The Lucases of Lucas Lodge Read online

  THREE

  ‘Why, of course it must have been Mr. Thomas Fairhead you met,’ said Mary as soon as she had heard and exclaimed over the story. ‘I must say, it was excessively kind of him to come to your aid, for I am afraid to say it, but you look quite shocking, covered in mud as you are. I suppose he must have taken pity on you, but there—I dare say that is just like his kindness, from all that I have heard of him.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Maria in the greatest surprise. ‘From whom have you heard this? Can it be—have you perchance had occasion to meet the family?’

  ‘You have caught me out, Maria,’ said Mary, with a smile of satisfaction. ‘I had intended to keep my secret until the evening of the assembly, for it would have been such fun to see your face when you saw me and Miss Fairhead walking about together arm in arm, but now I declare you have surprised it out of me. I met Louisa Fairhead on Saturday—quite by chance, for she and her father happened to be sheltering in the library from a sudden cloudburst just as my uncle and aunt and I entered it, and so we were introduced, for of course my uncle has already visited Mr. Fairhead. I believe we took a fancy to one another immediately, and we met again at church on Sunday—by the way, did not you see us together? I was almost sure you must have, and I was rather wishing you had, for I would certainly have introduced you then. We found we had so many things in common that I could hardly bear to be parted from her, and so yesterday I persuaded my aunt to visit Mrs. Fairhead in order to see Miss Fairhead again and further our acquaintance. I had a terrible time of it, for you know how my aunt hates the rain and the mud, and Netherfield is just too far away for a walk in inclement weather, but I would not be denied. I always make a point of having my way, you know,’ (this said with great complacency) ‘and I am happy to say that Miss Fairhead did not disappoint me. We spent the morning together and I am sure are in a fair way to becoming the greatest of friends. I think you will like her, Maria,’ she continued. ‘She is a very pretty creature—prettier than you and I, certainly,’ (here there was a toss of the head and a sort of smirk which said she did not really believe what she said, at least as regarded herself) ‘and rather fine, although by no means too fine. She has a quick and lively manner, and such a droll way about her when describing her acquaintance—by the way, I wish you had heard her manner of imitating Mrs. Nicholls; I thought I should die laughing!—and altogether I think she is a welcome addition to the neighbourhood. I am quite delighted with her, and am determined to notice her, and you will see that soon it will be as though she had lived here forever.’

  Maria, who continually forgot that she herself was the first in consequence in Meryton now that her sister Charlotte was married, and that it was due to her to notice Miss Fairhead, while Mary King was nobody, listened to all this with the greatest of interest.

  ‘I am very sorry I did not see you together at church on Sunday,’ she said, ‘for I should certainly have come to meet her. She sounds very pleasant, from what you say.’

  ‘I wonder she did not tell me that her brother had already arrived,’ said Mary. ‘She said that he was expected in the country but I did not realize he would be here so soon. He has been staying at Weybridge with a friend of his, a Mr. Sands. Only think, Maria! If he were to come to the assembly tomorrow and bring with him a friend or two. Do you remember what we were saying only the other day? How happy we should be! I have long been resolved never to marry—for what are men in general but fools and deceivers? However, I must confess that it is very pleasant to dance with a charming young man once in a while—even if he does prattle and talk nonsense, for I am not one of those people who look down upon the lighter pursuits, and on the contrary, I think that when enjoyed in moderation they are entirely harmless and can even lift the spirits and do one some good.’

  The next few minutes were given over to the important matter of dress, and soon the ladies had settled to their own satisfaction the question of what to wear. In truth, however, neither was giving the subject the full attention it deserved, for each was absorbed in her own thoughts. Maria’s mind was still wrapped up in her earlier adventure; she feared that she had forgotten her manners and had not thanked the young man as she ought—but really, she had been so confused and embarrassed that she knew not what to say. How foolish he must have thought her! She hoped he would be at the assembly so that she could thank him again and perhaps make a better impression than the unfortunate one she had undoubtedly made at first.

