The Shocking Miss Anstey (24 page)

‘Good of you to remember Hildersham. You’re quite right, of course.’ Again there was that flicker of the eyebrow. ‘To judge from the brightness I noted in your eye, I’ll suppose you were not unwilling?’

‘No?’ She faced him quite calmly. ‘But consider the effect in the Pump Room.’

‘What effect?’

‘Not your usual quickness, sir.’ She began to sound sardonic. ‘The effect on the company.’

‘I beg your pardon. I must be getting old. I’ll so far oblige you that I’ll desist from the waters for a day or two, and stay comfortably in bed till breakfast.’

‘I don’t wish to deprive you of them.’

‘It’s no deprivation at all. You may have his escort unalloyed. It will establish you in this company.’

‘It should do. They haven’t taken much notice of me yet, but they won’t miss Jack.’

‘You call him that?’

‘Why not? He was a friend of Charles, which is how we met.’

‘Then if I may presume to advise . . .’ ‘By all means.’

‘Say Jack in the Pump Room. That
will
set you up.’

‘I’d thought of it.’

‘You’re evidently learning. All this, of course, supposes that he’s willing to take the waters.’

‘Since he’s my guest, he can hardly avoid it.’

‘You think of everything. How of this Mrs. Masters, by the way? Suppose
she
takes the waters?’

‘From this house he’ll have to escort
me,
and that’s what matters. Now I’d better see to putting dinner back or it will be so burned that he’ll
need
the waters. Forgive me.’

She went cheerfully away, and Barford settled placidly with his wine. He was still sitting comfortably over it when Hildersham arrived in a hired phaeton, followed by his servant and five travelling trunks. He came cheerfully in, big and genial, and was at once apologizing for his intrusion.

‘I hadn’t a chance, sir. Truly I hadn’t. Little Twitters just pushed me at you.’

‘You mean Mr. King?’

‘If that’s his name. Ah, Mary!’

She had appeared in the hall, and she was not left to ask what terms they were on. Hildersham gave her a firm lead, going to her at once and kissing her with an assurance that did not seem to displease her. Then he stood smiling down at her, with his hands still on her shoulders.

‘Mary, I’m delighted. I haven’t seen you for--how long? Five years, isn’t it?’

‘Six, more likely.’

‘It’s scandalous. I did write to you, though, when---‘

‘I know you did.’

‘Don’t let’s talk about it. You’re more charming than ever.’

‘Am I?’ She leaned back with a little touch of colour in her cheeks. ‘How many have you said that to?’

‘Hundreds, but this time I mean it.’

‘Jack, you’re impossible. You haven’t improved at all.’

‘I probably shan’t. But, Mary, I
am
glad. I’d not expected this in Cheltenham.’

‘Nor had I. Come and have dinner.’

‘It’s only five o’clock.’

‘You’re at a spa, if you haven’t noticed it, and we keep the country times.’

‘The devil you do! Tell me about the place.’

She told him at dinner, coming to it when they had dealt with the trout and ducklings and were turning their attention to a roast of lamb, and she came to it without having to be prompted. She could have been thought purposeful.

‘You’re here to drink the waters,’ she told him. ‘That’s assumed.’

‘Waters! In the name of charity---‘

‘I said assumed. There’s no actual need to drink the stuff, but you must be seen in the Long Room with a glass in your hand.’

‘That’s a relief. What’s the Long Room?’

‘The place where you drink it.’

‘Or pretend to? Do I have to pay for it?’

‘In Cheltenham you pay for everything. You pay for the waters, by subscription--extra to walk in the grounds--and having paid for the water you tip the woman who pumps it. Then you tip the band.’

‘Can’t I hear them first?’

‘Certainly. And be ready at seven-fifteen, please.’

‘Mary, there’s a right time for jokes.’

‘The time for this one is seven-fifteen.’

‘But please--you’re not serious?’ He turned cheerfully to Barford. ‘Do you rise at that hour, sir?’

‘Since you’re some thirty-five years younger, I’ll make way gracefully.’

‘Overwhelmed by your kindness, sir. Is it light at seven-fifteen?’

‘Excellently,’ said Mary, ‘and very pleasant in a May morning. I’ll take you to the Old Well, unless you prefer a chalybeated saline?’

‘I don’t prefer anything. What is it?’

‘I think it means iron. You go to Montpellier for it.’

