Джорджетт Хейер - Black Sheep

It was long before she could be calm again, but gradually the sobs dwindled into pathetic hiccups, and she lay limply in Abby’s embrace, her head on Abby’s shoulder, and her lashes wet on her cheeks. When Abby would have fetched some water for her to drink, she said brokenly: “Oh, no! This is so comfortable!” Presently she said: “You knew, didn’t you?”

“I knew, but I haven’t known how to tell you.”

“Lavinia told me. I wouldn’t believe her. But it was true. It was just my fortune, wasn’t it?”

“I am afraid so, darling.”

Another silence fell, before Fanny said: “I’ve been very stupid. Wicked, too. I meant to elope with him.”

“I don’t suppose you would have done so, however.”

Fanny sighed. “I don’t know. Sometimes I thought I couldn’t, but when I was with him—” Her voice failed, and it was a moment or two before she could speak again. “Then I was ill, and he didn’t come, or—or write to me, even when other people came to visit me. I tried to believe it was because he was afraid you might not let him see me, but I think I knew—Only I went on hoping, and when Lavinia told me about Mrs Clapham I felt at first that it couldn’t be true, and then I wasn’t quite sure, and then—and then the letter came.” A shudder ran through her. “Abby, it made me feel sick! Really sick!”

“He told you that he had changed his mind?”

“No. I—I think I could have borne that. People do fall out of love, don’t they? If he had told me that he had met someone he liked better than me—But he didn’t. I was only a silly school-girl before I was ill, but I’m grown-up now, and I shall never be taken-in again.”

Abby was not tempted to smile. She said: “I hope no one will ever try to take you in again, dearest.”

“No, for I don’t feel that I shall ever fall in love again. My uncle saw him yesterday, didn’t he? Abby, you didn’t send for him, did you?”

“I not only didn’t send for him, but I came to cuffs with him before he had been in the house above ten minutes.”

“I thought you could not have done so. Oh, Abby, I beg your pardon! I’ve been horridly cross and unkind, but I didn’t mean it! I love you more than anyone in the world!”

“Then I shall try my very hardest to forgive you!”

A watery chuckle greeted this sally. “I’m so glad I’ve got you still. For always, Abby!” She lifted Abby’s hand to her cheek, and cuddled it there. “I love Aunt Selina too, of course, but in a—dutiful way. I couldn’t bear to go on living here, if there was only my Aunt Selina.”

Abby heard this with mixed feelings. Though it warmed her heart it also caused it to sink. Miles Calverleigh’s image seemed to be drawing farther and farther away.

“I burned the letter,” Fanny said abruptly. “And the lock of hair. Do you think I might write to tell him so?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t do that! Far more dignified to pay no heed to him at all!”

“Y-yes, only—” Her breast heaved. “He says he shall keep mine to the day of his death, in memory of the only girl he ever truly loved! That was what made me feel sick!”

“I’m not surprised. It is making me feel sick too.”

“And he pretends that he is giving me up for my own sake, because he realizes, since he has talked to my uncle, that he has no hope of winning his consent, and it would be very wrong for us to be married without it, and he fears I should regret it, and—Abby, it was false, every word of it! I could not have believed that he could write me such stuff! And to think I was widgeon enough to be taken-in! Because he knew from the very start that my uncle wouldn’t consent, and he knew you wouldn’t either, and that was why he wanted me to elope with him!” She sat up, her eyes and cheeks aflame with indignation, and her hands clenched. “I hate him! I can’t think how I ever came to fall in love with him!”

Abby was happy to encourage her in this frame of mind. Fanny raged for several minutes, but the mood could not last. Suddenly she flung herself back into Abby’s arms in a fresh passion of grief, wailing: “What shall I do?Oh, Abby, I’m so unhappy! What shall I do?”

“Well, I think the best thing to do is to follow Dr Rowton’s advice,” replied Abby.

“Go away? Oh, no! I don’t want to go away! I can’t! I won’t!”

“To be sure, when he first told me that you ought to go to the sea-side, to set you up again, I own that I felt doubtful, for in my opinion there is nothing more melancholy than the sea-side in November. But when he suggested Exmouth I remembered how delighted the Trevisians were with the place—and they, you know, were there in December. They stayed at the Globe, and Lady Trevisian almost persuaded your aunt to go there, when she was so sadly out of frame last winter, for she said they had been as comfortable there as in their own home. The climate is excellent, too, and there are several charming walks, besides I know not how many interesting expeditions to be made. I have been wondering whether, if we decided to try how we liked it, Mrs Grayshott would spare Lavinia to us. Do you think she might?”

