Sprig Muslin

by Georgette Heyer

  She shook her head so vigorously that her dusky ringlets danced under the brim of her hat. ‘No! That is what Grandpapa said, and he made my aunt take me to Bath, and I met a great many people, and went to the Assemblies, in spite of not having been presented yet, and it didn’t put Neil out of my head at all. And if you think, sir, that perhaps I was not a success, I must tell you that you are quite mistaken!’

  ‘I feel sure you were a success,’ he replied, smiling.

  ‘I was,’ she said candidly. ‘I had hundreds of compliments paid me, and I stood up for every dance. So now I know all about being fashionable, and I would liefer by far live in a tent with Neil.’

  He found her at once childish and strangely mature, and was touched. He said gently: ‘Perhaps you would, and perhaps you will, one day, live in a tent with Neil. But you are very young to be married, Amanda, and it would be better to wait for a year or two.’

  ‘I have already waited for two years, for I have been betrothed to Neil since I was fifteen, secretly! And I am not too young to be married, because Neil knows an officer in the 95th who is married to a Spanish lady who is much younger than I am!’

  There did not seem to be anything to say in reply to this. Sir Gareth, who was beginning to perceive that the task of protecting Amanda was one fraught with difficulty, shifted his ground. ‘Very well, but if you are not at this moment eloping, which, I own, seems, in the absence of your Brigade-Major, to be unlikely – I wish you will tell me what you hope to gain by running away from your home, and wandering about the countryside in this very unconventional manner?’

  ‘That,’ said Amanda, with pride, ‘is Strategy, sir.’

  ‘I am afraid,’ said Sir Gareth apologetically, ‘that the explanation leaves me no wiser than I was before.’

  ‘Well, it may be Tactics,’ she said cautiously. ‘Though that is when you move troops in the presence of the enemy, and, of course, the enemy isn’t present. I find it very confusing to distinguish between the two things, and it is a pity Neil isn’t here, for you may depend upon it he knows exactly, and he could explain it to you.’

  ‘Yes, I begin to think it is a thousand pities he isn’t here, even though he were not so obliging as to explain it to me,’ agreed Sir Gareth.

  Amanda, who had been frowning over the problem, said: ‘I believe the properest expression is a plan of campaign! That’s what it is! How stupid of me! I am not at all surprised you shouldn’t have understood what I meant.’

  ‘I still don’t understand. What is your plan of campaign?’

  ‘Well, I’ll tell you, sir,’ said Amanda, not displeased to describe what she plainly considered to be a masterpiece of generalship. ‘When Neil said that on no account would he take me to Gretna Green, naturally I was obliged to think of a different scheme. And although I daresay it seems to you pretty poor-spirited of him, he is not poor-spirited, and I don’t at all wish you to think such a thing of him.’

  ‘Set your mind at rest on that head: I don’t!’ replied Sir Gareth.

  ‘And it isn’t because he doesn’t wish to marry me, for he does, and he says he is going to marry me, even if we have to wait until I am of age,’ she assured him earnestly. She added, after a darkling pause: ‘But, I must say, it has me quite in a puzzle to understand how he comes to be a very good soldier, which everyone says he truly is, when he seems to have not the least notion of Surprise, or Attack. Do you suppose it comes from fighting under Lord Wellington’s command, and being obliged to retreat so frequently?’

  ‘Very likely,’ responded Sir Gareth, his countenance admirably composed. ‘Is your flight in the nature of an attack?’

  ‘Yes, of course it is. For it was vital that something should be done immediately! At any moment now, Neil may be sent back to rejoin the regiment, and if he doesn’t take me with him I may not see him again for years, and years, and years! And it is of no avail to argue with Grandpapa, or to coax him, because all he does is to say that I shall soon forget about it, and to give me stupid presents!’