‘I hope you like it. What else does one do? You don’t drink this stuff
all
day?’

‘Heavens, no! You begin the day with it. Then breakfast--ten o’clock is usual, and after that . . .’ She paused, her face crinkling with amusement. ‘There’s really nothing till dinner. We saunter in the rides and walks, and there’s music in the Pump Rooms, and harmless cards.’

‘Harmless?’

‘No money to be staked.’

‘Hell!’

‘Join the Subscription Card Club,’ said Barford calmly. ‘You can lose all you’ve a mind to there.’

‘Thank you. But go on, Mary. What more amusement?’

‘Subscription libraries, pastry cooks, a coffee room at the Plough. Have you taken to what they call luncheon?’

‘Of course I haven’t.’

‘Then that’s about all till after dinner, and then the place wakes up. There’s something every night at the Assembly Rooms: theatre parties, card assemblies, balls--you dance, I hope?’

‘Certainly.’

‘Don’t forget the shopping,’ said Barford drily. ‘That’s the ladies’ pleasure, and
we
are required as escorts. Since they spend most of their time just talking, it follows that we spend most of ours just waiting.’

‘Another pleasure, sir, in which you’re making way for me?’

‘I’m desolated, but instinct tells me that that is what will happen. Either with Mary or . . .’ He paused delicately. ‘I hear that you’ve a lady with you already. Mrs. Masters, is it?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘I’ve no curiosity, of course. Neither has Mary. It’s just that we’d like to know.’

‘Exactly. Well--how did the tale go? An attractive young widow, I think we said.’

‘To whom you have obligations?’

‘Well, that part’s true.’ Hildersham sat back with a grin, in no way disconcerted. ‘But really, sir, there’s nothing to it. It’s finished with. She was amusing while it lasted, but. . .’

‘Then why bring her?’

‘Oh, I’d promised it. She’s unusual.’

‘They all are. In what way?’

‘She didn’t seem to want anything. No demands at all.’

‘That’s a danger sign. But how long did your affair last?’

‘Oh, quite three weeks. In the end, of course, I had to ask her what she wanted. You have to do, sometimes.’

‘And you’re finding it expensive? She must have a brain.’

‘I’m not sure. But that’s what she asked for--a few weeks in Cheltenham in a house of her own. Promised not to disturb me, or ask anything more. So what could I do but see to it?’

‘Nothing, when she’d played the ace. And is that the end of it?’

‘I’ve promised her introductions if there’s anyone here I know. Otherwise it’s finished.’ He turned slowly, and his friendly eyes were very steady. ‘Mary, I’ve been honest about it. Does it put me from your favour?’

‘Why should it? I know something of the world, and I knew something of Charles too. I’m not saying I liked it, but I couldn’t change it. I couldn’t change Charles.’

‘But he was proud of you. You’ll be seen with me, then--in a Pump Room?’

‘Or anywhere else. As long as she isn’t with you, of course. I must keep appearances.’

‘That’s understood. Well--here’s to the simple life, chalybeate and all! Is there news of your brother?’

‘John?’ She was frowning thoughtfully. ‘We don’t seem to hear much from him. He isn’t good at letters. He’d a notion, it seems, of spending the winter with a friend of his.’

‘Grant, was it?’

‘Yes, if--if you know him.’

‘We’ve met. He had to leave Town, you know, after---’

‘Yes, I know.’ She cut him short quickly. ‘But John wasn’t able to go with him for long. He was called back to his regiment, and he hadn’t expected that. He thought he had indefinite leave.’

‘Oh, I see. Comes of being a Regular, I suppose. Is he still with them?’

‘I don’t know. The last we heard was that he was thinking of selling his commission and getting out altogether.’

‘I don’t think I blame him.’

‘Perhaps not. So what he’ll do I don’t know. He might even turn up here.’

‘I’d like to see him. And how about Grant, by the way? Will he come too?’

‘Why ask
me?’
She was looking down at her plate as she carefully slit a grape. ‘There was some talk of it, but he never wrote. So I can’t tell you.’

‘Then let’s hope he comes. I liked him. Pleasant fellow, I thought.’

‘Yes.’ She was intent on the grape again. ‘I suppose he might be.’

‘Well . . .’ Hildersham seemed to be suddenly aware of a silence in the room, and his tone changed quickly. ‘Do we go to the Well in the morning?
What
time did you say?’

‘Seven-fifteen, please. And look as if you like it.’

