as he saw Lady Walcot standing at the entrance.
‘At last I’ve found you! What on earth do you think you are doing?’ Lady Walcot’s voice was sharp, and one or two bystanders cast curious glances in her direction. She forced a smile, whispering to her niece, ‘Don’t bother to tell me. You’ve been with that man!’
‘Aunt Hetty—’
‘We’ll talk when we get home, Eleanor, not here. Now come with me—several people have been asking to meet you. Ah, Lady Marchant, there you are! We’ve been looking for you—this is Miss Southeran, my niece…’
Eleanor did not see Mr Guthrie again that evening. Her aunt kept her close at her side until the carriages arrived to take them home. But she would not have looked for him in any case. Her feelings were much too confused to face him again so soon. This same confusion of feeling made it difficult for her to discuss the matter with her aunt afterwards, and Lady Walcot, drawing her own conclusions, was most concerned. ‘I blame myself,’ she said unhappily. ‘I should never have agreed to your dancing with him—I know what he is. Heaven knows how he manages it, for he is not at all handsome. But he is a dangerous man, Eleanor. I beg you to forget this attraction he has for you.’
‘He…he seemed sincere,’ said Eleanor hesitantly. ‘As if he too felt the same…attraction. Could I be so wrong?’
Lady Walcot exclaimed, ‘The devil! The scheming, contriving devil! He has bewitched you, Eleanor, just as he bewitched Ev—But no, I mustn’t say any more.’ She appeared to be debating with herself, and then to reach a conclusion. ‘You must go to bed, Eleanor,’ she said slowly. ‘And in the morning I shall see what I can do.’
Eleanor slept badly that night. She tossed and turned, reliving the moments with Jonas Guthrie, especially the time in the winter garden. One moment she wanted to meet him the next morning, and then, after another debate with herself, she had decided that it would be better if they did not see each other again. Was he a dangerous philanderer—all the more dangerous because he did not appear to be trying to charm? Or was he the straightforward man he appeared to be? And what was it that he had been afraid to tell her? She eventually fell into an uneasy slumber, still debating the question.
She woke late the next morning to find that one question at least had already been decided. It was far too late for a ride in the park. When she eventually came downstairs she found her aunt waiting.
‘I have someone I wish you to meet,’ she said briskly, ‘and we are late. Put your bonnet on and come with me, Eleanor. Don’t delay—the carriage is waiting.’
A few minutes later they arrived at a modest house in a street off Cavendish Square. Here they were taken into a small parlour, where a lady was waiting to receive them. It was Mrs Anstey. She greeted Lady Walcot in a soft, well-spoken manner and then turned to Eleanor. ‘Miss Southeran, you are very welcome, though I am sorry the occasion is…is such an awkward one…’ Mrs Anstey paused and looked to Lady Walcot for help.
‘Mrs Anstey has agreed, at my urgent request, to talk to you, Eleanor. I am very obliged to her—the matter is a painful one, as you will see, and I would not have asked her to speak of it had I not been so anxious for you. I am sure you will give her your earnest attention—it concerns Mr Guthrie and his behaviour towards the Anstey family.’
‘Surely this isn’t necessary, Aunt Hetty—’
‘In view of your refusal to accept my word for Mr Guthrie’s character, and especially in view of your behaviour last night…’
‘I wanted to explain—’
‘Forgive me, Eleanor, but Mrs Anstey’s time is precious. We must not waste it.’
Good manners silenced Eleanor. She sat chafing under her aunt’s disapproval, convinced that this whole visit was an unnecessary exercise. Lady Walcot said, ‘Mrs Anstey, would you mind telling my niece how well you know Mr Guthrie?’
‘Jonas and I were brought up together, Miss Southeran. His mother was a Vereker, too. That is to say…I mean his mother was a Vereker before she was married. As I was.’
‘You were sisters?’
‘No, no! Oh, dear, how stupid of me…Caroline, his mother, was my cousin.’
‘From what you have told me,’ said Lady Walcot, casting a glance at Eleanor, ‘you practically brought him up?’
‘Well…yes, I suppose so,’ said Mrs Anstey uncertainly. ‘I was so much older than he was, and he had no mother…He was a dear little boy when he came to us.’
‘Came to you? In America?’ asked Eleanor, somewhat puzzled.
‘No, no. This was over thirty years ago—Jonas was a baby…I was a girl and still living in England then.’ She looked anxiously at Lady Walcot, then said nervously, ‘Perhaps I had better explain. You see, Richard Guthrie, Jonas’s father, abandoned poor Caroline before Jonas was born. She came back home to have the child, and died soon after. I think it must have been of a broken heart, don’t you? Jonas and I…we were both orphans living with relatives. We were very close, though I was ten years older.’
‘But what happened to his father?’ asked Eleanor.
‘He was a bad lot, I’m afraid. I think he eventually went into the army and was killed. But Jonas never really knew him. It is surprising…’ Her voice drifted away.
‘He must have felt very alone in the world.’
‘Oh, no! He knew he always had me to turn to—until I left England and went to live in America…’ Mrs Anstey’s voice trailed away weakly again, and Eleanor felt a sudden impatience with her. The woman is a born martyr, she thought, and then reproached herself for her lack of charity.
Lady Walcot said, ‘And later, I believe, your husband took Mr Guthrie as a business partner on your recommendation?’
‘Well, partly. Jonas left England for India when he was still quite young. I’m not sure how, but he made a fortune out there. Then he came to see me in Boston. He was looking for a suitable investment, and my husband happened to need some new capital for his family concern and…and they helped each other. It worked very well to start with. I was delighted to see him again, and Henry and the girls were all devoted to him. For a while Henry and I even thought that we would be more closely related to Jonas. But then the engagement was broken off…’
‘Engagement? Mr Guthrie has been engaged? To Marianne?’ asked Eleanor, growing pale.
‘No, no. Jonas was engaged to my other daughter. But then it was broken off. And things went wrong after that.’
‘What went wrong?’
‘Miss Southeran, I am not precisely sure what went amiss. I took no part in the business, of course. But Henry—my husband—and Jonas suddenly seemed to disagree a great deal, and though Mr Oliver did his best to keep the peace there were frequent arguments.’
‘Mr Oliver?’
‘My husband’s other partner. He is now married to Evadne.’ Mrs Anstey’s hands were twisting in her lap. She said suddenly, ‘Oh, Miss Southeran, if you only knew how wicked Jonas Guthrie has been, how like his father!’
The
