front door pushed open. Then there were footsteps in the hall, brisk and firm, and John’s voice calling cheerfully to Mary. He sounded as if he were wriggling out of a greatcoat, and a moment later he came stamping into the room to warm his hands at the fire.

‘Cold,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’m not sure she was worth it.’

‘Mary Ann?’

‘Who else?’ He flashed a sudden smile at his sister. ‘Queer how these girls get above themselves.’

‘Queer what encouragement they get.’

‘Not
the heavy sister, please. The war’s over now.’

‘What’s that to it?’

‘There weren’t any chances, so I’ve something to make up.’

‘Well, if you think it’s worth getting cold for?’

‘I don’t. I even began to think of Barford’s dinner. How is he, by the way? What did he talk about?’

‘Oh---‘ Grant roused himself to answer. ‘His son, mostly.’

‘And the Hart family,’ said Mary.

‘What? Old Granny?’ John turned sharply by the fire, with the smile lighting his face again. ‘Now she really was a marvel. She was nearly eighty, mind you, when I last saw her, and even then she could do it.’

‘A charmer?’

‘About ten charmers. She’d have charmed anything out of anyone. And to judge by what she did to Barford, I suppose her daughter must have been the same.’

‘What about her grand-daughter?’ said Mary calmly.

‘Young Ann? Is that a thrust at
me,
by the way?’

‘For what?’

‘You know very well what. You’d enough to say about it at the time.’ He was laughing again as he turned to Grant, and perhaps he did not notice how his guest’s face had tightened. ‘That was my last leave before Peninsula, and I suppose this child was about sixteen--just trying it out to see what she could do. Well, well! If her mother was like that, I don’t blame Barford in the least. When do we have supper?’

‘Half past nine,’ said Mary. ‘Like other people. You’d better get a drink.’

‘I will. We all will.’ He spoke cheerfully as he wandered across the room. ‘I’m hungry.’

‘Mary Ann, I suppose? I hope you’re not thinking of repeating that affair?’

‘Which one? Young Ann?’ He turned with his hand on the rosewood wine cupboard. ‘I’m not having the chance to. What do you think she wants?’

‘I haven’t impudence enough to guess. You’d better tell me.’

‘Wants me to take her to Cheltenham for a season.’

‘Cheltenham!’ Even Mary sounded surprised. ‘What did you say?’

‘Told her to go to hell. Said I’d smack her bottom if there was any more of it.’

‘I wish you had done.’

‘I very nearly did, so we aren’t on the best of terms. Port?’

‘Just a glass.’

She watched him critically while he poured for all of them, and she seemed to be appraising his mood. Then she changed the topic.

‘As a matter of fact, John--since you don’t seem to know it--you can’t take Mary Ann or anybody else to Cheltenham just now. It’s a summer spa, not a winter one like Bath.’

‘Is it? You’d better tell me about it. You drink the waters, don’t you?’

‘Some people do. Some pretend to.’

‘Oh?’ He glanced suspiciously at her. ‘What do these waters do to you?’

‘The point is indelicate. I was merely telling you that it’s a summer spa. Fashionable, too. It’s ahead of Bath, in these days.’

‘You sound as if you know it.’

‘Charles once took me there.’

‘The devil he did!’

‘You were--abroad at the time. But what I’m telling you
now,
John--’ Her voice became suddenly incisive. ‘--is that if you go to Cheltenham, winter or summer, you don’t take Mary Ann.’

‘You do sound fierce. Would you care to give a reason?’

‘I could give several reasons, having seen Cheltenham in the company of Charles, but I’ll keep to just one--that if you go to Cheltenham at all you’re taking
me.
’

‘You?’ There was quick surprise in his face, as quickly followed by amusement. ‘You’re waking up, aren’t you?’

‘Isn’t it time I did? Do you expect me to sit here for the rest of my life--a contented widow, at twenty-six?’

‘No.’ He answered her quietly, and the amusement had left him. There was plain affection in his eyes now. ‘Do you think to marry again?’

‘I don’t know. I may not be asked to. I certainly shan’t if I stay here. Nothing at all will happen.’

‘My God, it won’t!’

‘You’ve noticed it, have you?’ A touch of the sardonic was returning to her now. ‘There’s nothing here for me but advice from Barford, and nothing for you but Mary Ann. You’ll be better at Cheltenham yourself.’

‘Are you hinting I should look for a wife there?’

‘It might not be necessary. She might be looking for
you.
That can happen, I may tell you, at a spa.’

‘It can happen anywhere.’

‘More often at a spa. They aren’t
all
there to drink the waters.’

‘I’m not sure you need them yourself.’

‘Have I said it? But it won’t do
you
any harm to meet people--a lot of people.’

‘It certainly won’t, after that damned Peninsula.’

‘Then what do you say?’

‘Mary, there’s only one thing I could say. We’ll call it settled, shall we? Do it in the spring?’

‘In May. That’s when the season opens.’ She nodded happily, looking at him steadily. Then she slowly turned her head, as if she had not quite finished with this. ‘How of you, Richard? Will you be there too?’

‘In Cheltenham?’

‘Why not? It’s very pleasant, and you’d be welcomed.’

