Agnes Or The Art 0f Friendship Page 10

  “Oh, I am so glad to see you,” she cried, abandoning it with relief and running to greet Agnes. “I have been worrying and wondering about what has been happening in the cottage. Are mother and son happily reunited?”

  “If they are, they are both remarkably good at concealing their joy,” Agnes said heavily.

  “Oh dear! It must be perfectly horrid for you to be stuck in such a small house with him - and with her too, if she is less than pleased to see him.”

  “Yes, I am afraid it is. I suppose you know something of the story?”

  “Yes; he was a tremendous – and extraordinarily unlucky – card player. That was why he pursued me. He must have bled his parents dry and I daresay she holds him responsible for her enforced move.”

  “Yes, I think she does – and also, to some extent, for Sir James’s sudden death, although I think that is a little unfair since he was a long way away at the time. It is a ghastly business.

  “I have come – I would not have liked to run out on her without a very good reason – because Dr Cooper has advised him to take a bath – and, really, I do think it would make it a deal less disagreeable to be in the same room and might even improve his relations with his mother.”

  “Lud! What do you want me to do?”

  “Lend us a couple of men to help him get in and out of it. He is too weak to stand and I cannot bear to contemplate the horror of his falling over and hitting his head or something. The only manservant we have is Paul, the aged groom, and Sir John will not allow him to help because he deems him too frail.”

  “Goodness! Has something happened to the man’s heart as well as his body? The one I knew would not have thought twice about a servant’s infirmity.”

  “It may have done; I believe a confrontation with death, which I suppose is what has happened, can affect people’s hearts – particularly perhaps where others are concerned.”

  “What do you think of him?” Louisa asked curiously, standing up and beginning to make her way back to the house. “You seem to have taken it upon yourself to become his nurse.”

  “I don’t think giving somebody a glass of water when they ask for it can be described as nursing with any degree of accuracy. Somebody had to or he might die of thirst in his own - well of course not quite his own, but you know what I mean - house! As a matter of fact I feel rather sorry for him; he is exceedingly ill and feels rejected by his mother.”

  “Do you find him handsome?”

  Agnes, thinking the Baronet’s looks irrelevant in the circumstances, directed a penetrating look at her friend which made Louisa blush. “I think he is very likely the most beautiful person – of either sex – that I have ever seen, but it is difficult to be sure because what one can see of his complexion beneath a quite dreadful black beard is yellow; he is excessively emaciated and then the smell is – I cannot adequately describe it - repugnant!”

  Louisa opened her eyes wide. “But he is still beautiful! Have you fallen in love with him?”

  It was Agnes’s turn to blush. “Good God, no, of course I have not, but I wonder if you have that you ask such a question. He is beautiful and he has a pair of eyes which would surely melt an iceberg. Why are you so interested in discovering whether I find him handsome?”

  Louisa quickened her pace but did not look at her friend as she replied, “He is – or was – so very handsome in just the way that made him seem so exactly like a hero out of a story that it was difficult to resist him. When he took my hand, I own my heart raced; when he looked at me, I found myself positively melting. I cannot forget those feelings and the shame I felt at the time – and still feel - to have been so affected by a man I both despised and disliked, and who I knew despised me. I wondered what you thought of him because you, dearest Agnes, are so commonsensical that I cannot imagine your heart racing no matter how handsome a man may be.”

  “I think I am insulted by that,” Agnes said after a moment of thought. “Am I so unfeminine that you believe I will remain unmoved by the sort of things to which most females succumb?”

  “I did not mean to insult you; I admire you for being ‘above’ such low feelings.”

  “Hmn. Well, if you found him so irresistible, why did you not accept his offer?”

  “I suppose I felt insulted by his indifference. He wanted my money and thought that his beauty would be a fair exchange.”

  “Well, perhaps it would have been if he had such an effect upon you. He must be very confident in his looks – and yet no woman has considered them a fair exchange for her money.”

  “I almost did – and to own the truth, afterwards, when I had rejected him, I could not help hoping that he would come back – try again, you know – but he did not,” Louisa admitted. “I wanted to hear him swear undying love for me but of course he did not feel it and it probably never occurred to him that that sort of approach might have won me. I am afraid that I was prepared to be despised; I was even reconciled to the possibility of his continuing infidelity, but he did not try his luck again.”

  “I think that, if he did not feel it, he probably could not have sworn it,” Agnes said thoughtfully.

  “What? You think him honest?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I do and it is that which has probably lost him all the heiresses he’s pursued – and I daresay there were a good many of them. I don’t suppose he’s been half so unsuccessful with seduction, has he, because there he has not been required to counterfeit sentiments he does not feel?”

  “No,” Louisa agreed. “Of course he didn’t find me in the least appealing but, if he had tried to seduce me, I am not at all certain that I would have resisted – as you must have guessed from my description of how I felt. It makes me blush to remember it.”

  “Perhaps you should meet him again. If he has softened during his illness and you have realised just how irresistible you found him, there may be a way forward which would end in making you both happy.”

