This satisfactory session being at an end, the ladies betook themselves to the Pump Room, where it was Selina’s custom (unless the weather were inclement, or some more agreeable diversion offered itself) to imbibe, in small, distasteful sips, a glass of the celebrated waters. Here they encountered a number of friends and acquaintances, prominent amongst whom were General Exford, one of Abby’s more elderly admirers, and Mrs Grayshott, with her daughter, Lavinia, who was Fanny’s chief crony. The two girls soon had their heads together; and while Abby gracefully countered the General’s gallantries Selina, who was sometimes felt to take more interest in the affairs of strangers than in those of her family, engaged Mrs Grayshott in earnest conversation, the object of her sympathetic enquiries being to discover whether Mrs Grayshott had received any news of her only son, last heard of in Calcutta, but living in daily expectation of embarking on the long journey home to England. The look of anxiety on Mrs Grayshott’s rather care-worn face deepened as she shook her head, and replied, with a resolute smile: “Not yet. But my brother has assured me that he has made every imaginable arrangement for his comfort, and I’m persuaded it can’t be long now before he will be with me again. My brother has been so good! Had it been possible, I really believe he would have sent his own doctor out to Oliver! He blames himself for that dreadful sickness, you know, but that is nonsensical. Oliver was very willing to go to India, and how, I ask him, could he have foreseen that the poor boy’s constitution was so ill-suited to the climate? I did not, for he has always enjoyed excellent health.”
“Ah!” said Selina mournfully. “If only it may not have been ruined by this sad misfortune!”
Her tone held out no hope for the future; and as she went on to recount the dismal story of the sufferings endured by just such another case—not personally known to her, but he was a cousin of one of her acquaintances, or, if not a cousin, a great friend,not that it signified—Mrs Grayshott could only be thankful that the arrival of Miss Butterbank on the scene interrupted the disheartening recital before it had reached its death-bed climax. She was able to escape, and lost no time in doing so. Perceiving that the younger Miss Wendover had just shaken off her elderly admirer, she went to join her, forestalling a gentleman in a blue coat and Angola pantaloons, who was bearing purposefully down upon her. Aware of this, she laughingly begged Abigail’s pardon, adding: “I only wish you cared, Abby!”
“I do, and would liefer by far talk to you, ma’am, than to Mr Dunston! How do you do? Not in very good point, I’m afraid—but don’t doubt you will assure me that you’re in high force! This is an anxious time for you.”
“Yes, but I know that if—if anything had happened—anything bad—I must have had news of it, so I won’t let myself fall into dejection, or post up to London, until my brother sends me word. When that happens, I shall cast Lavinia on your hands, and be off. I was so very much obliged to Miss Wendover for offering to take charge of her! But it is you who will do that: you don’t object?”
“My dear ma’am, how can you ask? I am naturally cast into the greatest agitation by the very thought of having so onerous a burden thrust upon me! It is only civility that prompts me to say that I shall be charmed to take care of Lavinia.”
Mrs Grayshott smiled, and pressed her hand. “I knew I might depend on you. I don’t think she will be a trouble to you. What I do think—Abby, may I speak frankly to you?”
“If you please! Though I fancy I know what it is that you do think. Fanny?”
Mrs Grayshott nodded. “You know, then? I’m glad you’ve come home: I have been feeling a little anxious. Your sister is a dear kind creature, but—”
She hesitated, and Abby said coolly: “Very true! A dear kind nodcock! She seems to have fallen quite under the spell of this Calverleigh.”
“Well, he—he is very engaging,” said Mrs Grayshott reluctantly. “Only there is something about him which I can’t quite like! It is difficult to explain, because I haven’t any cause to take him in dislike. Except—” Again she hesitated, but upon being urged to continue, said: “Abby, no man could be blamed for falling in love with Fanny, but I don’t think that a man of principle, so much older than she is, would wish her—far less urge her!—to do what might easily set people in a bustle. His attentions are too particular to suit my old-fashioned notions. That makes me into a Bath quiz, I dare say, but you know, my dear, when a man of fashion and address makes a child of Fanny’s age the object of his attentions it is not to be wondered at that she should be dazzled into losing her head, or be easily brought to believe that the rules of conduct, in which she has been reared, are outmoded—quite provincial, in fact!”
Abby nodded. “ Such as the impropriety of strolling about the Sydney Gardens with him? Give me a round tale, ma’am!—Have there been other—oh, clandestine meetings?”
“I am afraid so. Oh, nothing of a serious nature, or that is generally known, or—or that you will not speedily put an end to! I might not have spoken to you, if that had been all, for it’s no bread-and-butter of mine, and I don’t relish the office of being your intelligencer, but I have some reason to think that it is not quite all, and am a great deal too fond of Fanny not to tell you that certain things I have learned from what Lavinia—in all innocence!—has let fall, I apprehend that this unfortunate affair may be rather more serious than I had at first supposed. To what extent Lavinia is in Fanny’s confidence I don’t know, and—I must confess—shrink from enquiring, because perhaps, if she thought I was trying to discover a secret reposed in her, she would fob me off, even prevaricate, and certainly, in the future, guard her tongue when she talked to me. That may seem foolish to you: the thing is she has been so close a companion to me, so open and trusting in her affection—” Her voice became suspended. She shook her head, saying, after a moment’s struggle: “I can’t explain it to you!”
“There is not the least need,” Abby responded. “I understand you perfectly, ma’am. Don’t fear me! I promise you I shan’t let Fanny so much as suspect that Lavinia betrayed her confidence. Let me be frank with you! I’ve every reason to suppose that Calverleigh is a fortune-hunter, and it has been made abundantly clear to me that Fanny believes herself to have formed a lasting passion for him. I don’t know if Calverleigh hopes to win my brother’s consent to the match, but I should very much doubt it. So in what sort is the wind? Does he hope to enlist my support? Is he indulging himself with a flirtation? Or has he the intention of eloping with Fanny?” Her eyes widened, as she saw the quick look turned towards her, and a laugh trembled in her throat. “‘My dear ma’am—! I was only funning!”
“Yes, I know, but—Abby, sometimes I wonder if our parents were right when they forbade us to read novels! It is all the fault of the Circulating Libraries!”
“Putting romantical notions into girls’ heads?” said Abby, smiling a little. “I don’t think so: I had a great many myself, and was never permitted to read any but the most improving works. I might be wrong, but I fancy that however much a girl may admire, or envy, the heroine of some romance, who finds herself in the most extraordinary situations; and however much she may picture herself in those situations, she knows it is nothing more than a child’s game of make-believe, and that she would not, in fact, behave at all like her heroine. Like my sister’s children, when they capture me in the shrubbery, and inform me that they are brigands, and mean to hold me to ransom!”