‘Impossible!’ murmured Sir Gareth.
‘Of course it is impossible!’ said Hester, casting a reproving glance at him. ‘I daresay there has not been yet time for the advertisement to be inserted. Wait a few days longer!’
‘Is Hildebrand to visit Vinehall every day?’ enquired Sir Gareth. ‘Courting disaster – but far be it from me to complain!’
‘No, for he said he would send his groom over with the newspapers,’ said Hildebrand. ‘No harm can come of that, surely, sir?’
‘None at all – provided he doesn’t take it into his head to come himself.’
‘Oh, no fear of that!’ Hildebrand said cheerfully. ‘He told me that he finds it hard to get about, and was only sorry that he was unable to drive over to see you.’
He had underrated Mr Vinehall’s spirit. On the following afternoon, when both the ladies of the party were in the parlour, Amanda standing in the middle of the room, and Lady Hester kneeling at her feet to stitch up a torn flounce on her dress, a vehicle was heard to drive up. Neither paid much heed, since this was no unusual circumstance; but after a minute, Amanda, craning her neck, managed to catch a glimpse of it, and exclaimed: ‘Good gracious, it’s a carriage! The most old-fashioned thing! Whoever can it be?’
They were not left above a couple of minutes in suspense. Whoever it was had already entered the inn, and the arrival seemed to have thrown the Chicklades into strange confusion. A babel of voices sounded, Chicklade’s deep one sharpened by surprise, and a still deeper one wheezing an answer.
‘Good God!’ uttered Hester, in a panic. ‘Could it be Mr Vinehall? Amanda, what are we to do? If he sees me –’
The words died on her lips, for the door had been flung open, and she heard Chicklade say: ‘If your honour will be pleased to step into the parlour! You’ll find Sir Gareth’s sister and niece, and very glad to see you, sir, I’ll be bound.’
Gladness was not the predominant expression in either lady’s face. Hester, hurriedly breaking off her thread, and getting up, was looking perfectly distracted; and Amanda’s eyes, fixed on the doorway, were growing rounder and rounder in astonishment.
Hildebrand had not exaggerated in his description of Mr Vinehall. His bulk filled the aperture. He was a man in the late sixties, dressed in clothes as old-fashioned as his carriage. A stalwart footman hovered watchfully behind him, and, as soon as he was clear of the doorway, hastened to lend him the support of his arm, and to lower him on to a chair, where he sat, breathing heavily, and staring at Amanda. An appreciative smile gradually spread over his very red face, and he said: ‘So you are little Trixie’s girl, my dear? Well, well, y
ou don’t resemble her greatly, but I’ve no complaint to make! I’ll wager you’ll break as many hearts as she did!’ His mountainous form shook alarmingly, and a rumbling laugh appeared to convulse him. The footman patted him on the back, and after wheezing a good deal, he gasped: ‘You don’t know who the devil I am, eh? Well, my name’s Vinehall, and I knew your mama when she was in a cradle. Gary, too. To think of his being within five miles of my place, and me having not a suspicion of it! If it hadn’t been for your brother’s coming to call on me yesterday, I daresay I should never have been a penny the wiser, for the only news I get is from the doctor, and he hasn’t been next or nigh me for ten days. Damme, I thought, when the lad was gone off, why don’t I heave myself into my carriage, and go to see Gary, since he can’t come to see me? So here I am, and not a penny the worse for it. Now, where’s your mama, my dear? I’ll warrant she’ll bless herself when she hears who’s come to wait on her!’
‘She – she isn’t here, sir,’ said Amanda.
‘Not here? Where’s she gone off to, then? The boy told me she couldn’t leave Gary!’
‘I don’t know. I mean, she never was here! It is my Aunt Hester who is nursing Uncle Gary!’
‘But your brother said –’
‘Oh, I expect he did not hear just what you were asking him!’ said Amanda glibly. ‘He is very deaf, you know!’
‘God bless my soul! Didn’t seem to be deaf to me!’
‘No, because he very much dislikes to have it known, and so he pretends that he can hear quite well.’
‘You don’t mean it! I should never have suspected it. So Trixie ain’t here after all! Who is this Aunt Hester you spoke of? One of your papa’s sisters?’ He seemed to become aware of Hester, standing frozen behind Amanda, and bowed. ‘How de do, ma’am? You’ll excuse my getting up!’
‘Yes, indeed!’ Hester said faintly. ‘How do you do?’
He frowned suddenly. ‘Ay, but you can’t be Gary’s sister, if you’re a Wetherby!’
‘No, no! I mean, I’m not a Wetherby! That is –’
Amanda, observing her flounderings, rose nobly, but disastrously, to the rescue. ‘She is Uncle Gary’s other sister,’ she explained.
‘Other sister? He ain’t got another!’ said Mr Vinehall. ‘Never more than three of them: Gary, poor Arthur, and Trixie! What’s the game, you little puss? Trying to humbug an old man? No, no, you’ll catch cold at that!’
‘Excuse me!’ Hester said, unable to bear another moment of what was fast developing into an inquisition. ‘I will see if Sir Gareth can receive you, sir!’
With these hastily uttered words, she slipped from the room, and fled upstairs, tripping on her dress, and arriving in Sir Gareth’s room out of breath, and with her cap crooked. ‘Gareth!’ she gasped. ‘The most dreadful thing! We are quite undone!’
He lowered the copy of the Quarterly, which he had been reading. ‘Good God, what is it?’
‘Mr Vinehall!’ she said, sinking limply into a chair.