  Mary King’s thoughts, meanwhile, ran along entirely different lines. She felt all the triumph of having been first to make the acquaintance of Miss Fairhead, and trusted that she would soon enjoy all the benefits, for that way, she was certain, was the best way to attain her end, which was no less than to marry Mr. Thomas Fairhead, in spite of her avowed intention to remain single—and the fact that she had never met him. True, Miss Lucas had an advantage over her in having already met Mr. Fairhead himself, but Maria was an ingenuous creature and would certainly have no idea of how to make the most of it; no, Mary felt quite safe on that head. Her approach was a much more artful one, and consisted of drawing in Thomas Fairhead by first cultivating the acquaintance of his sister. She and Miss Fairhead would become the most intimate of friends, upon which she would certainly be thrown into the company of Thomas Fairhead frequently, and in this way gain the opportunity to attract him if she possibly could—which, she trusted was not beyond the bounds of possibility, for she had been told she was a handsome girl; and after all, what more did a man look for in a woman, than good looks and a captivating manner? Pleasant visions of fine houses and new carriages drifted through Mary’s head, and she smiled to herself. Her only doubt was as to whether Maria would win him first, but this she was determined to prevent.

  Had Mary but known it, she had nothing to fear in the way of competition on the part of Miss Lucas, for Maria was entirely guileless in such matters and had no idea that any competition was even thought of. Innocent and trusting as she was, she accepted her friend’s words as the truth, and looked forward to making the acquaintance of Miss Fairhead in due course.

  FOUR

  The evening of the ball arrived at last, and when Maria entered the assembly room with Lady Lucas she looked about her curiously. A single glance told her that the Fairheads were not yet arrived, but she soon discerned Mary King, standing with her aunt and uncle, in conversation with Mr. Wilcox. Maria went to join them, and was immediately engaged for the first two dances by Mr. Wilcox, who then departed to pay his respects to Sir William Lucas.

  ‘I am glad you are to dance with Mr. Wilcox,’ said Mary. ‘He wanted to dance with me first, but I find him a disagreeable partner, and happily the idea came to me just in time to tell him that my aunt was a little tired, and had particularly requested that I stay with her for the first part of the evening. You will get on with him much better, Maria. You are so much more patient with his ungainly dancing than I should be.’

  The music began and the gentleman returned to claim his prize, and Maria did her best to smile through the first two dances, although they brought her little pleasure, for Mr. Wilcox had damp hair and a pink face, and was a determined rather than an able dancer. To her additional annoyance, while the dance was at its height, she heard a little bustle at the other end of the room, and saw that a group of people had arrived, who, to judge from the buzz of excited conversation which immediately arose, could be none other than the Fairheads. She was unable to see much of what was happening, but she glimpsed Mary hastening forth to greet a young lady whom Maria had never seen before, but who must surely be Louisa Fairhead. She wanted to see more, but Mr. Wilcox just then reprimanded her jocularly for her inattention, and so she was forced to smile and attend to what she was doing, for fear of mistaking her steps.

  The dance ended and Maria was thankfully released. Her father was talking to one of the new-comers, a pleasant-faced man of fifty, and he called upon her to join them, whereupon she was duly introduced to Mr. Fairhead, the father of T
homas and Louisa Fairhead. Having said what was proper, Mr. Fairhead observed with a smile that he was pleased to discover that there were many young ladies in Meryton, for he had feared his daughter might find living in the country a little dull.

  ‘Oh, no! The countryside is far from dull,’ said Sir William. ‘To be sure, it is quiet at times, but this is a friendly neighbourhood and there is always something going on. It will be good for all the young people to have somebody new to look at, however,’ he went on after a moment. ‘The ladies, especially, lament the lack of young gentlemen to dance with, I believe.’

  ‘I fear I am too old for dancing,’ said Mr. Fairhead, ‘but I imagine my son will have no objection. He is of an obliging disposition, and I dare say will be only too happy to dance with all the ladies at once if they wish it—especially if they are all as fair as your daughter, Sir William’ (with a bow to Maria). ‘Have you met my son, Miss Lucas? He is somewhere about.’ He turned to look for his son as he spoke.

