Jack had spotted us and was fast approaching. “Chloe,” he said, “do you think Tom would break both my legs if I asked you for a dance?”
“I cannot think so. He is not at all a violent man.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Jack is always joking,” Hennie told me.
“Especially when he is half full of champagne,” he agreed.
She turned aside to speak to some acquaintance, and Jack suddenly had me by the elbow. “We’ll escape while it is possible to do so,” he said, in a conspiratorial voice. “I don’t wish to have my two duty dances in a row. I refer to Cousin Emily as the second, in case you wonder.”
“Oh, I thought you meant Mrs. Crawford.”
“Hennie don’t dance. Her specialty is making others do so—to her tune. Having failed to bring about a match between Emily and me, she is now determined I must incite Tom to such a pitch of jealousy that he offers for her. I expect you would have something to say about that!” He regarded me closely.
“That depends on how you propose to set about it. I expect Lady Irene might have something to say as well,” I countered.
“Was Hennie hinting it is Irene’s mature charms that brought about the termination of the grand romance with Emmie?”
“Not in the least. She did not actually mention any termination.”
“Well, I am mentioning it now. She turned me down flat, thank God.”
I felt a weight fall from my shoulders. That match had never seemed a good idea to me. As the name of Lady Irene had arisen, I decided to discover whether she was in fact gaining any ground. “Lady Irene will make an unexceptional match for you. She will give you some of that quality you so sadly lack,” I told him, with a pert glance that made it half a joke, a useful device for saying what we hesitate to advance in complete earnest but wish to get off our chests all the same.
The music began—a waltz. I had been half hoping for one, half fearing it. There were not a great many opportunities to practice this new dance (unless one were an habitué of Wingdale’s soirées) so that I feared I would make a botch of it. Gamble’s visits there had paid off. He could not have encountered the waltz before returning to England, but he executed it smoothly, flawlessly, while still continuing our conversation.
“Very true, she would take the edge of the savage from my social conduct in two days, but then she would also have to be the mother of my children, and the begetting of them with her is not a thing I anticipate with the least relish.”
‘I’m sure Lady Irene is—is very good at it,” I said, blurting out what I should have kept as an unstated thought.
“Too good, and in a lady, that is worse than no good at all, if it is marriage we speak of.’’
“I wish we might speak of something else. Carnforth is
hors de combat,
is he?” I asked, reaching for the first thing that came to mind.
When at last the dance was over, I looked across the room to see Tom mincing about like a dancing master, smiling and fawning on a thoroughly bored Emily. Bored with him, that is to say, she looked with plenty of interest out of the crevice of her eye towards Edward. Jack followed my glance.
“Edward had better look lively if he means to have her,” he said. “Hennie is ripe for marriage. She’ll talk Cousin into the first match that offers.”
“You have changed your mind about Edward’s ineligibility, have you? Your first comment on that match used the word misalliance, if I am not mistaken.”
“I have changed my mind about a good many things. So has Edward changed. He is no longer a destitute poet, but a
reasonably
sane man of business. Ambledown is spruced up considerably—a home to be proud of, in fact.”
I wondered if the renovations at home had been urged on Edward with this in mind. “The sprucing up has put Edward considerably in debt. Emily has still no dowry.”
“How much must she have to suit for your brother?”
“You are the one who knows how much money he owes. He never tells me anything. And I was not hinting for money either. I am only pointing out that the match is as ineligible as it ever was—more so in fact. Nothing has changed.”
“It has,” he answered reasonably. “I no longer mean to have her. And for my own part, I don’t care a groat who marries her, so long as the fellow is not an out-and-out rotter. Unfortunately, all the matches trying to go forward here have one unwilling partner.” His eyes slid warily towards Lady Irene, who watched him like a hawk.
“And in some cases
two,” I
said, thinking of Tom and myself, who were about equally eager to be rid of each other.
“A pity we could not take a large wooden spoon and stir up all ingredients into a more acceptable form. There is Emily mooning after Edward, Tom mooning after her…”
“Irene chasing Gamble,” I added with a laugh.
