Джорджетт Хейер - The Reluctant Widow

“I imagine you must have supposed me to be mad.”

“I did. But it is no laughing matter after all! Pray, where am I, sir?”

“You are at Highnoons, ma’am. Where do you wish to be?”

“Mrs. Macclesfield’s residence is at Five Mile Ash,” she answered. “I hope it may not be far removed from here?”

“I am afraid it is quite sixteen or more miles to the east of this place,” he responded. “You will hardly reach it tonight.”

“Good God, sir, what in the world am I to do? I fear she will be much offended, and I am sure I do not know how to explain my folly to her!”

He did not seem to be attending very closely. He asked abruptly, “Was there no other female got down from the stage at Billingshurst?”

“No, there was no one got down but myself,” she assured him.

“I suppose her courage deserted her,” he remarked. “It is not surprising.”

“I collect that you too were expecting someone. It is indeed a chapter of accidents. I wish I knew how to contrive to be well out of such a fix!”

He favored her with another of his measuring glances. “Well, we may yet turn it to good account. Before you decide to present yourself at Five Mile Ash you might do worse than consider the post I have to offer.”

“You do not require a governess, sir!”

“No. I require a female—preferably a respectable female—who would be willing, upon terms, to marry a young relative of mine,” he replied.

She was for several moments deprived of all power of speech. Finding her tongue at last, she demanded, “Are you in earnest?”

“Certainly.”

“I think you must indeed be mad!”

“I am not, but I dare say it may appear so.”

“To marry a young relative of yours!” she said scornfully. “No doubt the gentleman whose evil propensities are attributable to brandy!”

“Precisely.”

“Mr. Carlyon,” said Miss Rochdale roundly, “I am in no mood for such trifling as this! Be so good as to—”

“I am not trifling with you, and I am not Mr. Carlyon.”

“I beg your pardon! It is what you told me!”

“You have my name correctly, but it will be more proper for you to address me as Lord Carlyon.”

“Oh!” said Miss Rochdale. “Well, that makes it no better, sir!”

“Makes what no better?”

“This—this preposterous and ill-timed jest of yours!”

“My proposal may be preposterous, but it is not a jest. There are reasons why I am anxious to see my cousin married as soon as possible.”

“I do not pretend to understand you, my lord, but if that is so, your cousin would be better advised to offer for some lady of his acquaintance.”

“Undoubtedly. But his character is too well known to make him acceptable to any female of his acquaintance. Nor has he any longer the recommendation of a respectable fortune.”

“Upon my word!” exclaimed Miss Rochdale, hardly knowing whether to laugh or to be indignant. “And why, pray, should you suppose that this monster might be acceptable to me?”

“I don’t suppose it,” he replied calmly. “You may leave him at the church door, if you choose. In fact, I think you should do so.”

“Either I am dreaming,” said Miss Rochdale, maintaining her composure with a strong effort, “or you are indeed mad!”

He looked a little amused at this, but only replied with a shake of the head. Quite provoked by such conduct, Miss Rochdale said sharply, “It does not signify talking! Be so good as to tell me how I may reach Five Mile Ash before it is too late to set out!”

He glanced at the bracket clock on the mantelpiece, but as this had stopped, drew out his watch. “It is already too late,” he said “It wants only ten minutes to nine.”

“Good God!” she exclaimed, turning quite pale. “What am I to do?”

“Since I appear to have been in some sort responsible for your predicament, you will do best to trust me to provide for you.”

“You are very obliging, my lord,” she retorted, “but I prefer not to place my trust in one whose senses are clearly disordered!”

“Don’t be foolish!” he replied, in much the same tone as she might herself have used in addressing a troublesome child. “You know very well that my senses are not in the least disordered. You will do well to sit down again while I procure you some refreshment.”

His manner had the effect of soothing her exasperated nerves, and she could not but acknowledge that his offer of refreshment was welcome. She had not eaten since the morning. She went back to her chair, but said suspiciously, “I do not know how you may mean to provide for me, for I am certainly not going to marry your cousin!”

“That is as you wish,” he returned, tugging at the bell-pull.

