by Mira Stables
“How about that pup of hers?” suggested Simon cheerfully, this conversation having taken place at the morning conference between the three of them. “At least that would give poor Meg some peace. The little wretch never leaves her alone, and now it seems to feel that it’s a born hunting dog. Let the girl keep it with her. She can fondle it and teach it tricks. That won’t strain her eyes. As for something to wear, I know just the thing. That quilted Chinese coat of Mama’s. Pretty, and warm too. Can you lay your hand on it?”
Mrs Bedford thought she could, surprised but pleased that the master should think of lending his mother’s exquisite coat to her young charge.
“And while we’re on the subject of clothes, you’d better buy her one or two dresses and a warm mantle and some shoes. She will need to get out of doors as soon as she is strong enough, and she can hardly do that in a nightdress and a mandarin’s coat, however glamorous.”
As a result of these decisions Harriet found herself being helped into the most gorgeous garment that she had ever beheld. Of heavy saffron coloured silk, it was richly embroidered with a design of strange and fabulous beasts, interlaced with sprays of leaves and elaborate scrolls. The tiny upstanding collar would serve to keep the draughts from the back of her neck, said Mrs Bedford prosaically, and there was even a pair of soft yellow kid slippers to keep her feet warm, though these were rather too big. She immediately fulfilled all her mentor’s dire prophecies by demanding to be allowed to look at herself in the long mirror, before being tenderly ensconced in the chair by the fire that had been carefully lined for her reception with a warm blanket. But one glance was sufficient.
“Oh dear!” she said despondently. “And the coat is so beautiful.”
Mrs Bedford snorted. “A week ago you looked more like a ghost than a real live girl. There were times when I never thought we’d pull you through. Besides, that coat’s not a colour to suit every one. You’re too pale for it. Just wait till you put on a bit of flesh and get some colour in your cheeks.”
“And if you would permit me, Miss, I could trim your hair. Make it a bit more evenlike,” volunteered Alice, who had been helping with the proceedings.
Permission being willingly given – Harriet did not see how she could possibly look worse – Mrs Bedford at last succeeded in persuading her charge to seat herself in the chair, with a towel over her shoulders to protect the gorgeous coat, while Alice went off for her scissors.
She proved herself surprisingly adept, confessing that she often performed this service for the other maids and that she cherished ambitions of becoming, some day, dresser to a lady of fashion. Mrs Bedford huffed a little at that, but allowed that the result of her efforts was a considerable improvement. It was a pity that a short curly crop was not fashionable at the moment, but the hair would soon grow, and at least it no longer looked untidy and neglected. Alice withdrew, well pleased with this encomium, and Harriet, studying her reflection in the hand mirror, said, “I cut it off in the dark. I daren’t make a light for fear of wakening somebody. That’s why it was all ragged ends.”
It was the first time that she had referred to the circumstances that had brought her to Furzedown. Mrs Bedford, obedient to orders, did not question her further, but produced a measuring tape.
“Mr Simon says I’m to buy you some clothes,” she explained. “He wants you to get out into the grounds while this fine spell lasts, and you can’t very well do that in your nightgown. Just a dress or two and a warm wrap,” she added in conciliatory tones, reading all too well the mutinous expression on the pale little face. “It’s no good protesting, child. You’d not bring disgrace on us all by being seen in those shocking garments you were wearing when you arrived.”
Harriet said firmly, “But I have no money at all. I spent my last pence on buns in the village shop. I know I must have something to wear, but please, Auntie Bee, just one neat plain dress, the cheapest that you can buy. It may be weeks before I can find work and earn enough to pay Mr Warhurst back, and there can be nothing worse than running into debt when one can see no means of repaying it.”