The Royal Crescent had been built for the morning sun. It faced south-east, to the Cotswold Hills, and it was full in the light, its windows sparkling and its doors gleaming, as Hildersham stood waiting on the pavement, enjoying the sun and the pale-blue sky with a touch of gilded cloud. He glanced at his watch, which showed exactly seven-fifteen, and then turned with his quick smile as Mary appeared in the doorway, dressed for the spa in a flowered bonnet and a pelisse of green-and-white jaconet. He lifted his tall tapering hat and stood bareheaded, the sun gleaming on his Wellington frock and full-length pantaloons as she came briskly down the steps to join him. They walked together round the Crescent and then by a path through the dew-spangled grass to a low bridge of ornamental iron that spanned the little stream that was the Chelt. Ahead of them, to the south-west, a wide gravel path climbed through an avenue of trees to the Well, some two hundred yards up the gentle slope. Already it was dotted with people, some walking slowly in twos and threes, some pausing for breath on the seats that fringed the verges of the walk. Hildersham chuckled at the sight, and solemnly offered Mary his arm. She took it as solemnly, and together they went strolling up the Old Well Walk.

The Well was simple, being no more than that: an open well, some twelve feet deep, set in a paved court and furnished with a simple canopy on four brick pillars. But flanking it, on either side of the court, were two plain buildings of a decent size, in the honey-coloured Cotswold stone, one the Long Room where the company could assemble, and the other a sale-room for fancy goods. Hildersham chuckled again, and then turned to look back down the Walk across the bridge and over the grass to the spire of the parish church, exactly in the centre of the vista. Mary looked with him, still with her hand on his arm. ‘Rustic?’ she inquired with a smile.

‘Never mind. I’ve seen worse prospects. But I’m not sure I like
this
one.’

He had turned to the sale-room at the side, which announced that it was Fasana’s Repository, and together they strolled across to look. Its big windows faced the pump and offered a display of glass and pottery, maps and guide-books, prints and water-colours, artists’ materials, beads and brooches, and trinkets of every kind.

‘Don’t be too critical,’ she told him. ‘People like this sort of thing. They buy presents here to take home.’

‘They waste their money.’

‘Are
you
the one to say it?’

‘No.’ He laughed cheerfully as he turned to face the pump. ‘What about this stuff we’re to drink? What does it do to you, by the way?’

‘Don’t ask. Or ask your physician.’

‘I didn’t bring one.’

‘Then do some guessing. But this is where you get it.’

She led him to the canopy over the well. Under it was a simple bench with a hand-pump and a range of glasses, and Mrs. Forty, the pumper, lost no time. Her smooth slow pull at the handle set the water splashing into the glasses, clear and cool, and slightly brown. She handed them, and Hildersham took due note of the bowl of coins on the bench. He threw in a shilling, and then sipped cautiously at salty water that had a bitter tang in it.

‘I’d prefer sherry,’ was his comment. ‘Where do we go now?’

‘In here. If you pour some water away it will look as if you’ve drunk it.’

She was walking to the other side of the court, where the Long Room faced the fancy goods. Its door, graced with a porch and Corinthian pillars, was at the end of the building, facing down the Walk, but it led to simplicity, a polished pine floor, some seventy feet long, that could be used for dancing, chairs under six tall windows along each side, and a counter at the upper end, already set with cups and plates and the impedimenta of breakfast. Above, in a gallery, an orchestra was playing softly, only half heard in the buzz of talk. If the room was not yet crowded it was at least well filled, and Hildersham halted in the door for a wry glance at Mary. He had an encouraging smile in return, and he responded gallantly. He offered her his arm again, and together they advanced up the floor.

Good manners held. No one stared, but everyone had an eye on them. Gentlemen glanced casually, ladies perhaps more keenly. Eyebrows asked questions and whispers gave answers as glasses were lifted and sips of water taken. Lady St. Hollith had been recognized, her companion perhaps not. But he was good-looking, with an air of consequence, and Lord Barford’s niece had her arm in his, so a problem had been set that it would be a pleasure to solve. Who was he, and what terms were they on? This was important, as every lady knew.

But such problems have a way of being solved, and Mary was perhaps willing to help in this one. She looked slowly round, and her eye fell on a couple who were standing by a window. Her smile of greeting brought them sauntering forward, and the talk seemed to die away as the company strained to listen. Mary was calmly in command.