Simon's Waif

by Mira Stables

  At luncheon he put in no appearance. Her grandfather supposed that he had ridden over to see friends in the neighbourhood and then proceeded to question her as to how she had enjoyed her morning ride and what she thought of her cousin. She prevaricated as best she could, saying that she had thought Cousin Vernon a very daring horseman and much above her touch, and assenting when asked if she did not think him extremely good-looking. Her replies seemed to please her grandfather, who sounded almost affable as he announced that he had felt sure that the cousins would deal extremely together.

  She spent a very dull afternoon with a book in the garden, her thoughts wandering all too frequently from the printed page to dwell anxiously on the problem of her future. She wondered how much longer she would be obliged to endure this tedious existence and whether Lady Preston had as yet set out for Bath, and racked her brain for the hundredth time for some scheme which would permit her to earn a modest living independent of charity. Dinner was rendered uncomfortable by her grandfather’s assumption that her stay would be a long one, and by the way in which he linked her activities with her cousin. He seemed to believe that they were now on friendly terms and would be well able to entertain each other without further effort on his part. Cousin Verson’s distaste for this prospect became more and more pronounced as the meal wore on. Harriet wondered that her grandfather could remain so oblivious. If it had not been so rude it would have been funny. But she really did not see why she should put up with her cousin’s yawns and the occasional scarcely veiled sneer, and she decided to take the first opportunity of acquainting him with this opinion. When Colonel Pendeniston, sounding for once almost urbane, informed the young people that they might withdraw to the billiard room, Harriet, who had never learned to play billiards and had certainly no desire to learn from such a tutor, made no demur.

  Neither did she make any attempt to select a cue from the rack negligently indicated by her companion, but took up an erect stance on the hearth, looking surprisingly militant for one so slightly built.

  “It will save us both a deal of time and patience, Cousin, if you will accept from the outset that I have no intention of making any claims on your companionship,” she said, rather tartly, perhaps, for of late she had not been accustomed to gentlemen who spurned her society. And when he did not immediately answer, she added for good measure, “I had rather spend the hours alone than seek society so grudgingly given and so ill-suited to my tastes.”

  There was an odd gleam in the dark eyes that surveyed her so indifferently. “So you were not a consenting party to the old man’s plan. At least, Cousin, you have succeeded in surprising me. And it will be my delightful duty to enlighten you as to his intentions. If you knew him as well as I do, you’d have guessed there was something devilish havey-cavey about him buttering you up the way he did. This is it. You are selected for the supreme honour of becoming my bride.”

  Harriet gasped and choked. Her eyes widened incredulously. For a moment she thought she could not have heard aright, but there was something oddly convincing in the cool distaste writ plain on the aristocratic features. Her hands went back against the rough stonework of the chimney breast. It was solidly reassuring.

  “You are serious?” she said quietly.

  “Would any man jest over such a business?” he countered.

  She thought about that for a moment, then said slowly, “Grandpapa must be mad.”

  He gave her a queer, twisted little grin, seeming in that moment more human than she had seen him. “Merci du compliment, Cousin,” he murmured, “but I assure you that he is perfectly sane. Unfortunately, he cherishes certain old-fashioned notions. One of them is a fixed determination that his heir – myself – should marry and beget a son. Since he holds the purse-strings he is in a position to enforce the first part of this delightful scheme.”

  “But why me? We scarcely know one another. And surely he could look much higher for a suitable match for his heir.”

  He bowed ironically. “Your modesty is quite refreshing, my dear. To be sure he could. In fact, he did, not once but several times. But thanks to certain small activities that I initiated in self-defence, it was found impossible to get any of these favoured females up to scratch, which is why the privilege has fallen to you.”

  “But you surely do not imagine that I would consent?”

  “Why not? You have no prospects, and no other family to support you. It seems to me that you do pretty well out of the business.”

  Harriet could only stare. Such monstrous conceit was impenetrable. It was with difficulty that she kept her voice steady as she said, “I shall not thank you, milord, for an offer that I regard as an insult. Only let me make it plain to you that nothing would persuade me to accept.”

  He flushed darkly. “Very heroic,” he said. “Wait until you have experienced Grandpa’s notions of persuasion. Remember that he is legally your guardian, since you are not yet of age; that you placed yourself in his care of your own free will. A week or two locked in your room on bread and water and a sound whipping every day will soon teach you to sing a different tune. After all – what have you to lose? Let me tell you at once that you need fear no importunities from me. I do not care for women. My tastes lie in other directions. I shall not object to your taking a lover, so it be done discreetly, though I’ll not let you foist some other man’s brat on me. If you get yourself into that sort of tangle you will have to take one of these long holidays abroad that are so fashionable among the smarts.”

