She wrinkled her brow. ‘She is very good-natured, you know, and Sir Horace says he likes reposeful females.’
‘I am astonished that you have sanctioned so unsuitable a match.’
‘Nonsense! I have nothing to say to it.’
‘I imagine you have everything to say to it,’ he retorted. ‘Don’t play off the airs of an innocent to me, cousin! I know you well enough to be tolerably certain that you rule my uncle with a rod of iron, and have probably guarded him from dozens of Marquesas in your time!’
She laughed. ‘Well, yes,’ she admitted. ‘But, then, they would none of them have made the poor angel at all comfortable, and I do think perhaps Sancia may. I have long made up my mind to it that he should marry again, you know.’
‘Next you will say that this match is of your making!’
‘Oh, no! There is never the least need to make matches for Sir Horace!’ she said frankly. ‘He is the most susceptible creature imaginable, and, which is so dangerous, if a pretty woman will but weep on his shoulder he will do anything she wants!’
He did not reply, and she saw that his attention was fixed on Cecilia and Sir Vincent, who had that instant come round a corner of the clipped yew hedge. A slight frown descended on tohis brow, which made Sophy say severely: ‘Now, don’t take one of your pets because Cecy flirts a little with Sir Vincent! You should be thankful to see her taking interest in some other man than Mr Fawnhope. But there is no pleasing you!’
‘I am certainly not pleased withthatconnection!’
‘Oh, you have no cause to feel alarm! Sir Vincent is only interested in heiresses, and has no intention of offering for Cecy.’
‘Thank you, it is not on that score that I feel alarm,’ he answered.
She could say no more, for by this time the other couple had come up to them. Cecilia, who was looking prettier than ever, described how Sir Vincent had been so obliging as to find a servant who gave him some maize for the pigeons. She had fed them, and her cousin thought she had taken far more delight in encouraging them to take maize from between her lips than in listening to Sir Vincent’s practised compliments.
They were soon joined by Hubert. He shot Sophy a glance so pregnant with mischief that in spite of his high shirt-points, his elaborate neckcloth, and his fashionable waistcoat he looked very much more like a schoolboy than the town-beau he fancied himself. She could not imagine what mischief he could have found to perform in the little time since she had left him, but before she could speculate very seriously on this problem her attention was diverted by the Marquesa, who appeared at the drawing-room window, and made signs indicative of her desire that they should all come into the house. Civility obliged even Mr Rivenhall to obey the summons. They found the Marquesa so much refreshed by her nap as to have become quite animated. Lady Ombersley had awakened from slumber, uttering the mystic words:Lotion of the Ladies of Denmark, which had operated so powerfully upon her hostess as to make her sit bolt upright upon her sofa, exclaiming: ‘But no! Better distilled water of green pineapples, I assure you!’ By the time the party on the south lawn entered the house the two elder ladies had thoroughly explored every path known to them that led to the preservation of the complexion, and if they differed on such points as the value ofraw veal laid on the face at night to remove wrinkles, they found themselves at one over the beneficial effects of chervil water, and crushed strawberries.
It now being at least two hours since the lightmariendahad been consumed, the Marquesa stood in urgent need of further sustenance, and warmly invited her guests to partake of tea and angel cakes. It was then that Lady Ombersley became aware of the absence of Miss Wraxton and Mr Fawnhope from the gathering, and demanded to know where they were. Cecilia replied, with a shrug, that they were no doubt quoting poetry to each other in the wood; but when twenty minutes passed without their putting in an appearance not only Lady Ombersley, but her elder son also, became a trifle restive. Then it was that Sophy remembered Hubert’s look of mischief. She glanced across at him, and saw his expression was so unconcerned as to be wholly incredible. In deep foreboding she made an excuse to change her seat to one beside his, and whispered, under cover of the general conversation: ‘You dreadful creature, what have you done?’
‘Locked them into the wood!’ he whispered in return. ‘That will teach her to play propriety!’
She had to bite back a laugh, but managed to say, with suitable severity: ‘It will not do! If you have the key, give it to me so that no one will observe you!’
He said: ‘What a spoil-sport you are!’ but soon found an opportunity to drop it into her lap, for although it had seemed, at the time, a splendid idea to lock the gate into the wood, he had been realizing for some minutes that to release the imprisoned couple without scandal might prove to be rather more difficult.
‘It is so unlike dear Eugenia!’ said Lady Ombersley. ‘I cannot think what they can be about!’
‘En verdad, it is not difficult to imagine!’ remarked the Marquesa, rather amused. ‘So beautiful a young man and so romantic a scene!’
‘I will go and look for them,’ said Mr Rivenhall, getting up, and walking out of the room.
Hubert began to look a little alarmed, but Sophy exclaimedsuddenly: ‘I wonder if one of the gardeners can have locked the gate again, thinking that we had all left the wood? Excuse me, Sancia!’
She overtook Mr Rivenhall in the shrubbery, and called out: ‘So stupid! Sancia, you know, lives in dread of robbers and has trained all her servants never to leave a gate or a door unlocked! One of the gardeners, supposing us all to have gone back to the house, locked the gate into the wood. Gaston had the key: here it is!’
A bend in the gravel walk brought the gates into the wood within view. Miss Wraxton was standing by them, and it was plain to the meanest intelligence that she was in no very amiable humour. Behind her, seated upon a bank, and absorbed in metrical composition, was Mr Fawnhope, to all appearances divorced from the world.
As Mr Rivenhall fitted the key into the lock, Sophy said: ‘I am so sorry! It is all the fault of Sancia’s absurd terrors! Are you very bored and chilled, Miss Wraxton?’
Miss Wraxton had endured a trying half-hour. Upon finding herself shut into the wood, she had first asked Mr Fawnhope if he could not climb over the fence, and when he had replied, quite simply, that he could not, she had requested him to shout. But the ode that was burgeoning in his head had by this time taken possession of him, and he had said that the sylvan setting was just the inspiration he needed. After that, he sat down on the bank, and drew out his notebook and a pencil, and whenever she begged him to bestir himself to procure her release, all he said, and that in a voice that showed how far away were his thoughts, was ‘Hush!’ Consequently she was in a mood ripe for murder when the rescue party at last arrived on the scene, and was betrayed into an unwise accusation, ‘You did this!’ she flung at Sophy, quite white with anger.
Sophy, who felt sorry for her being discovered in so ridiculous a situation, replied soothingly: ‘No, it was a foolish servant, who thought we had all gone back to the house. Never mind! Come and drink some of Sancia’s excellent tea!’
‘I don’t believe you. You are unprincipled, and vulgar, and –’
‘Eugenia!’ said Mr Rivenhall sharply.
She gave an angry sob, but said no more. Sophy went into the wood to rouse Mr Fawnhope from his abstraction, and Mr Rivenhall said: ‘It was nothing but an accident, and there is no need to be so put-out.’
‘I am persuaded your cousin did it to make me a laughingstock,’ she said in a low voice.
