“Well, what then? Something worrits you, don’t tell me.”
Verena grimaced. “I cannot rid myself of the conviction that Adam is bound to give us away —”
“Now then, Miss Verena —”
“Oh, he does not mean to do it, I know that. But dearly as I value my brother, I cannot persuade myself that his tongue can be trusted. You know his temper, Betsey.”
“Aye, I do that. But his care of his mama is strong, don’t doubt it.”
“Yes, I know, only — oh, Betsey, don’t you think we should remove from here?”
It would solve everything, Verena felt. Especially if Mamawasconsidering a return. With the added strain of appearing in a much larger public with the season in full swing here, she would give much to be otherwhere. Not to mention the new nuisance that had reared its head this day.
But the maid was firm. “No, I don’t, Miss Verena. The mistress is better, for all you may not think it.”
“I know she is. Better in body at least.”
“And mind, too. I’d say she enjoys the company. Why, even now she has that there Mrs Felpham come to call.”
Aghast, Verena leapt up from the bed. “Mrs Felpham! Oh, Betsey, why did you not say so at once? Heaven knows what she might have said to her!”
Her fears were well-founded. Dashing through to the next room, she discovered that Mrs Felpham had but just departed — leaving behind her a creature agonised by what she had been told. Mrs Peverill was half collapsing on the day-bed, agitatedly fingering her gown, her eyes darting aimlessly until the instant that they spied her daughter. She threw out a hand at once.
“Oh, my dearest, I knew this must happen! Have I not said over and over again that you must seek your own future?”
“Mama, pray hush,” begged Verena, crossing to the day-bed to take her hand, and sitting down beside her.
“How can I hush, Verena?” uttered the afflicted lady. “You need not try to hide it from me, for Mrs Felpham has told me all.”
“Mama, there is no ‘all’ to tell,” Verena said, trying for a light note. “Mrs Felpham is, as you are aware, the most dreadful gossip.”
But Mrs Peverill would have none of this. “Do not attempt to hoodwink me, Verena. You do not even ask me what she has said to me, and that in itself shows there is some fire within thissmoke. You know what she has said, do you not? Do you not, my love?”
Verena managed an indifferent shrug, although she was feeling far from indifferent. Readily could she have murdered Mrs Felpham. But to convince Mama, she must maintain the easiest of tongues on the matter. However much it might be that the wretched man had cut up her peace, it would not do for Mama to have the least hint of that.
“There can be little doubt that she has made a song and dance about the arrival here of Mr Hawkeridge.”
Mrs Peverill nodded. “Yes, and that he instantly sought you out.”
“Yes, for we met at Christmas, remember. It would have been impolite of him not to do so.”
“Impolite? My darling, that is false modesty, when you know very well that a young man of rank and fashion must have a cogent reason for visiting such a place as this.”
This was the fell hand of Mrs Felpham. Such an idea would never have occurred to Mama without a prior suggestion. But Verena saw how it could be deflected.
“Why, so he has,” she agreed. She managed an amused laugh. “Mama, have you forgotten the exciting event in the Ruishtons’ life? He has come to greet their new daughter, of course.”
She saw doubt burgeon in her mother’s face. It had been his own explanation, and Verena saw no reason to disbelieve him — even had she wanted to, which she did not. If Mama could be brought to believe it, so much the better. She pressed her advantage.
“According to Unice, her husband and Mr Hawkeridge have been inseparable from youth. Though, for my part, it is evident that this ‘young man of rank and fashion’ did not care to miss any part of the season, and has only come here — belatedly, one might think — at a time when no other amusements offer.”
Mrs Peverill’s face fell. “Oh, Verena, I was in such hopes that he might have taken a fancy to you.”
“Well, hope it no longer, Mama,” Verena advised, thinking how much more for herself it was of fear, than of hope. “Besides, you know very well that I have no desire to be courted by any man.”
Her mother gripped her fingers. “You say it for my sake, Verena. But if chance offers, I beg you, my dearest, do not hesitate. Take instant advantage of such an opportunity. Fall in love. Seize what happiness might be open to you.”
Verena commanded herself to produce a scornful laugh at this, but she could not. Why, she was at a loss to imagine. She had not changed her views about “love”. Certainly not for the sake of Mr Denzell Hawkeridge. As for happiness — that was quite beyond her expectations.
