CHAPTER XXVI
Lady Ormstork was a practitioner in somewhat the same line of business as Lady Agatha Hemyock. Her dealings were however, of a wider scope and carried out with more histrionic embellishment than those of her sister schemer who, as may have been gathered, had her hands full with her two discontented and recalcitrant daughters. Lady Ormstork had, she was thankful, and also given to say, no daughter. But other people had them. Also she had no money to speak of, and again other people had. So, being a tough and wise lady of tireless energy and a grasping turn of mind, she set herself to take certain other people's daughters, for matrimonial objects, be it understood, and at the same time as much of their money as she had the face—and hers was fairly expansive and brazen—to ask for.
In pursuance of a scheme which her ladyship had already several times put in practice with success, she, on hearing certain rumours, ran down to Great Bunbury, and secured a furnished house on the outskirts of that somewhat uninteresting borough.
As the upshot of this apparently pointless and fatuous action, it was one afternoon announced to Gage who was seeking relaxation from the duties of his position in a game of billiards with his friend Peckover, that Lady Ormstork and Miss Ulrica Buffkin were in the drawing-room.
"Who the deuce are they, Bisgood?" Gage inquired, in not the best of humours at being interrupted in a promising run of nursery cannons.
"I don't know, my lord," answered Bisgood stolidly, his air suggesting that it was his master's business to find out for himself. "Never heard of the ladies before."
"What are they like?" asked Peckover, ever on the alert for an unpleasant surprise.
"Middle-aged lady, sir, and a young one."
"Good-looking?" Gage demanded, weighing the visitors against the joy of the prettily placed balls by the top pocket.
"The young lady decidedly so, my lord," Bisgood answered with the dictum of a connoisseur. "As regards the elder lady opinions might diff——"
"Oh, bother the old lady. You can look after her, Percy," said Gage, putting on his coat. "I suppose they are ladies, Bisgood?"
"Lady Ormstork, my lord."
"Where's the book? Let's look her out."
Bisgood fetched Debrett, while Gage brushed his hair and gave an upward twist to his moustache.
"Yes, here it is, correct enough. 'Harriot, Lady Ormstork, widow of Henry Fitz-fulke Candlish, fourth Baron Ormstork.' Come on, old man," Gage commanded; and with pricking curiosity concerning Miss Buffkin, he led the way to the drawing-room.
The first glance told both men that Bisgood had not overstated the case. Miss Buffkin had a roguish, voluptuous prettiness which fitted each man's ideal of feminine beauty. Indeed it was so long before they could bring themselves to notice her companion that any other than the gratified Lady Ormstork would have reasonably shown signs of being offended.
"Lord Quorn?" the wily peeress inquired sweetly, looking from one to the other; and for once, perhaps naturally, at fault.
Gage, wrestling with his sudden preoccupation, went forward and shook hands. "How do you do?" he inquired tentatively, in a manner from which no unprejudiced observer would have deduced any deep concern as to the state of her ladyship's health.
"I must introduce myself." She opened the conversation winningly, as the men took chairs opposite to her and kept furtive eyes on the alluring Ulrica. "I was a great friend of the late peer's—your cousin——" Gage bowed. "My husband and he were at Eton together and kept up a life-long friendship." Lady Ormstork sighed. The men tried to look sympathetic and merely found themselves looking at the beautiful Miss Buffkin to see how she took it.
"We often stayed here," the peeress proceeded in a voice of tender reminiscence. "We always loved Staplewick and the—the neighbourhood."
With an effort the men accepted the interesting statement with a duly chastened glance at the maundering lady.
"So much so," Lady Ormstork continued, dropping with surprising ease the tone of lament in favour of one which suggested business-like hope, "that being sadly in need of change of air after the fatigue of the London season, I suggested, instead of the inevitable Homburg, the healthy and peaceful paradise of Great Bunbury."
It struck as much of the minds of her listeners as they could afford to detach from the prepossessing Miss Buffkin that it had never occurred to them so to regard that unlovely market-town, but they made allowances for variation in tastes and found it possible to rejoice that some one, particularly this talkative old peeress, took pleasure in it.