  At this point, any faint vision, which Sir Gareth might have had, of a tyrannical grandparent, left him. He said: ‘I quite expected to hear that he had locked you in your room.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ she assured him. ‘Aunt Adelaide did so once, when I was quite a little girl, but I climbed out of the window, into the big elm tree, and Grandpapa said I was never to be locked in again. And, in a way, I am sorry for it, because I daresay if I had been locked in Neil would have consented to an elopement. But, of course, when all Grandpapa would do was to give me things, and talk about my presentation, and send me to parties in Bath, Neil couldn’t perceive that there was the least need to rescue me. He said that we must be patient. But I have seen what comes of being patient,’ Amanda said, with a boding look, ‘and I have no opinion of it.’

  ‘What does come of it?’ enquired Sir Gareth.

  ‘Nothing!’ she answered. ‘I daresay you might not credit it, but Aunt Adelaide fell in love when she was quite young, like me, and just the same thing happened! Grandpapa said she was too young, and also that he wished her to marry a man of fortune, so she made up her mind to be patient, and then what do you think?’

  ‘I haven’t the remotest guess: do tell me!’

  ‘Why, after only two years the Suitor married an odious female with ten thousand pounds and they had seven children, and he was carried off by an inflammation of the lungs! And none of it would have happened if only Aunt Adelaide had had a grain of resolution! So I have quite made up my mind not to cultivate resignation, because although people praise one for it I don’t consider that it serves any useful purpose. If Aunt Adelaide had been married to the Suitor, he wouldn’t have contracted an inflammation of the lungs, because she would have taken better care of him. And if Neil is wounded again, I am going to nurse him, and I shall not permit anyone, even Lord Wellington himself, to put him on one of those dreadful spring-wagons, which was harder to bear than all the rest, he told me!’

  ‘I’m sure it must have been. But none of this explains why you ran away from your home,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Oh, I did that to compel Grandpapa to consent to my marriage!’ she said brightly. ‘And also to show him that I am not a child, but, on the contrary, very well able to take care of myself. He thinks that because I am accustomed to be waited on I shouldn’t know how to go on if I had to live in billets, or perhaps a tent, which is absurd, because I should. Only it never answers to tell Grandpapa anything: one is obliged to show him. Well, he didn’t believe I should climb out of the window when I was locked into my room, though I warned him how it would be. At first, I thought I would refuse to eat anything until he gave his consent – in fact, I did refuse, one day, only I became so excessively hungry that I thought perhaps it wasn’t such a famous scheme, particularly when it so happened that there were buttered lobsters for dinner, and a Floating Island pudding.’

  ‘Naturally you couldn’t forgo two such dishes,’ he said sympathetically.

  ‘Well, no,’ she confessed. ‘Besides, it wouldn’t have shown Grandpapa that I am truly able to take care of myself, which is, I think, important.’

  ‘Very true. One can’t help feeling that it might have put just the opposite notion into his head. Now tell me why you think that running away from him will answer the purpose!’

  ‘Well, it wouldn’t: not that part of it, precisely. That will just give him a fright.’

  ‘I have no doubt it will, but are you quite sure you wish to frighten him?’

  ‘No, but it is quite his own fault for being so unkind and obstinate. Besides, it is my campaign, and you can’t consider the sensibilities of the enemy when you are planning a campaign!’ she said reasonably. ‘You can have no notion how difficult it was to decide what was best to be done. In fact, I was almost at a stand when, by the luckiest chance, I saw an advertisement in the Morning Post. It sai
d that a lady living at – well, living not very far from St Neots, wished for a genteel young person to be governess to her children. Of course, I saw at once that it was the very thing!’ A slight choking sound made her look enquiringly at Sir Gareth. ‘Sir?’

  ‘I didn’t speak. Pray continue! I collect that you thought that you might be eligible for this post?’

  ‘Certainly I did!’ she replied, with dignity. ‘I am genteel, and I am young, and I assure you, I have been most carefully educated. And having had several governesses myself, I know exactly what should be done in such a case. So I wrote to this lady, pretending I was my aunt, you know. I said I desired to recommend for the post my niece’s governess, who had given every satisfaction, and was in all respects a most talented and admirable person, able to give instruction in the pianoforte, and in water-colour painting, besides the use of the globes, and needlework, and foreign languages.’

  ‘An impressive catalogue!’ he said, much struck.