“And Gamble chasing you,” he said, leaning his head down to mine. The air was crackling again. I felt suffocated with it. “Who are you hankering after, Chloe?” he asked.
“No one,” I said.
“Liar! Ah, you lead a charmed life. Here comes Tom to your rescue. Emmie must have given him goodbye,” he said, with a little ironic laugh.
Tom was looking piqued. Emily never minded her tongue, any more than her cousin did. She had no vice in her, but was apt to say something offensive through carelessness. In any case, Tom looked bruised. “Running back to Mama,” Jack continued, ignoring my stiff back. “Kiss his wounds and make him all better, Chloe, like a good little mother.” He fixed a peculiar, questioning look on me when I turned to hush him. The strangest thing of all was that I felt like doing exactly as he said, like patting Tom’s head and soothing his hurt.
“But don’t mistake your pity for love,” he said, then stepped lightly away, just nodding to Tom as he left.
“Is something the matter, Tom?” I asked, sounding dreadfully like a mother.
Tom did not appear to notice it. “That Emily is a rude girl,” he said. Clearly Hennie’s plan for advancing his cause with Emily had failed. My closest questioning could not reveal what she had said. I sat out a dance with him, smoothing his ruffled feathers. He was happy to turn his talk to topics other than romance. After he had simmered down (it took two rapidly gulped glasses of wine to accomplish it) he said, “I was speaking to Wingdale earlier.
You’ll
be interested to hear what he had to say, Chloe. He offered to sell me some shares in his place. What do you think of the idea?”
“How outrageous! He knows how we feel about that place!” I answered hotly. After the words were out, I recalled that Tom did not share perfectly in my aversion to it.
“Just as an investment, you know. I would not be an active partner at all, standing behind a desk, or anything of
that
sort. He is in a bit of a financial bind, I gather, and is trying to peddle some shares in his business.”
“I wonder his friend Jack Gamble does not bail him out.”
“Exactly what I suggested to him myself. He didn’t take to the idea one bit. Said something about Gamble wanting to take over. I ain’t much of a businessman, but from what I gather, Gamble has already got close to half interest in his new village, and if more than fifty percent goes out of Wingdale’s control, then of course he loses any say in what form the whole effort will take.”
“Their ideas run side by side as far as I can see.”
“Not really. Gamble has much grander ideas, or so Wingdale says. This business of developing the lakeside, for instance, came from Gamble. It is the heavy development of Wingdale’s side of it that has got him in this tight money corner. Gamble urged him to make it a regular huge commercial affair, with swinging boats and a dance hall and lovers’ walks—well, he convinced Wingdale it would bring him a fortune, and so it would too, but in the meanwhile it has to be financed, and that is why Wingdale is after me for money. I wish I knew how much risk there is in it,” he added, worried.
“Tom, you cannot mean you are considering going into this venture!” I exclaimed.
“Oh, deuce take it, Chloe. Someone will do it, and if there is a pot of gold to be picked up from it, I might as well have it as the next fellow.”
“You men are all alike! You’d sell your souls for gold.”
“Wouldn’t go that far,” he assured me, shocked at the idea. “I think the thing to do is to speak to Gamble about it.”
“Would you trust him?”
“He is a gentleman at least. Mean to say Wingdale…”
“I wouldn’t
consider
it if I were you, Tom.”
“Yes, but you ain’t me,” he pointed out.
“No, it is pretty clear
my
desires have no influence with you,” I answered angrily, then I got up, preparatory to flouncing out of the room but holding myself ready to be stopped. He did not stir a finger to stop me. I left, chancing to encounter Gamble while I was still on my high ropes.
“Don’t tell me Tom has got out of hand,” he said. “I haven’t seen you look so angry since you rattled me off for going to fetch Emily home from your place just after I arrived home.”
“Not out of hand in the way you think, but then his mind does not constantly run on lechery.”
“Never wanders anywhere near it, I shouldn’t think.”
“You share something in common for all that.”
“You intrigue me. What can I possibly have in common with that tame fellow?”
“Greed, Mr. Gamble. Greed. He would like to talk to you about the best way to get rich quick, without too much concern for anyone else’s welfare.”
