The True Darcy Spirit. Elizabeth Aston

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ was introduced, first to Mrs. Lawson, then to Mr. Wexford, by Mrs. Quail, and finally the man with the red hair, who had been standing back, was ushered forward with something like pride by Mr. Wexford. Mr. Wexford was very tall, very thin, and had a bland but agreeable enough countenance. Had Cassandra been asked five minutes after they were introduced to describe him, she could not have done so.

      “This is Lieutenant Eyre, of the Royal Navy, who is presently staying with me, while waiting for a ship,” said Mr. Wexford.

      Mr. Eyre’s manners were excellent, even if his mouth twitched when Mrs. Cathcart, disapproval written all over her, began to question him about his antecedents. Mrs. Quail discovered more by drawing Mr. Wexford to one side and plying him with questions about his guest.

      “He seems a pleasant young man, is he cast ashore on half pay?” This was the fate of many naval officers, with the war over, and chances of promotion hard to come by.

      “He is, but he has many good friends, and hopes to have another ship soon.” Lowering his voice, Mr. Wexford went on, “He is the Earl of Littleton’s son, you know. A younger son, he has four older brothers, and it is an Irish title, of course, but coming of a good family, being a gentleman, as it were, still carries weight in the Royal Navy, I am glad to say.”

      “And I am glad to hear it,” cried Mrs. Quail. She was longing to ask if the young man had means of his own, or whether he had to live on the hundred or so pounds a year that the government paid a serving lieutenant when he was ashore.

      “He is not a rich man,” Mr. Wexford said, “but he is very good at his profession and will make his mark in the world, I am sure. He fought in some notable actions, he was on board the Shannon, when the Chesapeake was taken in the American war, were you not, James?”

      Mr. Eyre took his eyes from Cassandra and laughed. “I was a mid-shipman you know, the lowest of the low, but, yes, I was there, it was a notable engagement, and a very bloody one.”

      Miss Lawson rolled her eyes in his direction, it was clear that she had taken a liking to the red-haired young man. “Were you wounded?”

      “A mere scratch, nothing in comparison to some of the officers and men. But it was worth it,” he added, a fine fervour showing in his face.

      Mrs. Cathcart decided that she didn’t care for this young man with his Irish ancestry and hair and fine manners. She almost pushed Cassandra forward, towards Mr. Wexford. “My dear, this is an historic place, as Mr. Wexford can tell you. Was not there a great battle fought here, Mr. Wexford, during the English war?”

      “There was indeed,” said Mr. Wexford, his face brightening. “Is Miss Darcy interested in history?”

      “Indeed she is,” said Mrs. Cathcart, before Cassandra had a chance to answer. Cassandra had not the slightest interest in history, was, in fact, woefully ignorant upon the subject, although she had heard tell of the Civil War in the century before last, when the king fought Parliament and lost his head as a consequence.

      Mr. Wexford was not at all ignorant of the war. In fact he was appallingly well-informed, and a stream of information, from the death of Strafford to the defeat of Charles II at Worcester—“with his famous flight and hiding up an oak tree, you will know the story, Miss Darcy.” He also knew every detail of the battle that had been fought on that very spot, and he expounded with enthusiasm about the positioning of the Roundhead forces, the charge that Prince Rupert had made, and the exact regiments that were involved.

      Cassandra was too polite not to listen, but her eyes slid round to where Eyre was talking to Miss Lawson, what could he find to talk about in that animated way to her? She wished she might be talking to him, instead of being obliged to endure a history lesson from Mr. Wexford. Fortunately, their lunch was now spread out beneath the trees, and she could be spared any more facts and figures about what seemed to have been an interminable war.

      Mrs. Cathcart took pains to make sure that Mr. Eyre was not seated anywhere near Cassandra; her sharp eyes had noticed the effect he was having upon Miss Lawson, and even Miss Quail, while apparently listening to Mr. Northcott imparting some tedious anecdotes of the Civil War, had been giving the young man some covert glances.

      Cassandra found herself sitting next to Miss Lawson, who was shy, and who turned big, anxious eyes towards Cassandra when she was addressed by her. But she grew more at ease, finding that Miss Darcy wasn’t as toplofty and disagreeable as Miss Quail had said, and confided to her, as they ate a delicate honey ham pasty, that her mama had said that Miss Darcy was to make a match of it with Mr. Wexford, and was that indeed so?

      Cassandra nearly choked on her food. “Why,” she said in a much louder voice than she had intended, then, more quietly, “that is all nonsense, I have only met the man today, and I have no intention of marrying anyone just at present.”

      Colour flared into Miss Lawson’s cheeks. “Oh, I am sorry, then, to have spoken as I did. I must have misunderstood. So many girls come to Bath looking for husbands, you know, and they say Mr. Wexford is a very good catch, for he is quite rich. Only, he’s rather old, don’t you think?”

      “In his thirties, I would imagine,” Cassandra said, having recovered her calm. “Too old for one of your years, perhaps, or indeed for me, but he will do very well for some young woman of six- or seven-and-twenty who may be looking out for a husband.”

      “La, would he marry such an old maid?” said Miss Lawson, looking shocked. “My mama says I’m too young to be thinking of a husband, for I am but seventeen, but my best friend from school was married at seventeen, indeed on her seventeenth birthday, do not you think that odd?”

      Lunch was over, and a walk was agreed upon, a gentle walk of a mile or two along the ridge would offer them a most astonishing view. “And I can show you where the Royalist army camped the night before the battle,” Mr. Wexford said to Cassandra.

      Quite how it happened, Cassandra was never sure, but as the group walked along the lane, Mr. Wexford fell into deep conversation with Mrs. Cathcart, Mrs. Quail kept up with them, wanting to hear what they were saying, Mrs. Lawson, no great walker, fell behind, and then said she would rest on the bank, and await their return; that her daughter would stay with her—at which what was almost a pout might be seen on Miss Lawson’s pretty face—and so it was that Cassandra found herself walking beside the gallant lieutenant.

      How different his conversation was from that of any man she had known. He was witty and droll, and told stories about naval life that were about other men, not about himself. He drew her out, but in a courteous way, that could give no offence, asked her about her drawing—“For when I saw you on Sunday, you were sketching, were not you?”—and said that he had met a Miss Darcy, a Miss Isabel Darcy, in London; was she a relation? An entrancing creature,” he said, “and I am sure I heard that she was engaged to a Mr. Roper.”

      “Nothing came of that,” Cassandra said. “There never was anything in it. She has lately been staying with us. Are you making a long stay in Bath, Mr. Eyre?”

      “I wasn’t,” he said at once, “but I find that there are one or two things that may keep me in the area for a little while yet.”

       Chapter Nine

      Cassandra was in love. It had come to her as a bolt from the blue, but by the end of the picnic, she was aware that she had never taken such pleasure in any man’s company as she СКАЧАТЬ