  ‘Well, I do think it sounds well,’ she acknowledged, accepting this tribute with a rosy blush.

  ‘Very well. Er – does it happen to be true?’

  ‘Of course it’s true! That is to say – Well, I am thought to play quite creditably on the pianoforte, besides being able to sing a little, and sketching is of all things my favourite occupation. And naturally I have learnt French, and, lately, some Spanish, because although Neil says we shall be over the Pyrenees in a trice, one never knows, and it might be very necessary to be able to converse in Spanish. I own, I don’t know if I can teach these things, but that doesn’t signify, because I never had the least intention of being a governess for more than a few weeks. The thing is that I haven’t a great deal of money, so that if I run away I must contrive to earn my bread until Grandpapa capitulates. I have left behind me a letter, you see, explaining it all to him, and I have told him that I won’t come home, or tell him where I am, until he promises to let me be married to Neil immediately.’

  ‘Forgive me!’ he interpolated. ‘But if you have severed your lines of communication how is he to inform you of his surrender?’

  ‘I have arranged for that,’ she replied proudly. ‘I have desired him to insert an advertisement in the Morning Post! I have left nothing to chance, which ought to prove to him that I am not a foolish little girl, but, on the contrary, a most responsible person, quite old enough to be married. Yes, and I didn’t book a seat on the stage, which would have been a stupid thing to do, on account of making it easy, perhaps, for them to discover where I had gone. I hid myself in the carrier’s cart! I had formed that intention from the outset, and that, you see, was what made it so particularly fortunate that the lady who wished for a governess lived near to St Neots.’

  ‘Oh, she did engage you?’ Sir Gareth said, unable to keep an inflexion of surprise out of his voice.

  ‘Yes, because I recommended myself very strongly to her, and it seems that the old governess was obliged to leave her at a moment’s notice, because her mother suddenly died, and so she had to go home to keep house for her papa. Nothing could have fallen out more fortunately!’

  He was obliged to laugh, but he said: ‘Abominable girl! What next will you say? But if you are now on your way to take up this desirable post, how come you to be trying to hire yourself as a chambermaid at this inn, and why do you wish to go to Huntingdon?’

  The triumphant look in her eyes was quenched; she sighed, and said: ‘Oh, it is the shabbiest thing! You would hardly believe that my scheme could miscarry, when I planned it so carefully, would you? But so it was. I am not on my way to Mrs – to That Female. In fact, quite the reverse. She is the horridest creature!’

  ‘Ah!’ said Sir Gareth. ‘Did she refuse after all to employ you?’

  ‘Yes, she did!’ answered Amanda, her bosom swelling with indignation. ‘She said I was by far too young, and not at all the sort of female she had had in mind. She said she had been quite deceived, which was a most unjust observation, because she said in the advertisement that she desired a young lady!’

  ‘My child, you are a shameless minx!’ said Sir Gareth frankly. ‘From start to finish you deceived this unfortunate woman, and well you know it!’

  ‘No, I did not!’ she retorted, firing up. ‘At least, only in pretending I was Aunt Adelaide, and saying I had been my own governess, and that she didn’t know! I am truly able to do all the things I told her I could, and very likely I should be able to teach other girls to do them too. However, all was to no avail. She was very disagreeable, besides being excessively uncivil. Unreasonable, too, for in the middle of it her eldest son came in, and as soon as he heard who I was he suggested that his mama should engage me for a little while, to see how I did, which was most sensible, I thought. But it only made her crosser than ever, and she sent him out of the room, which I was sorry for, because he seemed very amiable and obliging, in spite of having spots.’ She added, affronted: ‘And I do not at all understand why you should laugh, sir!’

  ‘Never mind! Tell me what happened next!’