"It's an interesting old place," Gage agreed, with as much irony as anything else.
"Nice change after London," Peckover chimed in, with a slight shudder at the recollection of his first impressions of that unattractive town. "Don't you think so?" he suddenly asked Miss Buffkin.
The young lady hesitated, and her hesitation could not be said to count as a testimonial to the grimy place in question. "It's not exactly lively," she answered with a smile that disclosed an irreproachable set of teeth. "When you've walked up one side of the street and down the other you are ready, if not anxious, to bid Great Bunbury a life-long farewell."
"My dearest Ulrica," Lady Ormstork remonstrated, "you have no romance."
"If I had a sackful, Great Bunbury would shake it out of me pretty quick," her protégée retorted.
"Well," the elder lady resumed almost plaintively, "perhaps it is that I view it in the light of happier days. It used to be quite a treat to drive in from here on a fine afternoon to shop in the quaint little town."
Both men glanced at Miss Buffkin as inviting a comment.
"The things you buy there aren't much of a treat," she observed dryly.
"And that is why," proceeded Lady Ormstork, ignoring the remark, "my heart turned towards Great Bunbury and dear old Staplewick, so that I felt I must come and see it again, even at the risk of being considered intrusive."
The expression on the two men's faces was calculated to assure her that so long as she appeared similarly accompanied she need have no fear of her welcome.
"I'm sure I'm delighted," Gage assured her, with a sly glance at the fascinating Ulrica. "I hope you will stay to tea now, and come often," he said with real enthusiasm. "As often as you can."
Lady Ormstork looked deeply grateful; indeed, as though a load of ungratified longing had been lifted from her shoulders; while Miss Buffkin seemed, from one cause or another, highly amused.
"Thank you, Lord Quorn, it is most kind," Lady Ormstork replied gushingly. "I shall revel in revisiting the dear old haunts. I warn you I shall take you at your word, and come very, very often."
"Can't come too often," Gage assured her gaily. "Hope Miss Buffkin will come too. You mustn't leave her moping in Great Bunbury. We'll try to get up some fun for her out here."
Lady Ormstork had no intention of leaving the profitable Ulrica behind, and she intimated as much. Miss Buffkin, on her part, seemed to find more than a transitory amusement in the effect she had produced upon the men.
"Perhaps you would like a turn before tea and look round the gardens," Gage suggested, nudging his friend, "Rather untidy, but we are going to make them trim directly."
"Oh, I should dearly love to see them as they are," the wily old peeress assured him. "Untidiness lends itself to romance, does it not?"
"I dare say it does," responded Gage, "and gets interest out of it."
Lady Ormstork was too busy manoeuvring to get hold of Peckover to notice the joke. Her game was to throw the new Lord Quorn and the fair Ulrica together with ultimate profit to herself.
Peckover, it may be stated, was not wildly interested in the dowager peeress. Not quite taking in the situation, he had anticipated that she would hang on to Gage, leaving Miss Buffkin in his willing charge. But the whole sense of the meeting was against him. Between the grasping old lady and the repudiating Gage, he had no chance.
"Go on!" commanded his friend in a peremptory whisper pushing him towards the peeress.
"Don't you love a winter garden?" that astute dowager enquired sweetly as she annexed him, and then, without waiting for his predilections on the horticultural question, proceeded to arrange for "dear Ulrica" to be personally conducted by Gage. There was no help for it, and Peckover resigned himself to the tolerance of aristocratic age and presumed inanity.
"I can't tell you," Lady Ormstork observed in the cooing tone with which she smoothed over her designs, "how delighted I am to make the acquaintance of your friend, the new Lord Quorn, and to revisit dear old Staplewick. What a charming fellow he seems."
"Oh, yes; he's a slice of all right," Peckover agreed, wondering whence the lady had formed that conclusion, since Gage's behaviour had hitherto shown more signs of being charmed than charming.
"He has," declared Lady Ormstork, "the family likeness. Particularly the nose. I saw the Quorn nose at once."
