The only difficulty was, how to obtain Lady Bolderwood’s consent to so delightful a scheme? Nurse was so cross she would be of no assistance: Marianne did not know what was to be done. Happily, Miss Morville was unafraid of the dangers attaching to sick-rooms, and she alighted from the landaulet with the express purpose of visiting Lady Bolderwood. The Dowager then permitted Marianne to escort her to the shrubbery, which she had the happiness of discovering to be not so extensive as that at Stanyon; and in a little while Miss Morville rejoined her with the welcome intelligence that Lady Bolderwood was most grateful to her for her kind thought, and would be pleased to allow her daughter to sojourn at Stanyon while she was confined to her chamber.
This was not strictly accurate. It did not quite suit Lady Bolderwood’s nice sense of propriety that Marianne should make her first appearance at a formal ball unattended by herself, but against the decree of her husband she was powerless to resist. He could perceive nothing in the invitation that was not agreeable. They might entrust their treasure to Lady St Erth’s care with quiet minds; and how shocking a thing it would be to deny her this pleasure from some nonsensical scruple! He did not like to think of her moping about the house in solitude; he would be happy to know that she was being so well entertained, and in such unexceptionable hands. To find herself amongst a company of exalted persons would put her into excellent training for her coming London Season: he could not imagine what his Maria could find amiss in such a scheme. Lady Bolderwood acquiesced, therefore, her maternal agitation finding its only expression in the urgent messages which she charged Nurse to deliver to Marianne. These ranged from reminders of the conduct to be expected of débutantes, to the sum of money it would be proper to bestow upon the maidservant who waited on her, and the ornaments which she should wear with her ball-dress. Marianne’s maid, overjoyed at such an enlargement to her horizon, began to pack a number of trunks and band-boxes, the only alloy to her delight being the gloomily expressed conviction of Sir Thomas’s second footman
that her pleasure had its root in the expectation of receiving the addresses of all the libertines employed at the Castle.
Marianne’s own happiness knew no other bounds than regret that her Mama could not make one of the party. Had she been permitted to do so, she would have rendered her parents’ malady still more hideous by smoothing their pillows, coaxing them to swallow bowls of gruel, and begging them to tell her, just as they were dropping into sleep, if there was anything she could do for them to make them more comfortable; but this solace had been denied her, so that she could not believe herself to be necessary to them. Her Papa bade her go to Stanyon and enjoy herself; her Mama, endorsing this command, only added a warning that she should conduct herself modestly; and as she had not the smallest inclination to go beyond the bounds of propriety she had nothing to do but to thank Lady St Erth again and again for her exceeding kindness, and to prepare for several days of unsullied amusement. Her transports led her to embrace the Dowager, an impulsive action which, though it startled that lady, by no means displeased her. ‘A very good-hearted girl,’ she told Miss Morville, when Marianne had run away to put on her hat and her pelisse. ‘I am glad that I had the happy notion of inviting her to stay at Stanyon.’
Miss Morville assented to it with great calmness. She did not feel it incumbent upon her to disclose to the Dowager the anxious qualms with which Lady Bolderwood parted from her daughter; but the truth was that the invitation was by no means welcome to Lady Bolderwood. While agreeing with Sir Thomas that her indisposition condemned Marianne to several days of solitary boredom, she still could not like her going alone to such a party as was contemplated at Stanyon. Sir Thomas said that their little puss could be trusted to keep the line; she could place no such dependence on the discretion of an eighteen-year-old girl, nor had she much faith in the Dowager’s capabilities as a chaperon. ‘Lady St Erth,’ she said, ‘is not the woman I should choose to entrust Marianne to!’
Miss Morville said that she would be at Stanyon, and would take care of Marianne.
‘My dear,’ said Lady Bolderwood, pressing her hand, ‘if it were not for that circumstance I could not bring myself to consent to such an arrangement! I should not say it, but I have no great liking for Lady St Erth! Then, too, it has to be remembered that Marianne is an heiress, and if there is one thing above all others which I do not wish, it is to see her exposed to every gazetted fortune-hunter in England! She is too innocent to detect mere flattery; and even were Lady St Erth the best-natured woman alive, which I do not scruple to assert she is not, it would be unreasonable to expect her to guard a young girl as her own mother would!’
Miss Morville, who had written all the invitations for the Dowager, said that she did not think that Marianne would encounter any fortune-hunters at Stanyon. She added that the ball would be quite a small one, and that the guests, for the most part, were already known to Lady Bolderwood. With this assurance the anxious mother had to be content.
She sent a loving message of farewell to Marianne; and Marianne, who anticipated no attacks, either upon her expectations or upon her virtue, danced out to the landaulet, with her eyes and her cheeks aglow with happiness. She looked so pretty, in a swansdown-trimmed bonnet and pelisse, that Martin caught his breath at sight of her.
So, too, a little later, did Lord Ulverston.
