“What a pity you were not there last night, Miss Chaceley, for I am sure you could not fail to catch his eye.”
“As it chances,” Verena said, “I have just met him at the Ruishtons’. I called to see how Mrs Ruishton did, and am happy to report that she seems very well.”
“Oh yes, dear Unice carries her children most comfortably. And, pray, what did you think of Mr Hawkeridge?”
Verena met the eager gaze under the large lacy cap with a show of complete unconcern. “I do not know that I thought very much about him at all, Mrs Felpham. Except perhaps to form the impression that he is a practised flirt.”
“Quite accomplished, so I have been informed,” averred Mrs Felpham. She leaned forward in a confidential way. “Dear Miss Chaceley, allow me to put you a little on your guard, although I am persuaded it is not necessary, so sensible as you are.”
If it was not necessary, Verena thought, why bother to say it? But outwardly, she was all polite attention. “How thoughtful of you, Mrs Felpham.”
Excitement showed in the woman’s eyes. “You are so young, my dear. You can have no notion of the sort of tactics that young men such as Mr Hawkeridge are apt to employ.”
“What sort of tactics, Mrs Felpham?”
“Well,” said the dame, settling down to enjoy herself, “I am led to believe that there have been few female hearts held proof against him. Do you know what is his practice?”
“No, Mrs Felpham,” said Verena, though she was sure the lady was going to tell her.
“What will he do, dare you imagine, but select some poor wretch, and then tantalise and tease until she does not know whether she is coming or going.”
“Indeed? How might he do that?”
Mrs Felpham’s avid eyes sparkled. “Why, pay her a battery of compliments and attention. Then, the very next time he sees her, what will there be? Nothing but indifference and withdrawal.”
She stopped, eyeing Verena as if waiting for some comment. There was much Verena might have said, but she waited politely, allowing no change in her own expression. Mrs Felpham sighed, and resumed.
“Of course it means nothing. For on the next occasion, he will be all smiles and charm, declaring that it had been her rebuff and he only feared to approach her. Once she is softened by such mouthings, he will desert her once more, sometimes for days, not paying court elsewhere, you know, but keeping company instead with his particular cronies.”
“And that is the end of it?” asked Verena, unable to help herself.
“No, indeed,” exclaimed Mrs Felpham, brightening at this show of interest. “He returns again. For by now, as you may imagine, the unfortunate woman is on tenterhooks and positively tearing her hair out with yearning.”
The more fool she,thought Verena, as Mrs Felpham sat back with an air of utter satisfaction.
“What do you think of that, Miss Chaceley?”
There could be no doubt what Verena thought of it. She had never heard of anything more shabby. Disgust rose in her at the thought of such arts being employed, so as to turn some poor girl’s head into a whirl of confusion. Dear heaven, she ought to know how dangerous a pastime was being played here! So he blew in turns hot and cold upon his victim, did he? All to satisfy his own vanity, no doubt. What a conceit. Little did he know how well aware was she of the effects of such erratic conduct.
Mrs Felpham was waiting for her answer, a look of such comical anticipation in her face that Verena must have laughed had she not been so disappointed. Disappointed? Well, she had as well admit to it. It had been flattering to be the recipient of such strong attentions. To hear now that it was but a prelude to a practical campaign could only drop Mr Hawkeridge in her estimation.
“I think,” she said, “that any woman who is taken in by such blatant posturings must be a complete fool.”
Damped, Mrs Felpham was silenced for a moment. But she rallied. “Then I have only to say, Miss Chaceley, that London is full of a great many fools.”
Verena permitted herself a faint smile. “In that case I must be happy that I have no place there, Mrs Felpham.”
She left the widow dissatisfied, she thought, but herself secure in the knowledge that her words would be carried through the town as swiftly as possible, so that none would be able to suppose her to be falling under the spell of Mr Hawkeridge. It would rather be the gentleman himself they would watch, waiting to see his failure with the woman whom no one in the spa town had as yet succeeded in touching.
Hurrying home, Verena resolved she would remain aloof, nevertheless. She might be disenchanted, but she already knew herself to be vulnerable to him, and she had seen too much of Mama’s sapped strength not to suspect her own.
She was able to maintain her resolution for several days, Mama offering her the best excuse possible by her current bout of weakness. They did not attend Sunday service at the King Charles Chapel, and Verena caught herself out wondering whether Mr Hawkeridge had missed her, instead of she being compelled — according to Mrs Felpham — to miss him.
Furious at herself for even this slight show of interest in the man, she spent Monday at her bureau in the parlour, handling overdue accounts and some belated correspondence with the lawyer who had charge of Grandpapa Whicham’s trust fund, to which she owed her present independence.
It was Mrs Peverill who undid her daughter’s best laid plans not to appear in sight of the flirtatious Mr Hawkeridge. Having spent Monday resting contentedly on the day-bed, reading one of Miss Burney’s romances borrowed from the circulating library, she greeted Verena as she came to breakfast on Tuesday morning with what was, for her, a deal of enthusiasm.
“Dearest, I am feeling much more myself today. I should so much like it if we were to go down to the Rooms tonight. Do you not feel we might enjoy keeping company for a change?”
