Cressida (10 page)

As for Addison, said Lady Constance, though he, too, was now making Kitty the object of his gallantry, there was certainly nothing to be hoped for in that direction, and so she, Lady Constance, had warned her; for Addison was a confirmed bachelor and prized his freedom far too highly to be caught in parson’s mousetrap even by the most cleverly laid bait.

Still, there was no denying that he could be very charming when he chose, and that any young lady must think herself fortunate to attract his notice, as it must inevitably add to her consequence.

As for Kitty herself, she accepted her good fortune with a quiet composure that made Cressida wonder at times if she had already foreseen it when she had formed her plan of entering the world of the
haut ton
by way of the audacious deception she had practised.

How
does
she do it?” she heard Dolly Dalingridge say at her elbow one evening at a crowded ball, just as she herself, watching Kitty as she danced with Rossiter, had been thinking precisely the same thing in her own mind. Dolly’s rouged lips were pursed in an expression of contemptuous discontent: she had not yet got over her pique with Rossiter, and Kitty’s success in attracting where she herself had failed had had the effect of adding Miss Chenevix to the list of her aversions. “Little Goody Two Shoes and that—that
corsair!
Positively, it boggles the imagination! what
does
he see in her?”

“Peace. Calm. Domestic bliss,” said Addison’s voice behind her, urbanely intruding into the conversation. “No, don’t say
Fustian
to me,” he went on, as Dolly’s lips made an impatient movement. “Obviously the corsair has tired of his
très mouvementé
life and now longs for the tranquillity of his own fireside. And you will allow, Dolly, that Miss Chenevix will make him a most conformable wife if he installs her as the chatelaine of the stately mansion he is even now searchimg for, it seems, if one is to believe Dame Rumour—who, as you know, is often so very tiresomely correct. ”

“Rossiter—searching for a house! Nonsense! You can’t be serious!” Cressida exclaimed, startled by the unexpectedness of Addison’s words into a betrayal of her surprise. “He is a bird of passage!”

“My dear, we all come to it in time, Addison said sententiously. “Slippers and a warm fire— Cressida shrugged incredulously. “But for what other reason, my Cressy,” persisted Addison, “could he be pursuing a milk-and-water miss and dreaming of a home in the country? He is not in love: her worst enemy would not accuse little Miss Chenevix of being capable of inspiring an overmastering passion in any man’s breast—

“Well, there you are mistaken, for she has, said Cressida decidedly.

“Who? Who?’ clamoured Addison and Dolly in unison; but Cressida was not to be lured into revealing Captain Harnes’s secret and, turning the tables neatly upon Addison, said what about himself?

“I? My dear Cressy, that is spite, not love,” said Addison placidly, flicking open an elegant Sevres snuffbox with his left hand,
a la
Brummell, and taking a delicate pinch between thumb and forefinger. “It amuses me, you know, to see the all-conquering Captain chafing in a corner while his inamorata dances with me. As for little Miss Chenevix—I am living, I confess, in breathless expectation of seeing that sweet composure of hers melt one day into utter confusion as she endeavours to make up her mind between Rossiter and me.”

“Yes, but
you
have no intention of marrying the girl,” Dolly said, tapping his arm reprovingly with her fan. “You really are a dreadful beast, Drew. And the worst of it is that you are so disgracefully frank about your machinations. Aren’t you afraid that Cressy will run straight home and tell Miss Chenevix all about your intentions—or had I best say, your lack of them? And 
that
will put an end to your pretty little game. ”

“Not at all,” said Addison, dusting an imaginary speck of snuff from his sleeve with an elegant gold-spotted muslin handkerchief of the style that had prompted the Prince Regent, in emulative envy, to order a dozen replicas at twelve guineas each. “Such a course of action would merely convince her that Cressy is jealous of my attentions to her—to say nothing of the fact,” he added, looking reflectively at Cressida, “that I don’t believe Cressy has the least intention of saying anything of the sort to her. A little jealousy in good earnest on your part, my love?”

“What—of you, or of Rossiter?” Cressida said lightly. “What vain creatures you men are, to be sure!”