After his first rapture at the thought of having Marianne to stay at Stanyon had abated a little, it had occurred to Martin that the visit would afford his half-brother many undesirable opportunities for flirtation. It had not occurred to him that he might find a rival in Lord Ulverston, for although his lordship certainly drove a magnificent team of horses, wore the coveted insignia of the Whip Club, and showed himself in all respects a man of fashion, he was not handsome, and his figure, seen beside any one of the three Frants, was not imposing. Martin, who stood over six foot in his bare feet, thought of him as a little on the squat. He was, in fact, of medium height and compact build; and if his features were not classical his smile was engaging, and his address considerable. It almost deserted him at the dazzling sight which met his eyes, but he made a quick recover, and sprang forward to hand Marianne out of the carriage before Martin had dismounted, and long before the Dowager had performed the proper introductions.
Since the dinner-hour at Stanyon was at half-past six, Miss Morville lost no time in escorting Marianne to her bedchamber, a pleasant room next to her own, with a modern, barred grate, and a comfortable tent-bed. Marianne, looking about her at the flowered wallpaper, and all the evidences of up-to-date taste, seemed a little disappointed, and confided that she had expected to find herself in a panelled room, with a four-poster bed, and a powder-closet.
‘Well, it could be arranged for you to sleep in one of the panelled rooms,’ said Miss Morville. ‘Only it will set you at a little distance from me, and I had thought you would prefer to be near me.’
Marianne assured her that she would not change her room for the world. ‘I thought all the rooms were panelled!’ she explained. ‘Is not the Castle of vast antiquity?’
‘Oh, not this part of it!’ said Miss Morville. ‘I think it was built at the time of Charles II. I fancy that not much of the original Castle still remains. If you are interested in antiquities, you should ask Theo Frant to take you over the whole building: he knows all about it.’
‘Is it haunted?’ breathed Marianne, in delightful trepidation.
‘Oh, no, nothing of that sort!’ Miss Morville said reassuringly. She then perceived that she had given the wrong answer, and added: ‘At least, it may be, but I am not at all fanciful, you know, and I daresay I might not be conscious of the supernatural.’
‘Oh, but, Drusilla, if a spectre without a head were to walk the corridors, or a female form in gray draperies, surely you would be conscious of it!’ cried Marianne, much shocked.
‘If I saw a female form in gray draperies I should take it for Lady St Erth,’ said Miss Morville apologetically. ‘She has a gray dressing-gown, you see. However, a headless spectre would certainly surprise me very much. Indeed, it would very likely give me a distaste for the Castle, so I hope I never shall see such an apparition.’
‘Give you a distaste for the Castle! Oh no, how can you be so unromantic?’ protested her youthful friend.
‘To own the truth,’ replied Miss Morville candidly, ‘I can perceive nothing romantic in a headless spectre. I should think it a very disagreeable sight, and if I did fancy I saw such a thing I should take one of Dr James’s powders immediately!’
Marianne was obliged to laugh; but she shook her head as well, and was persuaded that her friend could not be serious.
Miss Morville then went to her own room, to change her dress, promising to discover from Theo if they might reasonably expect to see a horrid apparition in any part of the Castle. She returned presently to escort Marianne to the Long Drawing-room, and, finding her charmingly attired in sprigged muslin, strongly recommended her to wrap a shawl round her shoulders. Though the Castle might lack a ghost, she said, it was well-provided with draughts.
‘Provoking creature!’ Marianne pouted. ‘You are determined to be prosaic, but I shan’t attend to you!’
They found the rest of the party already assembled in the Long Drawing-room, gathered about a noble fire. The Earl came forward to draw the young ladies into the circle, and Marianne, with a droll look, complained of Drusilla’s insensibility. ‘But she says that I must ask you, Mr Frant, for the history of Stanyon, and you will tell it all to me – all about the secret dungeons, and the oubliette, and the ghost!’
Theo smiled, but replied ruefully that he could offer her neither ghost nor oubliette. ‘And I hardly dare to tell you that the dungeons were converted many years ago into wine cellars!’ he confessed. ‘As for ghosts, I never heard of one here, did you, Gervase?’
‘None beyond the shade that flits across the Fountain Court, weeping, and wringing its hands,’ the Earl replied, with a composed countenance.
Marianne clasped her own hands together, and fixed her eyes on his face. ‘Oh, no! Do you mean it? And is that the only ghost? Does it not enter the Castle?’
‘I have never known it to do so,’ he said truthfully. ‘Of course, we have not put you in the Haunted Room – that would never do! The noise of clanking chains would make it impossible for you to sleep, and the groans, you know, are dreadful to hear. You will not be disturbed by anything of that nature, I hope. And if you should happen to hear the sound of a coach-and-four under your window at midnight, pay no heed!’
‘For shame, Gervase!’ exclaimed Theo, laughing, as Marianne gave an involuntary shudder.