Bath Tangle

“There it is,” she said, laying it upon the writing-table, and opening the lid of the standish. “Cousin Florence will be very much obliged to you for saving her at least sixpence.”

He took the pen she was holding out to him, and dipped it in the ink. “Shall I carry it to London, and post it there?”

“If you please. I wish you might have stayed longer in Bath, though.”

“Why? To have made the acquaintance of the Unknown?” he said, scrawling his name across the corner of her letter.

She laughed. “No—though I want very much to present you to the Unknown! To ride with me, merely. You never think a fence too high for me, or beg me to have a care!”

“In the saddle I think you very well able to take care of yourself.”

“This is praise indeed!”

He smiled. “I never denied your horsemanship, Serena. I wish it were possible for me to stay, but it is not. This curst ball looms ahead of me!”

“What ball?”

“Oh, did I not tell you? I am assured it is my duty to lend Rotherham House to Cordelia, so that she may launch Sarah, or Susan, or whatever the girl’s name may be, upon the world with as much pomp as possible. I am unconvinced, but when it comes to Augusta adding her trenchant accents to Cordelia’s plaintive ones I am against the ropes, and would give a dozen balls only to silence the pair of them.”

“Good God! Upon my word, I think it is amazingly good-natured of you, Ivo!” Serena said, quite astonished.

“Yes, so do I!” he replied.

He departed, and the ladies were left to marvel over this new and unexpected turn, Fanny declaring that she would never have believed he could be brought to do so much for his unfortunate wards, and Serena saying: “I certainly never thought of his giving a ball for Susan, but I have sometimes suspected that he does a great deal more for them than he chooses to divulge.”

“I’m sure I never thought so! What put it into your head?”

“Well, it crossed my mind, when Mrs Monksleigh was complaining of his having insisted on her sending the boys to Eton because it was where their father was educated, that he could not have compelled her to do so, which she vows he did, unless it was he, and not she, who was to bear the cost of it. Only consider what that must be! Three of them, Fanny, and Gerard now at Cambridge! I am persuaded Mrs Monksleigh could not have contrived it, even had she had the least notion of management, which she has not!”

Fanny was much struck, and could only say: “Well!”

“It is not so wonderful,” Serena said, amused. “Nor need it make you feel, as I see it does, that you have grievously misjudged him! He is so rich that I daresay he would not notice it if he were paying the school-fees of a dozen children. I shall feel I have misjudged him when I see him showing his wards a little kindness.”

“Well, if he is giving a grand ball for Susan, I call it a great deal of kindness!” said Fanny, with spirit.

Except for various formal notices in the London papers, they heard nothing more of the ball until the arrival of Lady Theresa’s next letter to her niece. Lady Theresa had taken her third daughter to the function, but it did not seem as though she had enjoyed it, in spite of the many compliments she had received on Clarissa’s beauty, and the gratifying circumstance of her never having lacked a partner. Any pleasure Lady Theresa might have derived from the ball had been destroyed by the sight of Cordelia Monksleigh, in a hideous puce gown, standing at the head of the great stairway to receive the guests. She had been unable to banish the reflection that there, but for her own folly, might have stood Serena, though not, she trusted, in puce. Moreover, had Serena been the hostess it was to be hoped, that the company would have been more exclusive. What could have induced Rotherham to have given Cordelia Monksleigh carte blanche, as there was no doubt he had done, was a matter passing Lady Theresa’s comprehension. Had anyone told her that she would live to see That Laleham Creature storming Rotherham House (heavily underscored), she would have laughed in his face. But so it had been; and if Serena had seen her positively flinging her chit of a daughter at all the eligible bachelors, besides forcing herself on the notice of every distinguished person present, she might, at last, have regretted her own folly, wilfulness, and improvidence.

“Well, well, well!” commented Serena, much appreciating this impassioned missive. “I wonder what Mrs Floore will have to say about it? For my part, I can’t but admire the Laleham woman’s generalship! To have stormed the Rotherham stronghold is something indeed! How angry Lady Silchester must have been! I wish I had been present!”

Mrs Floore, encountered on the following morning in the Pump Room, echoed these sentiments. “To think of my granddaughter at a party like that, for I’ve read all the notices, my dear, and there was never anything like it! Lord, Sukey will be as proud as an apothecary and I’m sure I don’t blame her! Say what you will, she gets what she’s set her heart on, my Sukey! And Emma being solicited to stand up with lords and honourables and I don’t know what besides! Depend upon it, Sukey will have got a lord in her eye for Emma already! Well, and if he’s a nice, handsome young fellow I hope she may catch him!”

“I expect she will, ma’am,” said Serena, laughing.

“Yes, but I don’t trust her,” said Mrs Floore. “She’s a hard, ambitious woman, my dear. Mark my words, if a Duke with one foot in the grave, and cross-eyes, and no teeth, was to offer for that child, Sukey would make her accept him!”

“Oh, no!” protested Serena.

“No,” said Mrs Floore. “She wouldn’t, because I should have something to say to it!”

“Very rightly! But I don’t think there is such a Duke, ma’am.”

“It’ll be as well for him if there isn’t,” said Mrs Floore darkly.

Serena left her brooding vengefully, and went off to change a book at Duffield’s Library, on Milsom Street. This accomplished, she left the library, almost colliding on the doorstep with a tall man, who fell back instantly, saying: “I beg your pardon!”

Even as she looked quickly up at him he caught his breath on a gasp. She stood gazing almost incredulously into a face she had thought forgotten.

“Serena!” he said, his voice shaking. “Serena!”

More than six years slid from her; she put out her hand, saying as unsteadily as he: “Oh, can it be possible? Hector!”

8

They stood hand-fasted, the gentleman very pale, the lady most delicately flushed, hazel eyes lifted wonderingly to steady blue ones, neither tongue able to utter a word until a testy: “By your leave, sir! by your leave!” recalled them to a sense of their surroundings, and made Major Kirkby drop the hand he was holding so tightly, and step aside, stammering a confused apology to the impatient citizen whose way he had been blocking.

As though released from a spell, Serena said: “After all these years! You have not altered in the least! Yes, you have, though: those tiny lines at the corners of your eyes were not there before, I think, and your cheeks were not so lean—but I swear you are as handsome as ever, my dear Hector!”

He smiled at the rallying note in her voice, but his own was perfectly serious as he answered, in a low tone: “And you are more beautiful even than my memories of you! Serena, Serena—! Forgive me! I hardly know what I am saying, or where I am!”

She gave an uncertain little laugh, trying for a more commonplace note. “You are in Milsom Street, sir, wholly blocking the way into Duffield’s excellent library! And the spectacle of a gentleman of military aspect, standing petrified with his hat in his hand, is attracting a great deal of attention, let me tell you! Shall we remove from this too public locality?”

He cast a startled glance about him, coloured up, laughed, and set his high-crowned beaver on his fair head again. “Oh, by God, yes! I am so bemused—! May I escort you—? Your maid—footman—?”

“I am alone. You may give me your arm, if you will be so good, but were you not about to go into the library?”