  Harriet felt sick. After her experiences at the Cushing’s and the lewd talk that she had heard among the servants there, she had thought herself immune from the kind of shock her cousin had just given her. His cold, unconcerned decadence was new in her experience. Never again would she willingly touch his hand, and the thought of being married to him, even on the terms that he suggested, filled her with revulsion. But somewhere within her a warning voice was sounding. He seemed to desire this marriage, even if it was to be a hollow sham. For financial reasons, he had said. And he had spoken of his grandfather’s persuasive methods. If both men were set on accomplishing this infamous business, she stood in grave danger. She had only Benworthy to turn to, and what could a servant do against two determined men? Somehow she must make her escape from the Place before her relatives realised how utterly detestable she found their scheming. What she must do now was to play for time.

  Loathing the necessity, she forced face and voice to tranquillity as she said thoughtfully, “At least I shall give myself time to study the proposition. Your arguments, milord, are powerful.”

  “Now that is being sensible,” he told her approvingly. “And you name another argument. I can ennoble you with a title. You will like that.”

  Harriet thought that any association with her cousin could only degrade her, but it was no part of her plan to tell him so. She murmured something noncommittal about being unaccustomed to such exalted circles.

  He nodded condescendingly. He might not like females, but he had not cared for the suggestion that one of them should reject the opportunity of marrying him. This humble creature would serve his purpose very well. He would ensure that his grandfather settled ample funds on him before the knot was tied, and no nonsense about money in trust for his heir. The girl could stay at the Place, though he had no particular objection to her going wherever she wished, so that she did not interfere with him. This bride had no influential relations to take him to task for neglecting her. She would do very well. She could even have the use of the Town house, since he did not like it above half, preferring something more intimate. In fact it might be better if she did take over the Town house. One might as well keep the old man quiescent as long as possible, and it would be easier to simulate normal married life if they had an establishment of their own. There would be squalls enough when the desired heir failed to put in an appearance, but provided that they were not all living under one roof he could always put the blame on the girl.

  Mulling over these co
mfortable thoughts, he was too absorbed to notice any stiffness or artificiality in his cousin’s behaviour. Which was fortunate, since she had had little practice in the art of feigning. She had said that she would think the matter over and he was in no doubt as to the conclusion that she would reach. It was natural that she should appear a little subdued when such important changes were about to take place in her style of living.

  Colonel Pendeniston was less gullible. Apprised of the interview that had taken place in the billiard room, he was less certain of the ultimate outcome. So far as he knew, his granddaughter had no friends in the neighbourhood to whom she could turn for advice or help, with the exception of Warhurst of Furzedown, who had placed her with his sister. The risk of her turning to him must be accounted negligible, but the colonel was a thorough man. At dinner he regretted politely that he must limit the young people’s freedom of movement for a few days. There was an epidemic fever in the village and he must ask them to confine their expeditions to his own acres until such time as all danger of infection was past. If Harriet had been inclined to believe this invention, the faint smile on her cousin’s face would have been sufficient to convince her of its falsehood. She knew something of the sensations of a terrified hare crouching in its form, wondering where to run for safety.

  If anything had been needed to convince her that she was virtually a prisoner, it would have been supplied by her cousin’s conduct when they rode together next day. It had seemed to her injudicious to decline to ride with him, and ride she must, since she hoped to discover some means of escape. She had a little money. Not very much, but sufficient, she thought, to pay her fare on the stagecoach to London, where she could surely find some sort of employment. If she could only discover where the coaches stopped. It would be at an inn, where they could change horses and refresh the passengers, but she dared not risk asking her cousin and he never let her out of his sight. Punctiliously he reminded her of his grandfather’s warning, putting a hand on her rein when she would have turned in the direction of the village, and presently asked her if she had as yet come to a decision on the vexed question of matrimony.

  “I am naturally impatient,” he bowed, with a smile that struck Harriet as purely evil.

  She summoned up what courage she could and declared that she would not be hurried, but her heart was cold with fear at the sight of his amused shrug and she knew that she must make her attempt at escape before her freedom of movement was still further restricted. She spent the afternoon in strolling about the garden, endeavouring to present the appearance of a maiden meditating a momentous decision while all the while her eyes were darting from side to side seeking some means of escape from this luxurious trap. There were two places where it might be possible to break out of the grounds into the lane that joined the highway. One was dangerous – too close to the lodge and the locked gates – but she thought the other, by way of a tree to the orchard wall and then into a water meadow, might be achieved without detection. The difficulty would be in getting out of the house after dark, for the colonel and his myrmidons were meticulous about seeing that all doors and windows on the ground floor were secured, and while a scramble over a wall was one thing, she could not see herself getting out of her bedroom window by way of knotted sheets. She would have to take Benworthy into her confidence and see if the maid knew of any means of egress that would serve. From experience she was well aware that servants often had their own means of defeating over-strict employers.