“Well I can think of one or two worse things,” retorted Mrs Bedford sharply. She hesitated a minute. It seemed a shame to berate the little thing and she still so frail. But the stronger she grew the more difficult she would be to handle. Better to do it now. “Overweening pride is one worse fault. A deadly sin the Bible tells us. Just you try forgetting yourself for a minute or two, my lass, and think of other people. There’s me that was at school with your granny, and friends all our lives. Knew you in your cradle. Are you too proud to take a kindness from me? Am I to drive you out to seek work – and you too weak to brush your own hair? And just remember that Mr Warhurst is my employer and that all my comfort depends on him. Am I to refuse to obey his orders – perfectly kindly, reasonable orders, too – just to satisfy your pride? Think of Mr Warhurst, too. Like it or not, you owe him your life. And the life of that mischievous imp of a pup. But for him you’d both have drowned. And now, when he treats you with ordinary Christian kindness, you’d throw it back in his face. Your Grandma would have been ashamed of you,” she concluded, playing her trump card.
Harriet certainly looked suitably abashed but she was not wholly convinced. “Indeed I did not mean to seem ungrateful,” she said placatingly. “You cannot know how much it means to me to be here and to feel safe in your care. That is a debt that no money could ever repay. And not for worlds would I make things difficult for you with Mr Warhurst. But I feel that it is quite improper for him to be buying clothes for me, and I am sure that Grandma would have said so too. So the least I can do is to accept a loan from him and determine to repay it as soon as possible. And surely you can understand that I must keep that debt within reasonable limits.”
Mrs Bedford accepted partial defeat. The girl’s attitude was so sensible and honest that she could not but respect it. What she needed, she decided, was an ally with wits quicker than hers.
“I think,” she said slowly, “that it would be best if I acquainted Mr Warhurst with your sentiments on this head, and I hope you will be willing, then, to accept his judgement.” After which she proceeded to take Harriet’s measurements, scolding vigorously over her slight proportions and vowing that a new-born lamb had more meat on its skinny frame.
In view of this pronouncement Harriet meekly ate up all her lunch and made no audible objection to being obliged to rest on her bed for an hour after it. It was Alice who came to help her back to the chair, and she had brought a pretty blue ribbon that matched one of the embroidered colours in the Chinese coat. Between helping her into the coat, supporting her rather shaky progress from bed to chair, arranging the blue ribbon in her curls so that one or two could be coaxed to come forward over her ears and temples, and explaining that Mrs Bedford was dressing herself to embark on a shopping expedition on Miss’s behalf, neither she nor Alice noticed the arrival of Mr Warhurst, a wriggling pup tucked under one arm, and Mrs Bedford, impressive in bonnet and mantle, at the door which the half-trained Alice had left ajar.
For a moment there was mild confusion, Mr Warhurst enquiring politely how the invalid did, Mrs Bedford making signals to Alice and reminding her in an under-voice that Miss Pendeniston should have her tea no later than four o’clock if she herself was not back to see to it. The confusion was brought to an abrupt conclusion by the escape of Mandy from Mr Warhurst’s restrictive hold. The pup tore madly round the room, reminding Mrs Bedford and Alice of their differing errands, before hurling herself at her owner. A pug is not exactly a heavy dog, but the impact was sufficient to deprive Harriet momentarily of breath. When she recovered Mr Warhurst had picked up the pup and was lightly spanking her rump, adjuring her firmly to lie down. Her excitement being such that this seemed impossible, he sat down himself and gently forced the little creature into the desired position, keeping a controlling hand on her shoulders until she quieted.
Presently he looked across at Harriet, half-smiling at her rigidly erect pose as
he said, “If this young madam will allow us the privilege of five minutes rational conversation, there are one or two things that I would like to explain to you.”
Her stiffness yielded a little at the description of the pup. She said in a shy little voice, “She is not usually so excitable. I expect she has missed me, although Mrs Bedford says they have been very good to her in the kitchen. Which reminds me to thank you, Sir, not only for pulling the pair of us out of the river, which Mrs Bedford tells me you did, but also for sheltering us both afterwards. I am most truly grateful.”
