The Determined Bachelor (28 page)

Mrs. Calder said nothing. Her nerves were faring very poorly, and she was too confused to know what to think.

“We shall welcome her home with open arms,” continued Mr. Calder, “and let her know that she is well loved here, whether she choose to marry or no. The other girls have my consent to marry as they please, and you, my dear, must just accustom yourself to the idea that one of your daughters may live a solitary life. I have already written to tell her so, in any case. I dare say we shall see her any day now.”

“It was you, Arthur, who made her promise to stay for a whole year,” cried Mrs. Calder, “lest she take her own decision too lightly.”

“Well, well—perhaps I was wrong to do so. Even
I
am occasionally mistaken. Now run along, all of you, and leave me in peace. Do you, Ben, only wait a moment, please.”

Ben was very glad to stay, for he had more to say to his father than he would mention before his mother and sister, and when those ladies had left the room, he spoke up.

“Father, there is one other thing. . . .”

“Ah! I thought there might be.” Mr. Calder regarded his son very keenly. “You and Anne have always been as close as two peas in a pod. I supposed you might have some further insight into the case. What can have made her miserable, when she seemed to be going along so well?”

“I believe,” replied Ben slowly, “that it has got something to do with this.” Whereupon he handed over the last letter,
but one, he had received from Ann, in which her visit to the Prince was described. “Only read the last two pages, Sir. The rest I have already told you.”

Mr. Calder did as he was bid, and after a while, looked up with a grave expression.

“I see what you mean. Such a suspicion must have made her situation very hard. Poor Anne! And she is so devoted to the child, as well as to Lady Cardovan. No doubt she has got some proof of her suspicions now. It would make her position exceedingly delicate. I suppose she thought she could not go along any more knowing what she did.”

Ben nodded. “That is my assumption, Sir. To be in constant contact with the lady whom she esteems so highly, and all the while suspecting what must never be mentioned———”

“Yes, yes,” nodded Mr. Calder. “It is not unheard of, for such a child, the product of a brief or illicit affair, to be brought up by strangers. That she should have come back, in this kind of guise, to her true parents must be the proof of a very skillful and secretive hand. No doubt it was arranged long ago, to look like a simple adoption. Everything points to it, does it not? Did not you say the father was only a very distant relative? Such kinds of things do happen, I am aware, in the more elevated levels of our society. What would be unheard of in a poor farmer, is quite common amongst the
ton
. Why! Look at the example our own Royal Family as set! Royal dukes think nothing of raising up a whole herd of illegitimate families! Poor child!”

“And poor Anne!”

“Indeed. Well, I am very glad you told me of it. It seems much clearer now, and I am glad Anne understands her duty so well. She could hardly stay on in that position.”

“That is my own opinion, Sir.”

“Yes, yes.”

The young man rose to leave the room, but was detained by a word from his father.

“Ben—I am aware of what you did to help Anne with her little triumph, and do not think I don't esteem you for it.”

The young man coloured. “I had nothing to do with it, Sir.”

“Well, well—you have always been a modest fellow. But you are as clever as anyone, I know.”

Ben was too embarrassed by this show of praise to reply. He turned and fled out of the room as soon as he could.

Mr. Calder smiled after him, shaking his head. After a
while, he resumed his letter writing. But the minister's tranquility was destined to be disturbed yet again that morning, for in an hour the post arrived, brought by his youngest daughter from the village, on her way home from a visit to a friend. Mr. Calder looked over the correspondence briefly, and was surprised to see that one of the letters was directed from Regent's Terrace, in an unfamiliar hand. He cut open the envelope, and read in amazement the following letter:

Friday, December 7

My dear Sir:

I hope you will not think me too forward in writing to you in this way, without the benefit of your acquaintance. And yet, if you do not know
me
, I feel almost that I know
you
, for I have heard much praise sung of you by your daughter, and believe you to be an exceptional kind of man.

I am writing to you unbeknownst to Miss Anne Calder, my ward's governess, and of course, as you know, a very remarkable young woman in her own right. That such an exceptional member of her sex should be reduced to the position of seeking work as a governess to support herself strikes me as a great injustice of our society. To remedy just these kinds of injustices is, in a way, my work, though naturally on a rather different level. As you may know, I am presently under appointment by His Highness, Prince George, to the Court of the Tuileries. Though unable to perform many services of a personal kind, I have made every effort throughout my career to attempt, through diplomatic means, to improve England's situation. My present obligation, therefore, seems clear, and I hope it will not strike you as odd or presumptuous, but only as the duty of a fellow Englishman, more blessed by circumstance than yourself.

Your daughter has mentioned to me that you have nine children, and that one of them is an invalid. My own mother was ill during a great deal of my childhood, and I know only too well what suffering such an illness can bring into a family. My father, Lord Hargate, was fortunate enough to provide the best medical attention for her, which must have eased some of the burden from his mind. I cannot fathom how it would have been, had he not been so well disposed, nor how much greater our own suffering would have been as a result. You, Sir, burdened with the support of so large a family, must feel doubly unfortunate. Accept, therefore, as a
favour to myself, the enclosed bank draught. I have already spoken to Mr. Soames, the Regent's own physican, who has kindly agreed to supervise your son's care. When it is convenient for you, please be so kind as to let me know whether or not your son is too ill to travel. If so, Mr. Soames shall travel to your home. If not, I should be more than happy to have the young man reside with me whilst he is attended to. The accompanying draught should cover all of his expenses. Any more that is needed may be obtained through my banker, Harold Connhoughton, in Bond Street.

