Bath Tangle

and walked out of the room.

His departure was the signal for the break-up of the party. Mr Perrott, declining Fanny’s civil offer of hospitality, was the first to take leave. He was accompanied out of the library by the new Earl, who desired information on several points, and followed almost immediately by Mr Eaglesham, who was engaged to spend the night with friends in Gloucester; and by Lord Dorrington, who had had the forethought to bespeak dinner at one of his favourite posting-houses, and was anxious lest it should spoil. Fanny soon found herself alone with her father, who, with Spenborough, was remaining at Milverley until the morrow.

She awaited his first words with a fast-beating heart, but these, not surprisingly, were devoted not to her affairs but to Serena’s. “An awkward business!” Sir William said. “Quite unaccountable! A strange man, Spenborough!”

She agreed to it, but faintly.

“One cannot wonder at your daughter-in-law’s vexation, but I should be sorry to see any daughter of mine in such a passion!”

“Oh, pray do not regard it, Papa! In general, she is so good! But this, coming as it does at such a moment, when she is in so much affliction and behaving so beautifully—! The distressing circumstances, too—her previous connection with Rotherham—the most ungentlemanly language he used. She must be pardoned! She is so good!”

“You astonish me! Your Mama was much inclined to think her not at all the thing. She has some odd ways! But there, these great ladies think they may behave as they please! I daresay she would tie her garter in public, as the saying goes!”

“Oh, no, no! Indeed, you misjudge her, Papa! If she is an unusual girl, recollect that to dear Lord Spenborough she was more a son than a daughter!”

“Ay! It is an unhappy thing for a girl to lose her mother! No more than twelve years of age, was she? Well, well! You are very right, my dear: allowances must be made for her. I am very sensible to it, particularly now, when I should have wished above all things that I could have brought your mother to you!”

Fanny was too much astonished at having her opinion deferred to by him to do more than murmur a confused assent.

“It is an unfortunate circumstance that she should be lying-in when her presence must have been a comfort to you.”

“Oh, yes! I mean—that is, it was so kind of her to have spared you to me!”

“No question of that! I never knew your Mama to give way to crotchets of that kind. Besides, you know, a tenth lying-in is by no means the same thing as a first. One does not make a piece of work over it! She will be sadly disappointed, however, not to receive better news of you than I can carry to her. Not that my hopes were high. After three years, it was scarcely to be expected. A sad pity, upon all counts!” She hung her head, blushing deeply, and he made haste to add: “I don’t mean to reproach you, my dear, however much I must wish it had been otherwise. I daresay Spenborough felt it?”

She replied in so suffocated a voice that only the words “always so considerate” could be distinguished.

“I am glad to hear you say so. It is no very pleasant thing to know that one’s possessions must pass into the hands of some trumpery cousin—no great thing, the new Earl, is he?—but I hold him to be as much to blame as you. What a freak, to contract inflammation of the lungs while the succession was still unsure! I never knew such improvidence!” He sounded indignant, but recollected immediately to whom he spoke, and begged pardon. “There is no sense in dwelling upon the matter, to be sure. For your sake, it is a great deal to be regretted. Your rank must always command respect, but had you been the mother of a son your consequence would have been enhanced beyond anything, and your future decided. As things have fallen out, it is otherwise. I don’t know, Fanny, if you have any thoughts on this head?”

She gathered her forces together, and replied with tolerable firmness: “Yes, Papa. I have the intention of removing to the Dower House, with dear Serena.”

He was taken aback. “With Lady Serena!”

“I am persuaded it is what Lord Spenborough would have desired me to do. She must not be deserted!”

“I imagine there can be no question of that! She has her uncle, and that aunt who brought her out, after all! Spenborough, too, was saying to me this morning that he and my lady hoped she would continue to make this her home. I own, I thought it handsome of him. To be taking a firebrand into one’s family is not what I should choose!”

“Hartley and Jane—Lord and Lady Spenborough, I mean, have been everything that is kind: Serena is fully conscious of it, but she knows it would not do. If you please. Papa, I believe it to be my duty to take care of Serena!”

“You take care of her!” he ejaculated, laughing. “I wish I may see it!”

She coloured, but said: “Indeed, it is she who has taken care of me, but I am her mother-in-law, and the most proper person to act as her chaperon, sir.”

He considered this, and yielded a reluctant assent. “It might be thought so indeed, but at your age—I don’t know what your Mama will say to it! Besides, the young lady, with that fortune at her back, will very soon be snapped up, temper and all!”

“She has too strong a mind to be taken in. I don’t fancy she will be married for a little while yet. Papa.”

“Very true! Nothing of that nature can be contemplated for a year at least. You will keep strict mourning, of course. Your Mama was inclined to think that you should return to Hartland for that period, for however much you may be known as the Dowager Countess, my dear, it cannot be denied that you are by far too young to live alone. We had some notion that when you put off your mourning, and will no doubt be thinking of setting up an establishment of your own, you might take one of your sisters to live with you. But that is to look some way ahead, and I don’t mean to dictate to you! There is something to be said for this scheme of yours, after all. You have been used to be the mistress of a great house, my dear, and you would not like to be living at Hartland again, in the old way. No, I am much disposed to think that you have hit upon the very thing to make all straight! That is, if you believe that you can be comfortable with Lady Serena?”

“Oh, yes! So very comfortable!”

“Well, I should never have thought it! I only hope she may not get into a scrape. You will be blamed for it, if she does! Her character is unsteady: that was plain when she made herself the talk of the town by jilting Rotherham! You were still in the schoolroom, but I well remember what an uproar it caused! I believe the wedding cards had actually been sent out!”

“It was very bad, but, indeed, Papa, I honour her for her resolution in drawing back before it was too late! Dear Lord Spenborough wished the match to take place, but nothing, I am persuaded, could have been more ineligible! He liked Rotherham because he is such a great sportsman, and such a splendid rider to hounds, and he could never be brought to see that he would be a dreadfully harsh and disagreeable husband! He would have made Serena so unhappy! He is the most hateful man, and takes a delight in vexing her! You must have heard the way he speaks to her—the things he doesn’t scruple to say!”

“Ay! And I heard her too! A very improper style she uses towards him! Let me tell you, Fanny, that there is something Very displeasing in that bold manner of hers! She expresses herself with a freedom I would not tolerate in one of my daughters.”

“She has known him since she was a child—has never stood upon ceremony with him! If she is sometimes betrayed into unbecoming warmth, it is his fault, for so unkindly provoking her! And as for temper, I am sure he has a worse one than hers could ever be!”

“Well, it’s plain you have a fondness for her, my dear,” he said indulgently. “For my part, I would not be in Rotherham’s shoes at this moment for something! He may think himself fortunate if he comes off without a scratched face, I daresay!”

But when he joined her in the Little Drawing-room, Rotherham found Serena quite composed. He said, as he closed the door: “What now? Am I here to be entreated, or abused?”

She bit her lip, but said: “You would not be moved by either, I suppose.”

“Not in the least, but I am quite at your disposal if you wish to continue quarrelling with me.”

“I am determined not to do so.”