“From what I have seen of your establishment,” remarked Miss Rochdale waspishly, “that bell is very likely broken.”

“More than probable,” he agreed, walking toward the door. “But this is not my establishment.”

Miss Rochdale put a hand to her brow. “I begin to think my own senses are becoming disordered!” she complained. “If this is neither your house nor Mrs. Macclesfield’s, whose, pray, is it?”

“My cousin’s.”

“Your cousin’s! But I cannot remain here!” she cried. “You cannot mean to keep me here, sir!”

“Certainly not. It would be quite ineligible,” he said, and left the room.

Wild ideas of precipitate flight crossed Miss Rochdale’s mind, but since she did not want for common sense, she rejected them. To be wandering about an unknown countryside all night would scarcely ameliorate her difficulties, and although her host’s behavior might be extraordinary, he did not appear to entertain any notion of constraining her against her will. She sat still, therefore, and waited for him to reappear.

This he presently did, saying as he entered the room, “There seems to be nothing but cold meat in the house, but I have ordered them to do what they can.”

“Some tea and bread and butter is all I require,” she assured him.

“It will be here directly.”

“Thank you.” She drew off her gloves and folded them. “I have been wondering what to do for the best. Is there any carriage or post chaise, perhaps, which I might hire to convey me to Five Mile Ash, sir?”

“As to that, I would convey you in my own carriage, but you will hardly endear yourself to your future employer by arriving at midnight.”

The truth of this observation struck her most forcibly. The image of the redoubtable Mrs. Macclesfield rose before her mind’s eye, and almost caused her to shudder.

“There is a decent inn at Wisborough Green where you may put up for the night,” he said. “In the morning, if you are determined to stick to your purpose, I will have you driven to Five Mile Ash.”

“I am very much obliged to you,” she faltered. “But what shall I say to Mrs. Macclesfield? The truth will not serve: she would think it fantastic!”

“It will certainly be awkward. You had better tell her that you mistook the day, and have but this instant arrived in Sussex.”

“I am much afraid that she will be justly angry, and perhaps turn me away.”

“In that case, you may return to me.”

“Yes! To be married to your odious cousin!” she said. “I thank you, I am not yet reduced to such straits!”

“You are the best judge of that,” he replied imperturbably. “I am naturally not very conversant with the duties a governess is expected to perform, but from all I have heard I should have supposed that almost anything would be preferable.”

There was so much truth in what he said that she was obliged to suppress a sigh. She said in a milder tone, “Yes, but not marriage to a drunkard, I assure you.”

“He is not likely to live long,” he offered.

She began to feel a good deal of curiosity now that her alarm had been allayed, and looked an inquiry.

“His constitution has always been sickly,” he explained. “If he does not meet his death through violence, which is by no means improbable, the brandy will soon finish him.”

“Oh!” said Miss Rochdale weakly. “But why do you wish to see him married?”

“If he dies unmarried I must inherit his estate,” he answered.

She could only stare at him. Happily, since she was for the moment unable to find words to express her bewilderment, the servant came into the room just then, with a tray of tea, bread and butter, and cold meat, which he set down on the table beside her. He looked toward Carlyon, and said in a worried voice, “Mr. Eustace is not come in yet, my lord.”

“It is of no moment.”

“If he is not in some scrape!” the man murmured. “He went off in one of his quirks, my lord.”

Carlyon shrugged his disinterest. The servant sighed and withdrew. Miss Rochdale, having drawn up her chair to the table and poured out a cup of tea, addressed herself gratefully to the cold mutton and began to feel more able to grapple with her circumstances. “I should not wish to appear vulgarly inquisitive, my lord,” she said, “but did you say that you would inherit the estate if your cousin were to die unwed?”

“I did.”

“But don’t you wish to inherit it?” she demanded.

“Not at all.”

She recruited herself with a sip of tea. “It seems very odd!” was all she could think of to say.

He came up to the table and took a chair opposite her. “I dare say it may, but it is the truth. I should explain to you that I was for five unenviable years my cousin’s guardian.” He paused, and she saw his lips tighten. After a moment, he continued in the same level voice: “His career at Eton came to an abrupt end, for which most of his paternal relatives held me to blame.”