I know what a proud man you must be, but pray, for your son's sake, do not allow false dignity to prevent any chance of his recovery. I am,

Your faithful servant,

Basil Ives
                     

No words could express Mr. Calder's amazement upon reading this document, nor his further astonishment when he was sufficiently recovered to glance at the enclosed check. One thousand pounds! One thousand pounds of misplaced charity! And all on account of his daughter's desire to play a trick upon the world!

“Anne, Anne,” murmured the minister out loud, “what a devilish creature you are! And how am I to deal with
this
?”

Chapter XXI

“Good God, Diana!” cried Sir Basil Ives at about the same moment that Mr. Calder was scratching his chin over the Baronet's letter. “I wish you would say something! I have been trying to get a moment of your time this past week!”

Lady Cardovan, ensconsed upon her own sofa in her own music room, did not see any reason to gratify the Baronet instantly. She continued stirring her tea calmly, as she had been doing for the past five minutes, and murmured, “Dear me! Has it been so long? I was sure it had only been four days.”

“Four days, then! But it is quite long enough! Shall you tell me what has made you so blitheringly silly, or shall I leave?”

Lady Diana shrugged her pretty shoulders. It was a matter of very little importance to her.

“Very well, then!”

Sir Basil picked up his gloves, but made no motion to leave the room. He stared at the Countess for a long moment, and at last, in resignation, sighed.

“Oh, do be kind to me, Diana! At least do me the favour of telling me what is in your head! I never saw you act so mulish!”

“Perhaps there is something
you
have failed to tell me, Basil. Or shall I be the first to wish you joy, only on the basis of a rumour?”

“Wish me joy? What in Heaven's name d'you mean?” Sir Basil's jaw had dropped slightly.

“On your imminent engagement.”

“Engagement? What engagement?”

“Your imminent engagement to Miss Newsome.”

“Good God! You must be jesting!” The Baronet's whole person now dropped into a chair which was very luckily, just behind him. He could not believe his ears. Was it the whole world that had gone mad, or only himself? A slow smile crept over his features.

“You are teasing me, Diana, but I must say it is a dashed cruel jest. You mustn't suggest such an idea, even in fun.”

“It is not much fun for
me
, I can assure you, Basil, to be made the laughing stock of London. I have never prized the opinion of the general public very much, but when it is directed, with a leering grin, most odiously in my own direction, even I cannot ignore it.”

“Leering grin?” Sir Basil seemed incapable of making any original remark this afternoon.

“Oh, come, my friend—don't play the innocent with me, I beg of you. It is bad enough, thank you, to be informed in my own drawing room, at my own soiree, that my dearest friend has become attached to a young lady he had only the night before claimed to hold in contempt to my very face, but to have you throw it back at me with such astonishment is really too much!”

“Forgive me, Diana,” said the Baronet after a moment's consideration, “if I do not absolutely understand you. Perhaps you will repeat yourself. You say that someone told you I was to be engaged to Miss Newsome?”

Lady Cardovan nodded.

“Well! I wish you would tell me who it was! I never knew I had such an extravagant enemy!”

“It was Livvy, Basil, and please do not play the outraged hero with me.”

“Livvy!” cried the Baronet. “The Princess Lieven! What on earth could have put such an idea into her head?”

“I am afraid I put it there, Basil, by bringing up the subject. Your sister-in-law had just finished informing me of the happy news, which I was foolish enough to think a great joke, and I happened to mention it to her.”

“And she did not laugh?”

Now the Countess granted him the look Sir Basil had been deprived of for some moments. It was sufficient, however, to turn his blood cold.

“No. She did not laugh. On the contrary, she said she had suspected it the evening you all dined together at Hargate House. She said you could not keep your eyes away from the delightful Miss Newsome.”

“Really, Diana!” cried the Ambassador. “How could you believe such rubbish? Why, I recounted to you everything that went on, and I hope you have a higher opinion of me than to think that I am capable of succumbing to such charms as those!”

“I certainly
did not
think so, Basil. But it seems to be the general opinion. What is my own humble one, against the Princess's, who actually was present? But I do not mind that so much, you know. It is only that I thought you trusted me enough to tell me of it yourself.”

The Baronet was thunderstruck.

“Come, Diana! Give me a little credit! How long have you known me?”

“Not long enough, it seems. Either that, or you have changed a good deal in France. I certainly thought you were incapable of—well, never mind.”

“What! What! Out with it, Diana.”

The Countess turned away a little and stared in the general direction of the fireplace with a bored look.

“It is of no importance now, Basil. Only I do wish you had not drawn me into it. It has already caused me the most extreme anguish. It shall very likely continue to do so.”

Sir Basil gaped. “How could I have caused you any anguish, my dear lady? You know there is no one I admire so much as you. I should never cause you the slightest pain, much less anguish!”

Lady Cardovan tapped her finger against the cup for a moment and said nothing. For a while there was no sound to be heard but the ticking of a clock and the faint drone of a north wind in the trees of the park. Sir Basil continued to stare at her with a combination of horror, disbelief, and rather boyish panic. At last, however, the lady chose to unburden her soul, and when she did so, it was with a suppressed fury that cut right through his shock.

“How
could
you, Basil! I have loved you as I should have loved my own brother, nay as much as a son! And trusted you—trusted your honour above everything! I did not know that all the while you were posing as such a virtuous, selfless man, giving all for King and Country, you were in fact no better than any of the others! No better than the worst of them, indeed! For at least
they
do not pretend to spotless virtue! It was a very clever ruse, to be sure—but not clever enough. Even I should have seen through it at once, had I not been so blinded to your weaknesses! And now you are
prepared to marry anyone, only to rid yourself of the burden of your past mistakes. And to think that it took Livvy's sly little eyes to see through it! The only trouble is, my dear Basil, that now you have got me entangled in your horrible little web. And you must untangle it yourself.”