As he shut the door behind him, his mother looked up, started slightly, and said with a nervous inflection which annoyed her brother: ‘Oh! Charles! Only fancy! Your Uncle Horace!’
‘So Dassett informed me,’ responded Mr Rivenhall. ‘How do you do, sir?’
He shook hands with his uncle, drew up a chair, and sat down, civilly engaging Sir Horace in conversation. His mother, fidgeting first with the fringe of her shawl and then with her handkerchief, presently broke in on this interchange to say: ‘Charles, you remember Sophia? Your little cousin?’
Mr Rivenhall did not present the appearance of one who remembered his little cousin, but he said in his cool way: ‘Certainly. I hope she is well, sir?’
‘Never had a day’s illness in her life, barring the measles,’ said Sir Horace. ‘You’ll see her for yourself soon; your mother is going to take charge of her while I’m in Brazil.’
It was plain that this way of breaking the news did not recommend itself to Lady Ombersley, who at once hurried into speech. ‘Well, of course it is not quite decided yet, though I am sure there is nothing I should like better than to have my dear brother’s daughter to stay with me. I was thinking, too, Charles, that it would be so pleasant for Cecilia: Sophia and she are nearly the same age, you know.’
‘Brazil?’ said Mr Rivenhall. ‘That should be very interesting, I daresay. Do you make a long stay there, sir?’
‘Oh, no!’ replied Sir Horace vaguely. ‘Probably not. It will depend upon circumstance. I have been telling your mother thatI shall be much in her debt if she can find an eligible husband for my Sophy. It’s time she was married, and your mother seems, from what I hear, to be quite a dab in that line. I understand I have to offer you my felicitations, my boy?’
‘Thank you: yes,’ said Mr Rivenhall, with a slight bow.
‘If you should not dislike it, Charles, I own I should be very happy to have Sophia,’ said Lady Ombersley placatingly.
He cast her an impatient glance, and replied: ‘I beg you will do precisely as you wish, ma’am. I cannot conceive what business it is of mine.’
‘Of course I have explained to your uncle that we lead very quiet lives.’
‘She won’t give a fig for that,’ said Sir Horace comfortably. ‘She’s a good little thing: never at a loss for something to occupy herself with. Just as happy in a Spanish village as in Vienna, or Brussels.’
At this, Lady Ombersley sat up with a jerk. ‘Do not tell me you dragged the child to Brussels last year!’
‘Of course she was in Brussels! Where the devil should she have been?’ replied Sir Horace testily. ‘You wouldn’t have had me leave her in Vienna, would you? Besides, she enjoyed it. We met a great many old friends there.’
‘The danger!’
‘Oh, pooh! Nonsense! Precious little of that with Wellington in command!’
‘When, sir, may we have the pleasure of expecting my cousin?’ interposed Mr Rivenhall. ‘We must hope that she will not find life in London too humdrum after the superior excitement of the Continent.’
‘Not she!’ said Sir Horace. ‘I never knew Sophy when she wasn’t always busy with some ploy or another. Give her her head! I always do, and she never comes to any harm. Don’t quite know when she’ll be with you. She’s bound to want to see the last of me, but she’ll post up to London as soon as I’ve sailed.’
‘Post up to London as soon as – Horace, surely you will bringher to me!’ gasped his sister, quite scandalized. ‘A girl of her age, travelling alone! I never heard of such a thing!’
‘Won’t be alone. She’ll have her maid with her – dragon of a woman, she is: journeyed all over Europe with us! – and John Potton as well.’ He caught sight of his nephew’s raised brows, and felt himself impelled to add: ‘Groom – courier – general factotum! Looked after Sophy since she was a baby.’ He drew out his watch, and consulted it. ‘Well, now that we’ve settled everything, I must be off, Lizzie. I shall rely upon you to take care of Sophy, and look about you for a match. It’s important, because – but I’ve no time to explain that now! She’ll tell you all about it, I expect.’
‘But, Horace, we have not settled everything!’ protested his sister. ‘And Ombersley will be disappointed not to see you! I hoped you would dine with us!’
‘No, I can’t do that,’ he replied. ‘I’m dining at Carlton House. You may give my respects to Ombersley: daresay I shall see him again one of these days!’
He then kissed her in a perfunctory style, bestowed another of his hearty pats upon her shoulder, and took himself off, followed by his nephew. ‘Just as if I had nothing more to wish for!’ Lady Ombersley said indignantly, when Charles came back into the room. ‘And I have not the least notion when that child is to come to me!’
‘It doesn’t signify,’ said Charles, with an indifference she found exasperating. ‘You will give orders for a room to be prepared for her, I suppose, and she may come when she pleases. It’s to be hoped Cecilia likes her, since I imagine she will be obliged to see the most of her.’
‘Poor little thing!’ sighed Lady Ombersley. ‘I declare I quite long to mother her, Charles! What a strange, lonely life she must lead!’
‘Strange certainly; hardly lonely, if she has been acting hostess for my uncle. I must suppose that she has had some older lady to live with her: a governess, or some such thing.’
‘Indeed, one would think it must have been so, but your uncledistinctly told me that the governess died when they were in Vienna! I do not like to say such a thing of my only brother, but really it seems as though Horace is quite unfit to have the care of a daughter!’
‘Extremely unfit,’ he said dryly. ‘I trust you will not have cause to regret your kindness, Mama.’
‘Oh, no, I am sure I shall not!’ she said. ‘Your uncle spoke of her in such a way that gave me the greatest desire to welcome her! Poor child, I fear she has not been used to having her wishes or her comfort much considered! I could almost have been angry with Horace when he would keep on telling me that she is a good little thing, and had never been a worry to him! I daresay he has never allowed anyone to be a worry to him, for a more selfish man I believe you could hardly meet! Sophia must have her poor mother’s sweet disposition: I have no doubt of her being a charming companion for Cecilia.’
