Chapter 18 #2
What were the damn things actually worth?
No doubt the Viscountess had paid a fine price for them when they were made for her by some London firm, even if it had been ten years ago.
They might have cost forty guineas, or fifty, or even more, if the upholstery was in some way special, which it might be for all he could tell.
Perhaps it had been woven by virgin princesses on fairy looms from unicorn hair.
Forty or fifty guineas, for some wood and horsehair padding and a length or two of green cloth!
This was a thought to make the masculine mind boggle.
One could buy a cottage for that. But they weren’t new.
However aristocratic their pedigree, the sofas were just someone’s old, unwanted furniture now.
The bids were creeping up towards a ridiculous level, it seemed to him, and there was no knowing where it might end.
In tears for someone, was all he knew – very likely him.
‘Seven,’ he responded resignedly.
‘Ooh!’ someone said. And no wonder. That was a year’s wages for a maidservant.
‘Seven and a half,’ the irritating girl shot back.
If she thought to take the heat out of the situation and slow matters down a little by taking the bidding back to half-guineas, she was mistaken.
‘Ten!’ cried Mrs Bardwell with the air of one who did not mean to be thwarted and would count no cost to see her lightest whim satisfied.
The older lady at Miss Constantine’s side was whispering urgently to her, but apparently to no avail.
‘Ten and a half,’ the girl said.
There was a prosperous farmer standing near Alistair: someone he’d known from childhood, a man of much his own age, but married now with a parcel of little children.
‘I’d leave them to it, Major,’ he advised drily.
‘No good can come of putting yourself recklessly in the way of women when they get the bit between their teeth like this. In my opinion.’
‘I’d agree with you, Wilfred, but then I’d have to ask, have you met my mother?’
Wilfred winced. ‘Heaven help you, then.’
‘It’s not been my experience that it ever does. I don’t see why today should be any different. Eleven!’
‘Twelve!’ That was Mrs Bardwell, naturally.
‘Twelve and a half.’ The girl was losing resolution now, he could tell. Her tone had a shade of uncertainty, and her posture was drooping a little.
‘Thirteen,’ he said. He felt oddly guilty suddenly.
He didn’t know if Mrs Bardwell needed the sofas – that was her business – but he knew his mother really didn’t.
If he correctly recalled the state of the Hall last time he’d been there, and it was a while ago, due to Aunt Augusta’s illness and his own, its occupants probably did have an urgent necessity for new furniture, and where else in the area were they going to buy it? But…
‘Fifteen!’ said Betsey.
That was preposterous. Let her have it.
Marjoram waited a moment to see if either he or Miss Constantine responded. The room was humming with tension. But neither of them spoke, just shook their heads.
‘Sold to Mrs Bardwell for fifteen guineas!’ he crowed and crashed down his gavel with unnecessary force. That would be fifteen shillings of clear commission for him, which wasn’t bad for a single item among many.
There was a burst of applause, intermixed with laughter.
Betsey, who obviously had the sure instincts of a stage performer, rose to her feet, acknowledging the congratulations of nearby well-wishers with a few stately nods, and swept from the room in majestic triumph.
Alistair had no further reason to stay, but he also had no desire to follow her out and possibly be obliged to engage with her and her crowd of grinning supporters.
The whole thing was deeply silly, and he wished he’d never been dragged into it.
There was another lot of furniture up next: from what Marjoram said, another pair of brocade sofas and two armchairs, also from the Castle, but perhaps less gloriously upholstered, since Betsey’s fashionable fancy had not lighted there.
He hadn’t so much as looked at them, and was certainly not about to try for them and present them to his mother as some sort of consolation.
He could easily picture her reaction to that, though it might in fact be true that he was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t.
And it was just as well he had no intention of bidding this time.
Miss Constantine secured them for four and a half guineas, and a little later, went on to win a large tray of china for a couple of guineas against the feeblest of opposition.
The whole had cost her considerably less than her highest failed bid earlier.
And now she had done, apparently. She stood and, with her companion in her wake, made her way out of the row of chairs.
The office where she would pay and arrange delivery was at the rear of the barn; she’d be obliged to pass him, if he didn’t escape before she came close.
A part of him wanted to; a part… didn’t.
He told himself he’d look cursedly undignified, again, limping away from her at speed, as if he was scared to meet her gaze or otherwise desperate to avoid her.
So he stayed put, trying hard to ignore Wilf at his side, who hadn’t said anything else yet but who was radiating amused anticipation.
Alistair bowed to her, and to the older lady who accompanied her.
She stopped. ‘Major Bartrum,’ she said coolly, inclining her head. Apparently, they were going to pretend that they had been introduced in a normal manner. ‘I don’t think you have met Miss Macintyre.’
He bowed again, and the Scottish lady murmured a greeting and nodded at him. She had a satirical gleam in her eye, he thought. But today, who didn’t?
She really was a very handsome woman. The girl, not the chaperon.
Her eyes were a rich, dark brown, and delicate colour still flushed her cheeks.
Mourning set her looks off admirably, and probably she knew that.
‘Miss Constantine,’ he responded levelly, or so he hoped.
‘Miss Macintyre, I am glad to meet you. I hope you are satisfied with your purchases, ladies.’
‘I wanted the other,’ she said frankly. ‘I had quite fallen in love with the green. But I cannot claim it is your fault I did not get it. The lady with the… hat was most determined. And at least I am not now obliged to go home and tell my sisters that I have been sadly unthrifty. Perhaps I got a better bargain, in the end, though the colours are more muted.’
‘I did not, though.’
Her fine, dark eyes sparkled with unholy amusement. ‘I had not thought you a man to develop an overmastering passion for furniture, I confess.’
This was true, though he did not know how in hell she could know it. ‘I am not. My position is, we already have a sofa. Possibly two. At any rate, enough. But my mother feels differently, and no doubt will be most disappointed.’
‘I hope she won’t resent me for buying the other lot that came from the same place.’
‘She will not, for I have not the least intention of telling her that you did.’
‘That won’t work. She’s bound to visit us and see it.’
‘And you to tell her where it originally came from, if she doesn’t mention it first?
’ He could not help but be aware that these two conversations were the longest he’d had with a young lady since Charlotte had broken off their engagement.
Was this flirting – it felt as though it might be – or just simple civility?
He wasn’t sure he could tell any more. But he’d have known once; once, he would have enjoyed it.
He wasn’t fit for female company. He should leave.
‘I do possess some restraint,’ she said pertly. ‘As I believe I demonstrated adequately the last time we met. Good day, Major.’ And she was gone, head held high and proud, no doubt delighted to have had the last word. Again.
Wilf had moved away tactfully while they’d been speaking, though not – as soon became apparent – out of earshot. Clearly, he hadn’t wanted to be introduced to the ladies; clearly, he had still been unashamedly curious to hear what would be said.
‘I hear there’s three of them,’ he offered, smiling in an irritatingly knowing manner. ‘Nobody can talk of anything else. Was that the youngest?’
‘The middle one, I think, or maybe the oldest. I haven’t seen all of them, so I really can’t say.’
‘Well, they’ll properly set the cat among the pigeons in these parts, won’t they, Major, if they’re all like that?’
Alistair thought it most prudent not to answer. But that didn’t mean he disagreed. On the contrary, he feared it was all too true.