“Well you could hardly expect me to leave you both lying on the river-bank, could you? That would have been shockingly untidy. Moreover, the opportunity of playing the hero at the cost of no more than a wetting had not previously come my way. I was disposed to make the most of it, and so was obliged to display my trophies to the admiring household in order to prove my tale. Though actually I can scarcely regard this wriggling object as my trophy. You really pulled her out of the water, and Meg did the rest.”
It was the right approach. After the first disbelieving moment his nonsense banished the wary look with which she had been regarding him. Her lips quivered a little and he flattered himself that she had very nearly been betrayed into a giggle.
He said, a little more sensibly, “You won’t have met Meg yet. She’s a pointer – and, in my humble opinion, the best one ever, but lifesaving is no part of her normal duties. I think she must have been moved by maternal instinct. She had a litter of pups some months back. I should think this small wet helpless creature reminded her of their dependence.”
He talked on, easily, pleasantly, telling her of Meg’s care for the pup, of how the pointer had practically deserted him for two or three days until she was satisfied that the newcomer was familiar with the ways of the house and in a thriving way of going on.
You could practically feel the tension and the suspicion draining out of the poor little scrap, he thought kindly, and blessed the fortunate chance that had given him the key to a better relationship. He was not a conceited man; one ill-fated love affair had left him distrustful of his own attractions, but he had never before met the shuddering revulsion that this child had accorded him at her first partly conscious sight. It was comforting to verify that her attitude had been the product of some feverish nightmare. Nevertheless he felt that he must tread warily, lest he snap the first tenuous response to his overtures of friendship. He went on talking about the dogs.
Meg, he explained, had now returned to her allegiance. “Indeed,” he added solemnly, “I rather think that she now has doubts about the desirability of indiscriminate lifesaving. This wretched animal,” he tousled the pup’s ears, “gives her no peace. Poor Meg! She is three years old and accustomed to a quiet way of going on. Little Miss Pug is always ready for a game. Moreover nothing will convince her that she is not a hunting dog. At every opportunity she escapes the house and accompanies us on our expeditions, and whenever Meg points game for me – as she has been taught to do – Miss – Mandy, did you call her? bustles up and disturbs it, her whole attitude clearly exclaiming, ‘Well – come on – what are you waiting for? Can’t you see it’s a nice juicy pheasant, only waiting to be taken’.”
This time he won his rewarding chuckle, and it was pleasant to see the child’s face light up with laughter.
He released the now sobered pup which trotted across to Harriet and climbed into her lap. She cuddled it close, regardless of her gorgeous trappings, and the wrinkled dark mask nuzzled her neck. Mr Warhurst felt that there was still a hint of desperation in the child’s clutch on the silver-fawn body. It was soon explained.
He said carelessly, “How old is she? I’m afraid I know very little about the breed.”
Her answer shook him out of his mood of satisfaction. “I don’t know,” said Miss Pendeniston. “About six months I think, but I can’t be sure. I stole her, you see.” And then, at his startled jerk of the head, “They treated her abominably and they were going to shoot her, so why shouldn’t I take her? She loved me, and she was my only comfort. How could I leave her behind? I didn’t take her collar. That would have been real stealing because it was set with brilliants. And I left some money for Horace’s suit, so I’m not really a thief. But if you choose to hand me over to justice you may do so.”
There was a sniff with this that sounded nearer to tears than defiance, but the stiffness was back in the pose, the cropped head held high.
Mr Warhurst said mildly, “Dear me! A dog thief! You’re an enterprising little lass, aren’t you? I begin to share Meg’s doubts about indiscriminate lifesaving. Though if they were really going to shoot that lovable little creature, you did perfectly right to steal it. In fact, if I’d been on hand I’d have helped you do it.”
The answer to that was a burst of tears. Mr Warhurst put one firm warm hand on the arm that clutched the pug pup, and said gently, “My dear girl. Don’t you think it will be better if you tell me all about it?”