  Maria, blushing at the memory of the day before, was wondering how to reply, when the group was suddenly accosted by Mr. Thripp, the clergyman, who begged Sir William’s pardon and asked if he might have Miss Lucas’s hand for the next two dances. Sir William readily agreed to the request, and Maria was duly borne off, without anybody’s having thought to ask her what she thought of it. Thus did she miss an introduction to Thomas Fairhead, who a moment afterwards came over in answer to his father’s summons. They were shortly joined by Louisa Fairhead, Mary King, and another young man who was introduced as Mr. Sands, a particular friend of Thomas Fairhead. The two had spent the past few weeks in Weybridge, and Mr. Sands had returned with his friend to stay at Netherfield for some days. Mr. Sands was tall and handsome, and promised well so long as he remained silent; when he opened his mouth, however, the good impression tended to be spoilt by his conversation, which revealed a firm conviction on his part that he knew everything—a defect in his character that was in no way rendered more attractive by the reality of his incorrigible ignorance.

  ‘And here is Miss King,’ said Sir William. ‘You look quite charming this evening, Miss King. Mr. Thomas Fairhead,’ (bowing to that gentleman) ‘your father tells me you are fond of dancing. As you can see, you will find no shortage of pretty girls in Meryton. I hope you come prepared to do your duty as a dancing partner.’

  ‘I do indeed,’ said Thomas Fairhead with an answering bow, and, taking the hint, turned to Mary and asked her to dance. Miss King hid her triumph and accepted prettily, and the two departed.

  FIVE

  After only a few minutes’ acquaintance, Miss King was already exceedingly pleased with what she had seen of Thomas Fairhead. Not only was he handsome, but he had an open and obliging manner, as well as an evident affection for his family—especially his sister Louisa, to whom, as far as Mary could observe, he was in the habit of deferring. This was a good sign indeed! Had he appeared to be the sort who would have his own way, her intentions with respect to him would not have changed, but she would have approached her task with less enthusiasm, for an unbending husband promised nothing but hard work; a biddable man, however, was what she wanted of all things, and so there was nothing to do but to set about winning his heart—something which, she hoped, could be fairly achieved in an evening or two. She decided to begin with flattery.

  ‘I must tell you, Mr. Fairhead, how delighted I am with your sister,’ she said, once they had taken their places in the dance. ‘She has quite brightened up our little circle here in Meryton. How pretty she is! Such a clear, delicate complexion. And those eyes of hers! I declare I never saw such a rich shade of blue, or such an expression in them, when she makes one of her droll, clever remarks. How she made me laugh the other day, when we were talking together! I do believe she is the wittiest woman I know.’

  ‘Is she? I am glad you think so,’ replied Thomas Fairhead. ‘I speak as a brother, of course, but she is certainly clever. I make no pretensions to wit myself—indeed, I confess that sometimes Louisa is a little too quick for me. She quite laughs at me for it. However, I know she means it fondly. And so you have become firm friends, have you? I am glad of it, for I know my father feared she would find Hertfordshire a little flat after London.’

  This was a good beginning indeed, and Miss King was about to follow up her advantage when she saw that Mr. Fairhead’s attention had been caught by something. It was Maria, who was just then going down the dance with Mr. Thripp.

  ‘Who is that young lady?’ said Mr. Fairhead. ‘I met her yesterday, I believe, but not under such circumstances as to allow us to be introduced.’

  ‘That?’ said Mary King. ‘That is Maria Lucas, the daughter of Sir William Lucas, whom you met just now. Ah! Then you must be the gentleman who rescued her from her absurd predicament yesterday.’

  Mr. Fairhead admitted that that was the case.

  ‘It was fortunate that you happened to be passing,’ went on Mary, ‘or who knows how long she would have remained there? Maria is a particular friend of mine, and I never think of her but with affection, for she is good-natured enough, but there is no denying that she is an empty-headed creature. Her mamma quite despairs of her, for she is always getting into some scrape or other.’