  ‘Well, she ordered the carriage to take me back to St Neots, and while it was being brought round she began to ask me a great many impertinent questions, and I could see she had an extremely suspicious disposition, so I thought of a splendid story to tell her. I gave myself an indigent parent, and dozens of brothers and sisters, all younger than I am, and instead of being sorry for me, she said she didn’t believe me! She said I wasn’t dressed like a poor person, and she would like to know how many guineas I had squandered on my hat! Such impudence! So I said I had stolen it, and my gown as well, and really I was a wicked adventuress. That, of course, was impolite, but it answered the purpose, for she stopped trying to discover where I had come from, and grew very red in the face, and said I was an abandoned girl, and she washed her hands of me. Then the servant came to say that the carriage was at the door, and so I made my curtsy, and we parted.’

  ‘Abandoned you most certainly are. Were you driven to St Neots?’

  ‘Yes, and it was then that I hit upon the notion of becoming a chambermaid for a space.’

  ‘Let me tell you, Amanda, that a chambermaid’s life would not suit you!’

  ‘I know that, and if you can think of some more agreeable occupation of a gainful nature, sir, I shall be very much obliged to you,’ she responded, fixing him with a pair of hopeful eyes.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t. There is only one thing for you to do, and that is to return to your grandpapa.’

  ‘I won’t!’ said Amanda, not mincing matters.

  ‘I think you will, when you’ve considered a little.’

  ‘No, I shan’t. I have already considered a great deal, and I now see that it is a very good thing Mrs – That Female – wouldn’t employ me. For if I were a governess in a respectable household Grandpapa would know that it was perfectly safe, and he would very likely try to – to starve me out. But I shouldn’t think he would like me to be a chambermaid in an inn, would you?’

  ‘Emphatically, no!’

  ‘Well, there you are!’ she said triumphantly. ‘The instant he knows that that is what I am doing, he will capitulate. Now the only puzzle is to discover a suitable inn. I saw a very pretty one in a village, on the way to St Neots, which is why you find me in this horrid one. Because I went back to it, after the coachman had set me down, only they didn’t happen to need a chambermaid there, which was a sad pity, for it had roses growing up the wall, and six of the dearest little kittens! The landlady said that I should go to Huntingdon, because she had heard that they needed a girl to work at the George, and she directed me to the pike-road, and that is why I am here!’

  ‘Are you telling me,’ demanded Sir Gareth incredulously, ‘that you bamboozled the woman into believing that you were a maidservant? She must be out of her senses!’

  ‘Oh, no!’ said Amanda blithely. ‘I thought of a splendid story, you see.
’

  ‘An indigent parent?’

  ‘No, much better than that one. I said I had been an abigail to a young lady, who most kindly gave me her old dresses to wear, only I had been turned off, without a character, because her papa behaved in a very improper way towards me. He is a widower, you must know, and also there is an aunt – not like Aunt Adelaide, but more like Aunt Maria, who is a very unfeeling person –’

  ‘Yes, you may spare me the rest of this affecting history!’ interrupted Sir Gareth, between amusement and exasperation.

  ‘Well, you asked me!’ she said indignantly. ‘And you need not be so scornful, because I took the notion from a very improving novel called –’

  ‘– Pamela. And I am astonished that your grandfather should have permitted you to read it! That is to say, if you have a grandfather, which I begin to doubt!’

  She showed him a shocked face. ‘Of course I have a grandfather! In fact, I once had two grandfathers, but one of them died when I was a baby.’

  ‘He is to be felicitated. Come, now! Was there one word of truth in the story you told me, or was it another of your splendid stories?’

  She jumped up, very much flushed, and with tears sparkling on the ends of her long eyelashes. ‘No, it was not! I thought you were kind, and a gentleman, and now I see I was quite mistaken, and I wish very much that I had told you a lie, because you are exactly like an uncle, only worse! And what I told those other people was just – just make-believe, and that is not the same thing as telling lies! And I am excessively sorry now that I drank your lemonade, and ate your tarts, and, if you please, I will pay for them myself! And also,’ she added, as her misty gaze fell on an empty bowl, ‘for the cherries!’

  He too had risen, and he possessed himself of the agitated little hands that were fumbling with the strings of a reticule, and held them in a comforting clasp. ‘Gently, my child! There, there, don’t cry! Of course I see just how it was! Come! Let us sit on this settee, and decide what is best to be done!’