  “No; I am certain there is not. If he did not fall in love with me before, why should he do so now? As for me, I am determined not to allow a man’s looks to affect me so much in future. I have altogether abandoned the idea of him and promise I will not be fighting you over him.”

  They had reached the house by this time and Louisa rang the bell, instructing the butler, when he came in answer, to send two men down to the cottage to assist Sir John with taking a bath.

  “Will you take some refreshment now that you are here?” she asked, turning to Agnes, who stood by the window looking out into the garden while her friend issued her orders.

  “No; I had better return to poor Lady Armitage. Thank you, dearest Louisa.”

  Agnes wrapped her shawl more securely around her shoulders and left.

  Louisa, fearing that she had opened her heart perhaps a little too wide to her friend, shook herself impatiently and, returning to the garden, picked up her discarded book.

  Agnes had barely had time to put Lady Armitage in possession of the facts concerning the arrangements for Sir John’s bath, and the water had not yet begun to boil, when the men sent by Louisa presented themselves at the back door.

  Jess reported their arrival and was instructed to furnish them with refreshment while they waited on the water.

  “I hope John will consent to such rough men washing him,” Lady Armitage murmured anxiously.

  “We do not know that they are rough, my lady, but, yes, I think he will consent as he has mentioned his desire for a bath more than once.”

  “But he can be so difficult,” his mother said. “He does not like to be told what to do.”

  “I do not think that anyone is telling him to take a bath; it was his own decision; the fact that we agree has little to do with it, surely?”

  “I am afraid I mentioned it,” her ladyship confessed.

  “I should think anyone would who was sufficiently intimate with him to feel that they could raise such a sensitive matter,” Agnes said.

  “It is unpleasant, is it not? An
d I own I find the beard almost more than I can bear; it makes him look like a criminal.”

  “Well, perhaps they can remove that at the same time. Would you like me to go upstairs and warn him of the imminence of the bath?”

  “Would you? I feel he would take it better from you.”

  Agnes rose at once. She thought, as she went upstairs, that there seemed to be a good many people who held strong views about the invalid but were reluctant to voice them. The consequence was that he appeared to have little idea of how people really felt about him; she wondered, for instance, if he would have persisted in his courtship of Louisa if he had known how hard she had found it to resist him; he seemed inclined to give up too readily, assuming that people distrusted his motives and rejected him accordingly.

  She knocked upon his door and found him, propped up on the extra pillow, much as she had left him when she had last seen him. The glass was empty.

  “Sir John?” she asked tentatively, standing in the doorway.

  “Yes? What is it now?” he asked ungraciously so that she wondered if she was in fact the best person to speak to him about the bath and the men waiting downstairs.

  “My friend has sent over two men to assist you with a bath, sir, and we have put some water on to heat.”

  “It was not then necessary to go through that nonsense with the sponge earlier, was it?”

  “No, but we did not know that at the time.”

  “Is there in point of fact a bath in this hovel or shall I be expected to squeeze into a bowl?” he asked.

  “Yes, there is one; it is in the kitchen.”

  “Could it be brought up here, do you suppose, or must I be carried down?”

  “Certainly it can be brought up. I came only to warn you so that you would be ready.”

  “Very well; you had better send the men up with the receptacle first. They can fetch the water when it is ready.”

  “Yes, sir.” Agnes, relieved to have obtained his consent and reluctant to fall into an argument with him – for he did not seem to be in a particularly pleasant mood – withdrew.

  She went to the kitchen herself and found the men sitting at the table with a large slice of cake each and a tankard of ale. They rose as she came in and took her instructions at once, leaving their cake half-eaten while Jess showed them where the bath was kept.

  “Is the water nearly ready?” Agnes asked when they had gone upstairs.

  “Yes, Miss. But I’ll have to boil several pans to fill the bath.”

  Agnes nodded and went back to Lady Armitage to whom she reported that the men did not seem too rough and she was sure they would be respectful.

  “Mmn. I just hope he will not take exception to them later,” she said.

  “I should not think he would be so unwise as to dismiss them when they have got him into the bath for how would he get out?”

  “Oh, I cannot conceive how! But will not Charles be here soon?”

  “I think he is expected at the big house in the next few days but I am not sure that he will be able to come down here immediately.”

  Lady Armitage and her companion remained in the saloon for the next hour while they heard the tramp of the men’s feet as they went upstairs and the lighter tread of Jess, going up and down several times, no doubt carrying pans of hot water.

  “Do you think I should offer to help?” Agnes asked.

  “You? How can you? I suppose you do not intend to wash my son?”

  “Certainly not; I was thinking more of the carrying of jugs of water.”

  “No; let us leave them be and hope for the best. I own I find it quite dispiriting to feel so helpless in my own house; will you play something? Perhaps then we shall not hear all this coming and going which makes me so nervous.”

  Agnes rose and went to the new square pianoforte which Louisa had insisted must form part of the furnishings and which she had herself purchased, presumably with her father’s money – and probably without his permission if Agnes knew her friend.