  ‘Well, I am glad I was able to assist her,’ said Mr. Fairhead. ‘It does not do to remain outside in the cold and wet at this time of year. Perhaps she ought to have stayed at home instead of going out in all the mud we have seen lately.’

  Seeing that he was still inclined to look towards Maria, Mary cast about for a means of returning his attention to herself, and was struck by a happy idea.

  ‘Do not concern yourself,’ she said. ‘She is foolish now, but she will do well with a little more education and worldliness—and those she will get once she is married.’

  ‘What? Then she is engaged?’ said Mr. Fairhead. ‘To whom?’

  ‘You see her dancing with him now,’ said Mary. ‘Mr. Thripp is the fortunate man who has won the hand of Miss Lucas. At least,’ she lowered her voice, ‘that is what we expect to hear any day now. You understand, of course, that the matter must remain confidential until it is officially announced.’

  ‘Oh, certainly,’ said Mr. Fairhead, looking again towards Maria. She was at that moment blushing and smiling at Mr. Thripp, and it certainly did look as though there were some intimacy between them. After a moment he recollected himself and what was due to his partner, and the dance proceeded pleasantly until its conclusion.

  Mary had hoped that Thomas Fairhead might be induced to remain in conversation with her when they left the floor, but she was immediately asked to dance by Mr. Sands, and, not wishing to appear disobliging before his friend, felt she must accept. Fortunately, Mr. Sands was far too fond of the sound of his own voice to require much conversation from her, and so she had plenty of opportunity to reflect on the results of her first attempt to ingratiate herself with Thomas Fairhead. As far as that went, she had no cause to feel any dissatisfaction. He had seemed pleased with his partner—she was almost sure she had discerned one or two glances of admiration, for she knew she was looking well—and altogether he had shown no disinclination for her company. The falsehood about Maria and Mr. Thripp had come to her on the spur of the moment, and she half-regretted it, but on further reflection decided that there was no harm in it—after all, she had not said that they were absolutely engaged, only that an announcement was expected. And in any case, it was as well to remove all expectations at once, just to make quite certain that no attraction could develop—for, after all, the circumstances under which Mr. Fairhead had first met Maria could be said to be romantic, and there was no saying how susceptible he might be to such nonsense. If he believed that Maria’s heart were already given to another, however, then it was more than likely that he would dismiss her quickly from his mind.

  As Mary’s thoughts ran complacently along these lines, she happened to look round, and was surprised and not a little vexed to see Thomas Fairhead leading Maria Lucas to the
dance. Evidently her information had not been enough to discourage him—but of course, she recollected, since Maria was first in consequence in Meryton, it must not be said that she had been overlooked, and no doubt the elder Mr. Fairhead had reminded his son of his duty. It was no matter, however; Maria was far too stupid a creature to see an advantage even when it stood before her—and besides, while she might be the daughter of a knight, her father had no fortune to give her. Mary remembered her ten thousand pounds and felt safe.

  SIX

  But Miss King was wrong in her supposition that Thomas Fairhead had asked Maria to dance only on being reminded of it by his father, for Mr. Fairhead had had every intention of being introduced to Miss Lucas and of dancing with her. The first was effected easily enough, and Miss Lucas seemed to have no objection to the second, and very soon they were standing on the floor together, and Mr. Fairhead had ample opportunity to admire the delicate flush on Maria’s cheeks, which was due partly to her having danced several dances in a row, and partly to embarrassment at the memory of her adventure of the day before.

  ‘I hope you did not take a chill yesterday,’ said Mr. Fairhead. ‘And I trust you had not been there too long when I arrived. I wish I might have come earlier, that you might have been helped sooner.’

  ‘Oh! I am quite well, thank you,’ said Maria. ‘And I had not been there above five minutes when you came. It was foolish of me, I know, to try and cross that way, but I fear I am too impatient sometimes. Mamma often scolds me for my heedlessness. How funny you must have thought me!’

  Mr. Fairhead was about to deny it, but was caught by the artless good humour in her expression, and instead said with a smile:

  ‘Perhaps a little at first—just from surprise, you know. But I would not have you think me unfeeling. I assure you I was sincerely concerned at your plight.’