This was a somewhat trying statement for Peckover, but he manfully repressed all evidence of agitation. "Yes," he assented, "he's got the nose all right, and a bit of the Quorn lip, I'm thinking."
Looking round as it were to verify the comparison, Lady Ormstork was pleased to see the lagging pair in close and animated conversation.
"Yes, he reminds me of the late peer, particularly when he smiles," she declared with boldness, considering that she had never set eyes on a Lord Quorn in her life, nor been until a week before, within fifty miles of Staplewick.
"Oh, does he?" responded Peckover indifferently, as he suppressed a yawn.
"It will be so nice to come over here often," pursued Lady Ormstork, ignoring her companion's preoccupation. "So delightful for my dear young friend, Miss Buffkin. Naturally to a high spirited girl Great Bunbury is a little dull."
"I should think it would be," Peckover responded.
"Yes," said the lady with a little sigh of relief, "and so it will be such a pleasant change for her to have, so to speak, the run of this lovely park."
"I'm sure," Peckover said with emphasis, "Lord Quorn will be delighted for Miss Buffkin to come here all day and every day."
"How good of him," exclaimed Lady Ormstork, greedily accepting the suggestion. "And I shall enjoy it too, more than I can express."
Peckover was silent as he fell gloomily to wondering whether his desirable lot would be to entertain this suave old lady while his friend flirted with the fair and lively Ulrica.
"My young friend," proceeded Lady Ormstork, "is a really charming girl—what a superb Wellingtonia!—Yes, I see a great deal of her. Her father is not able to take her about, and so she has become almost like my own daughter."
"Except that she doesn't exactly take after you in looks," thought Peckover; but he merely bowed acceptance of her statement.
"You see, her position is quite enviable," the lady continued in her society voice and drawl, "As an only child she will be immensely rich. Indeed Ulrica has her separate fortune now. I'm sure I may confide in you, Mr.——'
"Gage," Peckover supplied alertly.
"Mr. Gage. Not one of the Shropshire Gages?"
"Not that I know of," he replied, beating down a sporting instinct to claim kindred with that highly respectable, if rural, family.
"Ah! Some of the Worcestershire branch, the Lovel-Gages, were my greatest friends," said Lady Ormstork regretfully reminiscent. "You don't come from Worcestershire?"
"Not straight," he answered.
Lady Ormstork laughed, as she always did when there was the possibility of a joke being intended. "Well my dear Mr. Gage, I may tell you in confidence, as I feel we are going to be very good friends, that one of the reasons I brought dear Ulrica down to this quiet place was to be out of the way of certain fortune hunters who were pursuing her with their attentions."
"I don't wonder," responded Peckover, with a touch of enthusiasm.
"No," the lady agreed. "Apart from her immense fortune, she is adorable. So handsome! and so clever!"
"Yes, she's all that," said Peckover, enviously thinking of what a good time his friend was having, and regretting for once, that he had let the title go.
"One person in particular," pursued the dowager, "has given me great anxiety. A Spanish duke, of undeniable family, a Grandee of Spain, and all that sort of thing, don't you know, but very poor, and consequently most persistent. You know what these foreigners are."
"Rather," Peckover assured her, in a tone which implied an intimate acquaintance with the procedure of Spanish Grandees, rich and poor.
"Of course," the lady continued, "—oh, how pretty that peep is!—of course an alliance with Ulrica would set him, the duke, on his feet again. It would enable him to resume his position and live on his estates like a prince."
"Get a new hat to wear in the royal presence," added Peckover, remembering that attribute of Spanish Grandees which he had read of in the "interesting items" column of a weekly paper.
"He is, I believe, devotedly in love with Ulrica, apart from her fortune," continued his companion. "And of course from the point of view of mere rank and grandeur, the alliance would have been quite desirable. But, after all, an English girl should marry an Englishman, that is my feeling and the wish of Ulrica's father; and so we have come down here to let the storm of the Duke de Salolja's passion blow itself out."
"I see," said Peckover thoughtfully, wondering how much of the storm was true, since his last habit of mind was naturally now prone to suspicion and to look askance at unwarranted confidences.