The bait failed. Fanny was vehement in her entreaties not to be taken away from Bath. “Everyone would think it was because I have been jilted!!”

“Well,” said Abby dryly, “when I consider that poor Mitton is worn out with plodding to the front-door to take in flowers, and fruit, and books from your army of admirers, my love, I think it very much more likely that you will be held to have been the jilt!”

She did not press the matter; but derived a certain amount of comfort from the belief that Fanny’s pride had received almost as severe a blow as her heart.

Fanny meant to be good, not to be cross, or to allow it to be seen that she was in great affliction, but although she tried very hard, every now and then, to appear cheerful, her spirits remained low and oppressed, and, like her eldest aunt, she could not forbear discussion of her trouble with Abby. Hoping that she might soon talk herself out of her despair, Abby listened patiently, diverting her mind whenever an opportunity presented itself but never withholding her sympathy.

Selina, on the other hand, made no attempt to appear cheerful but as she kept her bed for three days after her brother’s disastrous visit, and complained when she left it of a great many aches and ails, perhaps only Fardle and Mrs Grimston ascribed her rather lachrymose condition to anything other than one of the disorders which so frequently attacked her. She spent most of her time on the sofa, wincing at the slamming of a door in the distance, or the postman’s horn in the street; infuriating her excellent cook by thinking, in the morning, that she could fancy a particular dish, and by laboriously eating three mouthfuls of it when it made its appearance on the dinner-table; and trying by every means known to her to keep Abby by her side. “Let me enjoy your company while I still may!” she said, shedding tears.

Between her sister and her niece, Abby’s lot was not enviable, and might well have driven her to distraction had it not been eased by Mr Oliver Grayshott, who came nearly every day with Lavinia to visit Fanny, to divert her with parlour-games, if the weather was inclement, or, on fine days, to accompany her on her drives, or to take her for gentle walks in the Sydney Gardens. It was noticeable that she was always more cheerful after these visits, and if Abby grew to dread the two words: Oliver says,she had the comfort of knowing that Oliver’s sayings were distinguished by their good sense. It was a little galling to discover that Fanny would accept Oliver’s advice rather than hers—particularly when his advice tallied exactly with hers—but she suppressed such ignoble feelings. She wondered what would be the outcome of this close friendship. Fanny was not in love with Oliver. She continued to regard him as a brother, and almost certainly confided in him, and sought his guidance; but Abby could not help feeling that he was too quiet a man to appeal to her. Still, one never knew: perhaps, in a year or two’s time, her trust and liking would have grown into love. One knew of many cases of a lively woman’s finding happiness with a husband who was cast in a more sober mould than her own. There was no doubt that Oliver loved Fanny, though he treated her just as he treated Lavinia. It was only when he looked at her that he unconsciously betrayed himself. One could always tell, Abby thought, and instantly tried to decide when it was that she had first seen in Miles Calverleigh’s very different eyes just that inner glow.

Meanwhile, Mr Stacy Calverleigh’s star had been in the ascendant, and this in spite of his uncomfortably diminishing resources He had been obliged to hang up his shot at the White Hart forseveral weeks; and he knew that only his increasing intimacy with the wealthy Mrs Clapham was restraining the proprietor of this establishment from indicating that the settlement of his bill would be appreciated. His efforts to persuade the widow to remove to Leamington had failed, and he had been obliged to show himself in public with her more often than was prudent; but these were small evils when compared with Mrs Clapham’s coquettish encouragement of his advances. He had not enjoyed his session with Mr James Wendover, but he had been swift to turn it to good account. He had taken great pains over the letter he had written to Fanny, and by the time he had polished its well-turned phrases, and copied the whole out fair, he really felt that in renouncing her he was behaving as nobly as he expected her to believe. He was a little afraid that she might address a passionate reply to him, or even accost him in public, and silently cursed the obstinacy of Mrs Clapham in refusing to withdraw from Bath; but when he received no letter from Fanny, and was accorded only a slight, distant bow from her when her carriage was held up by the usual press of traffic in Cheap Street, his mind was relieved of care, and he felt himself to be at liberty to pop the question to Mrs Clapham.