  It was some time later – and there had been a good deal more coming and going on the stairs – that Jess reported that the bath had been successfully completed and the two men had left.

  “Oh, good! Thank you, Jess.”

  When the maid had left, her ladyship, after a prolonged pause – no doubt while she recruited her forces for what she might find upstairs – said, “I will go up and see how he is.”

  Agnes abandoned the instrument, to which she did not feel she had done justice, and began to walk up and down in the small room. The afternoon had almost gone and she fell to wondering about the nature of the guests who would soon be arriving at the big house and speculating upon the likelihood of Louisa finding any of the gentlemen so carefully chosen by her mama to her taste. Since their discussion that morning Agnes had come to the conclusion that, unless she married quite soon, Louisa was by no means above embarking on a clandestine affair.

  Chapter 13

  By the time the guests began to arrive a few days later Louisa had ceased to think so much about her tenants until she was introduced to Charles Armitage, when she was put forcibly in mind of both his mother and brother.

  Mr Armitage was several years younger than the Baronet and was a sober young man who had been down from the university for little more than a year. He was, therefore, not only considerably younger than most of the other male guests but also noticeably poorer. He had nothing of his own beyond a very small income from a legacy which had been left to him by a grandparent and a job in the Government – she had no idea what. None of the other men did a job of any sort for her mother had been determined that her daughter should marry at the very least a member of the landed gentry - and preferably a peer. Mr Armitage had been invited only because his mother was living within a mile or two of the big house.

  At first glance it seemed that he was as different from his brother as two men who had the same parents could be but, on closer examination, Louisa saw that he did in fact resemble his sibling in height if in nothing else. He had arrived, unlike everybody else, on horseback and had given his animal into the care of a groom. He had no valet, indeed no servant of any kind, and only a small valise, which had been tied to the horse’s saddle behind him.

  On vouchsafing his name, he had been relieved of the bag, gloves and whip as well as his greatcoat - an unassuming garment with a very modest number of capes - and ushered into the large saloon where his host and hostess, together with their daughter, were receiving the guests.

  He was not the first person to arrive; Mrs Newbolt was already engaged in talking to the Marquess of Danehill and Lord and Lady Peasmarsh. It was thus Miss Newbolt who greeted him.

  “How do you do?” she said, giving him her hand and looking up at him – not many men were tall enough for her to be able to do this – and mentally comparing him with the other members of his family whom she had met.

  “It is very kind of you to invite me,” he replied with an agreeable smile, taking the hand and holding it for a moment before letting it go.

  “It is delightful to meet you,” she responded. “Have you visited your mama yet?”

  “No; I thought it best to come here at once since I was afraid that, if I were to call in at the cottage, I might be detained for some time.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, thinking that such a guileless comment indicated that he was most likely unaware of his brother’s return. “I believe she sent you a letter recently?” she went on, a slight upward lift in her voice indicating that he could decide whether to take her remark as a statement or a question.

  “Ah! I did not receive it before I left,” he said at once. “I take it that you have some knowledge of the contents – is there something there that should concern me? I own I have not yet had the time to visit my mama in her new abode – remiss of me, I am sure - but my Department has been very busy recently.”

  “Yes,” she said in acknowledgment of the high volume of work presumably generated by his ‘Department’ but ent
irely ignorant of the nature of it. “I do not know whether I should tell you or whether I should leave you to discover what I guess must be at least part of the contents of the letter when you do see Lady Armitage.”

  “I hope it is not bad news,” he said, reading something in her face which made his brows draw together and his young face become more serious.

  “It concerns your brother,” she murmured. She did not think that it was her place to tell a man she had known for less than a minute that his brother was quite possibly dying a mere mile or two from where he stood but, on the other hand, from what Agnes had told her, Lady Armitage would very likely be grateful to be spared the ordeal of having to break bad news to her younger son. She might well prefer him to be aware of the situation before he appeared on the doorstep.

  “My brother? Good God – is he – what is the news? You had much better tell me what you know so that I will be forewarned when I see Mama.”

  “Well, that was what I thought,” she owned, feeling her interference justified. “He has been sent home – wounded.”

  “From Africa? It is a very long way – are you telling me he has travelled all the way to England after being wounded? Is he … how badly hurt is he?”

  “I am sorry to have given you such shocking news,” she said, seeing at once that, however unpleasant she believed the elder brother to be, his sibling retained affection for him – or perhaps he was merely concerned for his mother’s feelings.

  “I have not myself seen him,” she said, drawing him a little away from the increasing press of people in the saloon. “My friend is companion to your mama and it is she who has given me some indication of his state of health. I sent our family physician to look at him and understand that he found him unwell but not in immediate danger.”

  As she spoke, Louisa was by no means certain of the truth of her words but, feeling uncomfortable with being the bearer of what was evidently ill news, she wished to allay some of the anxiety which she could see already settling upon Mr Armitage’s features.