The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [310]
‘Once or twice.’ Fanny tried to remember. ‘A friend in London, I think.’
‘A fine old family. His nephew Mr Arthur West has just taken the tenancy of Hale. As I mean to visit my old friend the vicar at Fordingbridge, which lies nearby, I thought to call upon him.’
‘I see.’ Fanny smiled to herself. Evidently her ruse to divert her aunt had not been successful. ‘You think Mr Arthur West is eligible?’
‘He is presumably a gentleman. His uncle is to leave him part of his fortune, which is ample. That is all I know, so far.’
‘You mean to inspect him, then?’
‘We shall, Fanny. You are to accompany me.’
September also brought Mr Martell back to the Forest. He came, this time, to stay with Sir Harry Burrard.
Fanny had heard a good deal about Mr Martell and his big estate in Dorset since Louisa’s return. ‘Oh, Fanny, I do declare I am in love with the house, and so would you be,’ she cried. ‘I was sorry you could not have seen it. The situation is so fine, with the great chalk ridges all around; and he is quite lord of the village, you know.’
‘The house is old?’
‘The part behind is very old, and that I own is dark and solemn. I should pull it down, I dare say. But the new wing has large rooms and is very fine, and has quite a noble prospect over the park.’
‘It sounds delightful.’
‘And the library, Fanny. How you would have loved that if you had been there. It has more books, all finely bound, than you ever saw, and on a table they place all the London journals, which are especially sent down, so that you can follow the world of fashion. I spent quite half an hour up there I swear.’
‘I am glad Mr Martell found you so studious.’
‘Oh, he is very easy at home, Fanny, I do assure you. Not at all the scholar. We amused ourselves in all kinds of ways. He draws – very well, I must say – and he even seemed to take pleasure in my poor efforts. This one in particular he liked.’ She had pulled out a small sketch. ‘Do you remember the day we all went to Buckler’s Hard?’
The sketch, Fanny had to admit it, was good. Very good. It was a caricature, of course, yet it caught the subject, as he seemed to her eyes, quite perfectly. It was Puckle. She had drawn him like a gnome, half tree, half monster. He was grotesque, absurd, rather disgusting.
Fanny shuddered. ‘You do not think it a little cruel?’ she asked.
‘Fanny, you cannot suppose I should let the fellow see it? ’Tis only for ourselves.’
‘I suppose that makes it different.’ But what would you say, she thought to herself, if you had any idea that I, an Albion, might be related to this peasant. And how, then, she wondered, would you draw me?
She also learned from Louisa that Martell had already written to Sir Harry Burrard about the parliamentary seat.
The very day that Mr Martell arrived at the Burrards’, Louisa came to tell Fanny that she and Edward were invited to dine there – ‘Sir Harry being our kinsman, you see.’ This did not seem surprising. And as Mr Martell was reported to be staying a week or more, she supposed that in due course he would call upon her. So it was with some dismay that she heard Aunt Adelaide announce: ‘We go to Fordingbridge on Tuesday, Fanny. My friend the vicar will give us shelter that night. In the evening, we are all invited to dine with Mr Arthur West.’
‘Might we not delay a little?’ Fanny asked. It was Saturday today. What if Mr Martell did not appear until Monday? Or Tuesday, in which case he would miss her entirely?
‘Delay? Why no, Fanny. We are already expected. Besides, I think we should be back by Wednesday afternoon as you have an engagement that evening in Lymington.’
‘Oh?’ Fanny felt her heart leap. ‘With the Burrards?’
‘The Burrards? No. But I have just received this message, a rather tiresome invitation no doubt, but I supposed, as a matter of courtesy, that you would wish to go.’ And she handed Fanny the invitation.
Mrs Grockleton was going to give a ball.
‘It’s perfect, don’t you see, Mr Grockleton.’ His wife was chirping like a bird. ‘Mr Martell is here. Louisa assures me she will bring him. Besides,