She went away, leaving Selina to ring for the tea-tray, and mounted the stairs to her bedroom, where she found Mrs Grimston unpacking her trunk. A look of disapproval had settled on this formidable dame’s countenance, and she greeted Miss Wendover with the information that she had known at the outset how it would be if Miss Fanny were left with only Miss Selina, and Betty Conner (who had more hair than wit, and was flighty into the bargain) to take care of her. “Jauntering about all over!” she said darkly. “Concerts, and balls, and theatres, and picnics, and I don’t know what more besides!”
Abby had her own reasons for suspecting that her niece had been enjoying far more licence than had previously been granted to her; but as she had no intention of discussing the matter with Mrs Grimston she merely replied: “Well, how should you?” which effectually reduced her old nurse to offended silence.
The Misses Wendover had virtually had charge of their orphaned niece since she was two years old, when her mama had died in giving birth to a still-born son, and her papa had confided her to the care of her grandmama. His own death, three years later, in no way affected this arrangement; and when, in Fanny’s twelfth year, her grandpapa had met with a fatal accident on the hunting-field, and his widow had chosen to retire to Bath, instead of continuing to endure, in her Dower House, a climate which had never agreed with her frail constitution, his surviving son, James, who was Fanny’s guardian, had been only too glad to leave Fanny in her care. He was himself the father of a hopeful family, but his wife, a lady of forceful character, had no wish to assume the charge of his niece. When Mrs Wendover died, three years later, Fanny was bidding fair to become an uncommonly beautiful girl, and Mrs James Wendover had even less desire to include her in her household, where she would not only outshine her cousins, but might even teach them to be as light at hand as she was herself. So James, steward and tenant of the estate of which Fanny was the owner, graciously informed his sisters that they might, for the present, continue to act as the dear child’s guardians. It would be a pity (as his Cornelia pointed out to him) to interrupt her education at one of Bath’s exclusive seminaries. James, adhering to the custom of his family, was determined to arrange an advantageous marriage for Fanny; but he thought there was time enough before it would become Cornelia’s duty to launch her into society, not foreseeing that when Fanny was ripe for presentation Cornelia would be more than ever determined to leave her with her aunts. Cornelia confessed that she could not like Fanny, in whom she detected a sad resemblance to her poor mama. It was to be hoped that she would not grow into one of these modern hurly-burly females; but for her part Cornelia considered that her vivacity led her to be far too coming. But what could one expect of a girl reared by a couple of doting old maids?
The younger of the doting old maids went downstairs again to the drawing-room, where her sister was already seated behind the tea-table. Miss Wendover, after one glance at her carriage-dress, with its rucked sleeves and its little winged ruff of starched muslin, greeted her with instant approval, exclaiming: “I never saw you look so becoming! London, of course?”
“Yes: Mary was so obliging as to take me to her very own Therese, which I thought excessively good-natured of her.”
“Therese! I daresay it was shockingly dear, then, because Cornelia once said to me—so spiteful of her!—that it was to be hoped George might not be ruined by Mary’s extravagance, and that she couldn’t afford to have her dresses made by Therese.”
“Could, but won’t,” said Abby, sipping her tea. “How happy James must be to have a wife who is as big a nip-farthing as he is himself!”
“Oh, Abby, how can you? Remember, he is your brother!”
“I do, and never cease to regret it!” retorted Abby. “Now, don’t, I beg of you, recite me a catalogue of his virtues, for they don’t render him any more lovable—less, in fact! Besides, he’s an incorrigible busy-head, and I’m quite out of charity with him.”
Selina had been uttering soft clucking sounds of protest, but they ceased at this, and she demanded quite sharply: “Has James written to you too?”
“Written to me! He actually came up to London to read me one of his pompous lectures! My dear, what have you been doing here? Who is this ramshackle youth who has been making up to Fanny?”
“No such thing!” declared Selina, her colour much heightened. “It was a case of love at first sight—and a very pretty-behaved young man! Only think of his running out of the Pump Room, with no umbrella, to procure a chair for me, and becoming drenched, because you know what it is in Bath when it suddenly comes on to rain, there is never a chair or a hackney to be had, and I was persuaded he would take a chill, which would settle on his lungs, but he made nothing of it—so very obliging! And he had not then exchanged one word with Fanny, because she wasn’t with me, and although I remembered that I had seen him in the Upper Rooms two—no, three—days before, he did not, and Fanny was with me on that occasion, so if you are thinking that he got the chair for me because he wished to become acquainted with her you are quite mistaken, Abby! If that had been his object he would have desired Mr King to have introduced him to us, at the Upper Rooms. And,”she concluded, with the air of one delivering a clincher: “he is not a youth! I daresay he is as old as you are, and very likely older!”
Abby could not help laughing at this tangled speech, but she shook her head as well, and sighed: “Oh, Selina, you goosecap!”
“I collect you mean to reproach me,” said Selina, sitting very straight in her chair, “but why you should do so I haven’t the least guess, for Fanny had a great many admirers before you went away, and when I said she was too young to be going to balls, you said I was Gothic,and also that she would enjoy her London come-out much more if she had previously been into society a little, which is perfectly true, because there is nothing so—so agonizing as to be fired off from the schoolroom, no matter how many dancing and deportment lessons one has had! Particularly if one is a trifle shy—not that I mean to say that Fanny is shy—indeed, I sometimes wonder if she is not a little too—though never unbecomingly! And if James has been tattling to you, depend upon it that odious woman who is Cornelia’s bosom-piece—which is just what one would expect of Cornelia, to make a crony of a backbiting creature like Mrs Ruscombe!—well, you may depend upon it that it was she who set him on, because Mr Calverleigh never greets that tallow-faced daughter of hers with more than common civility, in spite of having been regularly introduced, and receiving every encouragement to dangle after the girl!”
“Yes, very likely,” agreed Abby.
“There, then!” said Selina triumphantly.
There was no immediate response to this, but, after a few moments, Abigail said: “If that were all—but it isn’t, Selina! George isn’t a backbiter, and he spoke of Calverleigh with the greatest contempt, because he thought it right to warn me that the young man is not at all the thing. Besides being a gamester, it seems that he is what they call a gazetted fortune-hunter. In fact, the on-dit is that Fanny is not the first heiress he has made up to: there was some silly girl who was ready to elope with him, if you please, only last year! Fortunately, the plot was discovered, and the whole affair hushed up.”
“I don’t believe it!” declared Selina, trembling with indignation. “No, and I wonder that George should repeat such—such steward’s room gossip! Not the thing,indeed! I consider him most truly the gentleman, and of the first respectability, and so does everyone else in Bath!”