Chapter Four
The sordid little story was probably commonplace enough, reflected Simon. It was pitiful to him in that the girl was little more than a child, and that the two men who should have protected her innocence – her grandfather on the one side and her uncle on the other – had been wholly given over to self interest; and, though this was not quite so clear in his mind, because he felt that a gallant, eager young spirit had been battered and bruised almost out of existence. Not quite. He remembered with considerable satisfaction the ‘theft’ of the pug pup. Reprehensible it might be, if one were a strict moralist. Simon apparently was not. He hailed the act with thankfulness. No child who had been utterly broken would have ventured so far, and in defiance of the law, as she very well knew. And when he considered the scant equipment with which she had outfaced the death that threatened her pet, he found himself consumed with admiration. It would not do to show this, of course. Far better to accept the whole tale as though it was the stuff of everyday living, and to concentrate on what was best to be done now. He found it difficult, however, to suppress his feelings about some of the characters who figured in the child’s narrative.
The smart London family for a start. Mrs Cushing had social ambitions, but with limited means, a standing no higher than respectable and a husband who lived submissively under the cat’s foot, she could only achieve her ambitions by stringent economy. The reception rooms and guest rooms in her Kensington house were tricked out in the latest kick of fashion. Her servants were underfed and underpaid. And since servants of worth and character would not put up with such conditions, she employed either inexperienced youngsters or those whose dispositions and abilities made them unacceptable in well run establishments. Dishonest, lazy, tale bearers and bullies, they made life even more miserable for the youngsters.
Harriet soon discovered that her uncle’s tale of a post as under governess was sheer fabrication. To be sure she was expected to teach the children their lessons in the increasingly frequent intervals when successive governesses had given up in despair, but that was because she was the only one of the maids who could read and write. Fortunately Mrs Cushing discovered that she was also gifted with her needle, so she was eventually spared most of the menial drudgery that had been her lot during her first months in Kensington. She spent long hours cramped over her sewing, enduring the constant grumbling of a mistress who expected her to achieve elegant results with cheap materials, and straining her eyes by working in a bad light. Occasionally she was permitted the high treat of escorting the children on their daily walk. There were four of them, but the two older boys were at school and did not come much in her way, a circumstance for which she was heartily thankful, since they upset the two younger ones, who were quite bad enough as it was, always dissatisfied and whining and threatening to tell Mama if she ventured to correct them.
The advent of the pug puppy had brought a little brightness into this miserable existence, though it brought a new source of grief as well, since she was obliged t
o stand by and watch the little animal teased and tormented by her spoiled charges. At first she was able to restrain them with a reminder that Mama would be displeased if they hurt the puppy, since nominally it was hers. Pugs were fashionable, so Mr Cushing was instructed to buy one for his wife, who pictured herself driving in the park with her well-bred pet sitting beside her, resplendent in its smart jewelled collar, the envy of less fortunate females. Alas! Mr Cushing bought a puppy which was not even house-trained, far less carriage broke. Several betraying stains appeared on the drawing room carpet, and the puppy’s brief reign as prime favourite came to an abrupt end when it tore the lace ruffles on Mrs Cushing’s carriage dress. Harriet mended the lace and wept for the sinner, who had only been seeking to escape from the terrifying sound of rumbling wheels and did not understand why she had been beaten, and the pup was banished from the reception rooms.
Pugs are very intelligent. Within a month this specimen had learned to vanish whenever the children approached. She had a number of hiding places, but if hard pressed she would take cover under the hem of Harriet’s skirt as the girl sat at her sewing, and Harriet had learned to lie valiantly to keep the little thing unmolested. She also managed to smuggle the pup up to her attic room at night, though this was for her own sake rather than for the pug’s. The feel of the warm furry little body snuggling so trustfully in her arms brought her the only happiness she had known in that miserable garret. It did not take the little dog long to learn that the attic room was sanctuary. It took to spending much of its time there and Harriet came to look for its rapturous welcome when she climbed the stairs at night and would try to hoard some scraps from her scanty meals for its delectation.