“He’s chosen the right man,” he answered, smiling triumphantly. Before I could say more, he ran off after Tom.
Chapter Twenty-two
I stationed myself on a chair that gave me a good view of the parlour where Tom and Jack were having their discussion. I was positively aching to know what was being said between them, but was too proud to enter. I meant to nab Tom on his way out and discover whether he had decided to put his money into the venture. If he had done so, I needed no more excuse to turn him off. Indeed, his disregarding my wishes would be tantamount to his having rescinded his offer.
The two of them came out after about five minutes, and I arose to meet them. They were not looking towards me, nor towards the ballroom at all. They turned sharply to the right, to proceed to an even more private parlour— Gamble’s study, it was. While I stood trying to work up my courage to go after them, a servant popped along carrying a bottle of champagne and two glasses on a silver tray. He took it into the study, indicating it was a long session ahead of them. In frustration I returned to the ballroom and got stuck to stand up with Sir Arthur, who was well into his cups by this time, and admitting he had made nineteen thousand pounds clear last year from that unproductive copper mine of his. One wonders how much he would have made had his miners not been lazy and overpaid!
After I had led a staggering Sir Arthur to a chair I returned to the hallway, to see the door still firmly closed. What a way for a host to treat his guests, to disappear for an hour and talk business. My next partner, Reverend Barrel, our minister, danced very much like a puppet, with little jerky, twitchy movements, frequently in unexpected directions. When the music stopped I again sidled towards the doorway into the hall, to scan that other, more interesting door. It stood open now. I walked quickly towards it, thinking to glance in, hoping for an invitation to join the gentlemen and be told Tom’s decision.
Only Tom was there, sitting with his head at an odd angle. A closer look showed me his eyelids were also at a peculiar position, more closed than open. The poor man was on the way to becoming foxed, with all the champagne. He shook his head, and after frowning at me for a minute asked, “Chloe?” in an uncertain voice.
“What have you decided?” I asked, rushing to him.
“Eh?” he asked, shaking his head.
“About Wingdale. What have you decided? What did Gamble have to say?”
“Thinks we would make an excellent pair,” he told me, smiling foolishly.
“Who, you and Wingdale?”
“Wingdale, that-commoner? Wouldn’t have a thing to do with him, Chloe,” he said, reaching out a hand for me, smiling more broadly and more unattractively than before.
“Tom, you are drunk,” I was forced to admit. “You need air. I’ll take you outdoors.” There was a pair of French doors on the far side of the study. I went to open them before helping Tom up, as I had an idea all my strength would be required to pilot him outside. I gave him my hand to help him arise. He insisted it was not necessary.
“Not foxed, by Jove. Can hold my liquor,” he boasted, just before stumbling into a table. He did not seem to notice when I took him around the waist to lead him out the open doors.
“What did Jack Gamble say to you? Does he think you should put some money into the village development?”
“Nossir, not a sou! ‘Don’t do it, Tom’ says he. Called me Tom, Chloe. ‘Don’t risk a penny with that rascal’ was his advice.”
“He wants to take the whole thing over himself,” I deduced, and did not hesitate to say aloud. I was half beginning to think Tom ought to put some of his blunt into it.
“That’s true,” Tom agreed readily. But then he was not really in a state to know what he was saying. There was a railing waist-high around a little stone balcony we stood on. The moon was hanging low, as it does here in autumn, a round, fat, yellowish-orange moon, conducive to romance. It was about the only feature of the night that was. Far off in the distance a few lights glimmered. Their location told me they were the lights of Ambledown, though it was dark, and I could not see all the intervening terrain.
Tom leaned his hands on the railing and took deep gulps of air. After a few moments, he stood up straight, appearing to feel better. “Chloe,” he said in a voice very unlike his own, though not at all in a drunken way, “you have run me round in circles long enough.” He had reached that stage of intoxication where he could speak out firmly, like a man. He lifted his chin so high he had to look down his nose at me, and he is only five feet nine inches tall. “You must put me out of my misery. Are you to have me, or no?”
“No, I am not. I hope you remember it tomorrow, when you are sober.”