An Accomplished Woman by Jude Morgan Page B

perfect squire after all, handling estate-maps
like old love-letters, and waxing lyrical over crop-rotation. But surely, Miss
Templeton, you must hold the key to some aspect of my uncle’s character. As
there is no polite way of putting it, I shall ask with maximum impertinence:
why did you turn him down all those years ago? I was a mere schoolboy at
Winchester at the time, being educated in bad habits, and only heard the bare
facts.’
    ‘Your education was
certainly imperfect, if you suppose that a lady would answer such a question.
But if you are in possession of the bare facts, then really you have the whole
matter. Mr Durrant proposed marriage: I considered: but, as I told him, I was
not contemplating matrimony, with him or anyone else. I wish I could garnish
the tale with romantic consequences and twists of fate; but there aren’t any.’
    ‘Yet he has never paid
addresses to any woman since.’
    ‘Oh, Mr Hanley, now you
are embroidering upon those facts most shamelessly. You wholly misjudge Mr
Durrant, if you suppose him nursing the broken heart of the disappointed lover
these nine years. In order to propose at all, Mr Durrant had to overcome a
strong dislike of humankind, and womankind in particular; and my refusing him
only confirmed, I imagine, his prevailing notions, reinforced his pride, and
allowed him to pursue his solitary and self-sufficing way without ever being
troubled by such nonsense again. In that respect I fancy it was even a relief
to him; and so, you see, you are not your uncle’s only benefactor, Mr Hanley.’
    ‘Indeed — and you are
mine also, Miss Templeton; for if you had not refused him, there would surely
be a brood of little Durrants now, to bar me from the inheritance; and I would
have had to apply myself to something. And no doubt would have turned
out a much more creditable fellow. So you see, there is nothing like a rich,
childless uncle to ruin a man: really, with such disadvantages, what chance did
I stand?’
    ‘A sad history: but a
man may rise above his disadvantages, Mr Hanley’
    ‘Oh, no, not in dear old
England, ma’am: why else are we fighting France, but to keep that sort of idea
down?’
    ‘Come, none of your
Radical talk here,’ put in George. ‘Lyddie, take some chicken — and some ham,
if you can see it.’
    The sparrow-like
chickens and tissuey ham of Vauxhall had long been a joke, and there was
perhaps more meat to be found in the slugs adorning the salad. Yet Lydia
experienced a moment of peculiar well-being, looking out at the lamplit avenue,
observing the flicker of grins and grimaces, struts and slouches, content to be
where she was. No quarrels with time or place: perhaps that was felicity.
    Or perhaps it was
because she had not thought of Bath lately.
    ‘Shall you remain in the
country until next season?’ Hugh Hanley asked: a mere civil enquiry that went
through her like a jolt.
    ‘Why — why do you ask?’
    ‘Because it is the sort
of tedious question one asks over supper,’ he said, with a sidelong amused
look. ‘I asked you a much more impertinent one a moment ago, so I supposed I
was safe.’
    ‘Yes, of course, I was
just . . .’ Curiously she felt better able at least to touch upon her reasons
with Hugh Hanley than with someone close to her like George. ‘I do have an
invitation to Bath in the summer, but I am not at all inclined to take it up.’
    ‘Eminently sensible: I
should think you would be bored half to death. I was there for part of a summer
two years ago, and found it a devilish glaring, baking sort of place in hot
weather. And then the chief amusements of the spring season are over: being
Bath, there is always something — some little genteel assemblage as
tepid as those ridiculous waters — but one must be very easily pleased to find
much entertainment in it. I am sure you, of all people, would find it monstrous
dull.’
    ‘Me? Why me of all
people?’
    ‘My dear Miss Templeton,
this is like conversing with a terrier.