‘By--you?’

‘Why--of course.’ Her smile appeared suddenly. ‘But also by everybody.’

‘That seems unlikely.’

‘Not at a spa.’ She watched him for a moment, and then explained it. ‘Half the company are there to meet people, and you’ll find ladies in plenty who’ll be glad to meet a naval officer of--may I say?--some distinction.’

‘You may say of some prize money,’ said John calmly. ‘They’ll be even more glad of that.’

‘Not all of them.’ She answered him quickly, and then brought her eyes back to Grant. ‘There are fortune-hunters at a spa, of course, and of both sexes, but there are the others too, and a spa wishes to be fashionable. It wants what it calls the right people, and a post captain is certainly one of them, so you may depend on it that the Master of Ceremonies will look after you. He’ll see to it that you don’t want for introductions, or for the entry anywhere, and you’ll have a very good time.’

‘You do mean to have him.’

‘Stop it, John.’ She dealt quickly with the interruption, and then her eyes came back. ‘Of course I don’t wish to pull you to Cheltenham if it doesn’t suit you. Give me credit for that. But if it does happen to suit you, I shall be very glad to see you.’

‘Why?’ said John.

‘Try thinking, for a change. You may, in time, arrive at the thought that a brother is not always the right escort.’

‘She means it. You may as well strike your flag, Richard. Do it gracefully, and say you’ll be in Cheltenham--convoy duty, mind you.’

‘And why not? It sounds very pleasant.’ He turned happily to Mary. ‘Of course I’ll be there, if I can find a lodging.’

‘Plough Hotel. It’s the best in Cheltenham, and very suited to a bachelor.’ Her eyes were bright with pleasure now. ‘I do think you’ll enjoy it. It’s a good setting for anyone.’

It was the wrong comment. His thoughts flew off at once, and for an instant they were of Anice, who could shine in any setting and would surely be the toast and beauty of a spa. He could see himself with her, parading in the Pump Rooms and sauntering in the gardens, and he had to wrench his thoughts back to Mary as he heard her speak again.

‘But we can’t go there till the spring,’ she was saying. ‘So what do we do till then? I’ve had enough of village winters.’

‘London?’

‘Possibly. At all events, it’s what Barford’s talking of. He seems to have rented a house there.’

‘He didn’t tell me,’ said John.

‘You were probably thinking of Mary Ann. But how of you, Richard? Do you winter in London?’

‘I don’t know.’ He spoke slowly, and his thoughts were still with Anice. ‘I might be in Paris.’

He had said it on impulse, his thoughts filled with Anice, and then he was suddenly in alarm, fearing that Mary would guess what he had meant. But she merely nodded, as if she found nothing odd in a wish to visit Paris, and John kept a loyal silence until the parlour-maid came in to speak of supper. Then the talk turned, though the thought stayed that if Anice had really been this Atkins’ daughter, she had once had an affair with John. It would have been like her, and like John too, and he found the thought displeasing. He could not quite lose it, and it stayed nagging in his mind.

It was still there next morning, and so was Barford’s advice that he should seek her in Paris and come to grips with everything. He was feeling firmer about it now. It was what his instinct had prompted, and his naval training too, and it seemed the only way to clear this up and find out who she was. He could not now bring himself to ask any of them here, but he had a chance later that day to walk by himself and think this out. John had disappeared, possibly with Mary Ann, and Mary was engaged at the Manor, to drink tea with her uncle. She pulled a wry face over it, and then suggested that Richard might perhaps call at the Manor at about half past two to escort her home. There was a frankness about her that brought an immediate agreement to do so.

He turned into the park not much after one o’clock, thinking that he would walk all round it while he cleared his thoughts in peace. He was in a mood of doubt by now, telling himself that he was leaping at conclusions merely from a face in ivory; and he knew now that he was attracted by Mary as well as Anice. He wanted to pursue it with both of them, and he knew he had better not. He could guess what would happen.

He was still brooding on it when he came upon John--and Mary Ann. He was in a far corner of the park by then, a good half-mile from the Manor House, and he was coming to the top of a wooded knoll when he saw them. They were sitting on the grass together in as secluded a spot as they could have wished, screened by the trees and with a southward prospect over fields and a winding stream. His tread on the grass must have been heard, for they turned as he approached and John scrambled to his feet, not in the least embarrassed. He was laughing as he spoke.

‘We were just talking of you,’ he called. ‘But allow me---‘ The infectious laugh came again to his face. ‘This is Mary Ann. She’s a friend of mine, just now, and she wants to be a friend of some others too. Come on, lass--show yourself.’

But she was already at his side, a dark-haired girl with an eager laughing face, brown and sun-tanned, whose dark eyes shone with her zest for life. She was lightly built, with something of the bird about her, and her head seemed perfectly poised on her shoulders as she stood erect and waiting. But he noticed that she
did
wait. She waited for him to speak first, and he gave her credit for that. Then he became aware that he was standing a little stiffly, distinctly the post captain, viewing her much as he would have viewed a raw young officer who had just come aboard, and the thought annoyed him. He made himself relax, and looked again into her vivid eyes, and at once he was smiling. He was almost beginning to laugh. He could not help it--with Mary Ann.