“And yet, all the same, my dear, confess!—you don’t care for the sweet, the demure, the almost too perfect Miss Chenevix.”

“Nonsense! What has caring for her to say to anything?” Cressida said, with an indifferent lift of her shoulders. “She is a very agreeable girl, and you could do far worse than to marry her. In point of fact, from what I know of you both, I think the two of you should deal extremely” —with which rather cryptic remark she rose and walked off, feeling that, if she remained, Addison, who had already come uncomfortably near the truth in one respect, might tell her something she did not wish to hear.

She did not feel it incumbent upon her to recount this conversation to Kitty when they had returned to Mount Street that night, but she did drop a hint to Lady Constance to the effect that Addison had been more than usually frank that evening as to his lack of any serious intentions towards the girl, knowing that Lady Constance would use the information to reinforce the warnings she had already given Kitty on the subject. For her own part, she felt that her thoughts were dwelling with quite ridiculous persistence upon the rumour Addison had imparted to her that Rossiter was looking for a country house—ridiculous, indeed, for of what possible interest could it be to her where he lived, or whether he had in truth made up his mind to settle himself and marry Kitty Chenevix?

And then on the following day something occurred that made her see that it was very much her affair, after all.

It began with a note brought to her by hand from Sir Octavius, requesting her to name a time at which it might be convenient for him to call upon her on a matter of urgent business. She was at that moment about to step into her barouche to purchase the latest volume of Sir Walter Scott s poems at Hatchard’s and visit her milliner, who had signified that she had some new and ravishing creations to display to her; but, learning from the clerk who had brought the message that Sir Octavius would be free to see her if she were to go to his office at once, she altered her plans and instructed her coachman to drive to the City instead.

She found Sir Octavius in his austerely splendid office, and quite prepared, she soon discovered, to spend an unusually long period of time in social gossip before coming down to what had been presented to her as a matter of urgent business.

‘What
are
you up to, Octavius?” she enquired presently in a rather suspicious tone. “And don’t say 
Nothing
because I know you too well to believe anything of the sort. You can’t possibly be interested in how many times I stood up with Langmere at the Herrings’ ball.” “Ah, but I am,” said Sir Octavius tranquilly. “It will make rather a difference, you see, in how you receive my news if you are planning to marry him.”

He looked at her quizzically, observing that her colour remained the same.

“Of course I am not planning on marrying him
now
,’ she said. “In point of fact, he hasn’t asked me.” “Which tells me very little, you know,” remarked Sir Octavius, “as tomorrow you may give me an exactly opposite answer with an equally good conscience. That is the worst thing about women: they change their minds.” “So do men,” said Cressida, thinking unaccountably, and much to her annoyance, of a younger Rossiter who had asked her to marry him with every appearance of wishing her to do so, and then had apparently had second thoughts. “You had better tell me about it, whatever it is, she said to Sir Octavius. “And I really cannot see what difference it will make to anything whether I am to marry Langmere or not.

Sir Octavius, looking at her with his very expressive right eyebrow raised rather higher than usual, said perhaps, but it appeared to him that the Marchioness of Langmere, with estates in Sussex, Leicestershire, and Derbyshire, to say nothing of one of the most desirable town houses in London, might be rather less interested than might Miss Cressida Calverton in the fact that Calverton Place was about to be sold out of the family.

“Calverton Place?” Cressida stared at him. “What on earth are you talking of, Octavius? Do you mean to tell me that Uncle Arthur is thinking of selling it? But he can’t be. It is entailed.”

“Mr. Walter Calverton, the heir, has agreed to break the entail, I believe,” Sir Octavius said. And, as Cressida still looked unconvinced, “My dear girl, it is quite the soundest thing that he could do,” he went on. “You must be aware that your uncle has already sold all the land it was possible for him to sell, and that there is very little left besides the house itself and the gardens and park—all of which are heavily mortgaged. As matters are arranged at the present time, Mr. Walter Calverton stands to inherit a mountain of debt and a house he cannot afford to live in, which is fast falling into ruin because of neglect. And as he is a very distant relation of your uncle’s—is he not?”

Cressida nodded.

“—and can have no sentimental attachment to the place,” Sir Octavius continued, “it would certainly appear wiser for him to arrange matters with your uncle now in such a way that he—that is, your uncle—will be able to accept the very advantageous offer he has received. ”

“An advantageous offer? For Calverton Place? But who can wish to buy it?” Cressida demanded. “I haven’t seen the house for years, but it was falling to rack even then.”

“I believe,” said Sir Octavius, looking at the tips of his fingers, which he had joined together in a very legalistic way, though with his eyebrow still quizzically raised, “that the prospective purchaser is a gentleman named Rossiter. To be precise, Captain Deverell Rossiter—”

If he had anticipated a lively reaction to his words, he was not disappointed. Cressida said, “Rossiter!” in an incredulous tone, and then, “
Rossiter
!” again, with indignation now uppermost, after which she rose and began to pace up and down the room, looking so very handsome in her anger that Sir Octavius regretted all over again that he was not twenty years younger and precluded by his business interests from falling in love.

“This,” she said presently, pausing and gazing at him with a martial light in her eyes, “is insupportable!”

“No, is it?” Sir Octavius looked at her blandly. “I confess I really don’t quite see why.”

“He is doing it on purpose!” Cressida said accusingly.

“Well, yes,” acknowledged Sir Octavius. “A man usually does not buy an estate, I believe, unless it is
on purpose,
as you say.”

“I mean on purpose to be disagreeable to me! Cressida said inexorably. “There must be dozens of other houses he could buy!
Hundreds
of them! And he doesn’t even care for Gloucestershire! He told me so once.

“Perhaps,” said Sir Octavius, with a deceptively innocent air, “he has changed his mind. ”

Cressida gave him an indignant glance and resumed her pacing.

“Well, I won’t have it!” she declared presently. “If anyone has the right to buy Calverton Place, it is me—! And why Uncle Arthur was tottyheaded enough not to apply to
me
when he found himself at Point Non-Plus, instead of going about to sell the estate to a perfect stranger—”

Sir Octavius shook his head. “Well, I won’t say it wouldn’t have been better if he had done so, he agreed judicially. “But Mr. Arthur Calverton—if you will forgive my saying so, my dear—has never been distinguished by the possession of even a moderate amount of common sense. And no doubt he felt a certain embarrassment in revealing to you into how desperate a state he had allowed his affairs to fall.”

“Well, he is going to feel even more embarrassed when I tell him what I think of this—this nonsensical scheme of his!” Cressida declared. “Which, of course, he will
not
be allowed to go through with! I shall go to Gloucestershire myself at once. ”

“But I rather fancy you are too late, my child,” said Sir Octavius, who was looking somewhat amused by the tempest his disclosure had aroused, but at the same time was regarding Cressida with an even more keenly penetrating gaze than usual, as if he found something very revealing in her wrath. “According to the information I have received, matters have already gone so far that any attempt at interference on your part at this time will probably be quite unavailing. ”

“Nonsense!” said Cressida impatiently. “If documents have been signed, they must—they must just unsign them, or tear them up, or whatever must be done to make them of no effect! It is all a great piece of absurdity! Naturally, as a Calverton,
I
must have Calverton Place!”

“But you have never shown the smallest interest in it before this time,” Sir Octavius reminded her, looking still more amused. “How was your uncle to have known you would feel this way? No, no, Cressy, it won’t do!” he went on, as she turned to him, about to make some wrathful reply. “You have accused Rossiter of wishing to buy Calverton Place only to spite you, but are you quite sure that the shoe is not on the other foot, and that
you 
are determined he shall not have it only in order to spite 
him?”

A flush came up in Cressida’s face. “That,” she said, achieving with some difficulty a dignified tone, “is
quite 
unworthy of you, Octavius!”

“On the contrary, my dear, it is quite unworthy of
you,
if it is true. It’s not like you to bear malice—”

“I am
not
bearing malice! It is only that—that I don’t want him to have Calverton Place!” Cressida said, with a sudden rather horrid feeling that Sir Octavius was quite right, and that if it had been anyone but Rossiter who wished to buy Calverton Place she would not have been nearly so angry about it.