  It appeared that Colonel Pendeniston’s indoor servants were not of this calibre. Benworthy, shocked by the tale poured out to her while she dressed her young mistress for dinner, was only too anxious to be helpful but knew of no breach in the defences. Harriet went down to dinner no nearer to breaking free from her prison, and over dinner the atmosphere became so strained, with the colonel no longer affable but decidedly snappish, that her fears increased to a point at which it became difficult to behave normally. She was truly thankful to escape to her own rooms without having him ask point blank for her consent to the iniquitous marriage that he proposed to make for her, and knew that such a confrontation could not be long delayed.

  Benworthy was waiting to put her to bed, a Benworthy agog with secret excitement, so that she delivered her news in a hissing whisper as she undid hooks and unbuttoned sleeves.

  “There’s to be a door left open tonight, miss,” she confided. “The colonel’s going out after poachers again. Nobody’s supposed to know except Jamieson, because the colonel always suspects the underservants of being in strings with the village folk and sending warning to the poachers. Which I’m sure no one would blame them, but when the master goes out he uses the little door from the morning room on to the terrace, and Jamieson leaves it open for him to come back. It would be easy enough to get from the terrace to the orchard. The moon will be up, but not too bright.”

  She did not trouble to explain how she had come by this information, the truth being that she and the middle-aged butler had struck up a very promising friendship, and that Jamieson had seen no harm in imparting to this pleasant visiting abigail the secret that he was pledged to keep from his underlings. Harriet did not think to question her. She was too busy deciding what was best to be done if only she could escape from the sleeping house and thence by way of orchard and meadow to the lane that led towards Alresford. Escape by night ruled out the possibility of boarding the stage. There might be a night coach, but she had no idea when it was due and she certainly could not endure the strain of waiting, perhaps for several hours, in such close proximity to her enemies. There was no help for it. The only safe refuge was at Furzedown, four miles away. She could walk that, easily. Simon would receive her kindly, she was confident, and suggest somewhere for her to hide. In only two more weeks she would be twenty-one. Then her grandfather would no longer have the power to lock her up and ill-treat her. She would be free to make her own way in the world, and if the prospect seemed a bleak one it was at least infinitely better than the one that her grandfather and cousin had planned for her.

  It was fortunate that Benworthy had been given a little slip of a room next to Harriet’s. They arranged that she should keep watch to make sure that the colonel had set out on his punitive expedition. If she was seen she would make the excuse that her young mistress was restless and that she had come downstairs to warm some milk for her. Harriet put up a fervent prayer that her grandfather’s projected route did not lead in the direction of Furzedown, and awaited Benworthy’s summons with what patience she might.

  She had dressed with some care for her perilous venture. Plain dark clothes were an obvious common sense measure for one who wished to be inconspicuous, and light town slippers would not do for walking four miles through the woods. Partly from sentiment she chose the simple green dress that Simon had bought for her, ignoring the fact that it was now distinctly tight, and telling Benworthy airily that she might be glad of its warmth if the night air struck chill. The buckled shoes that had come with the dress were the only ones she possessed that were in the least suitable for the expedition, and over all went a brown hooded cloak that had been Mrs Bedford’s parting gift to her when she left Furzedown. It was foolish fancy, no doubt, but she felt braver in those clothes, as though she was protected by kindness and affection.

  It was past two o’clock before Benworthy crept into the room to call her, and she had gnawed her knuckles sore in her growing anxiety. Well she knew that there would be no second chance. If she failed tonight, she would be so closely guarded that her case would be hopeless. She crept through the silent corridors on Benworthy’s heels, scarcely daring to breathe, starting whenever a board creaked under her tread. But nothing moved. Benworthy let her out of the terrace door, promising in a whisper to feign utter stupefaction over her disappearance and wishing her well in her journey. She could not do better than entrust herself to Mr Warhurst’s hands, she added hearteningly. A proper gentleman, that one.

  Treading softly down the terrace steps, eyes
and ears alert for anything that moved in the half-dark, Harriet only wished that she was already safe in that kindly care. She was obsessed by the fear that she would run upon the party of gamekeepers headed by her grandfather and be hauled ignominiously back to captivity. The tree and the orchard wall could not be surmounted without a certain struggle and flurry, but still nothing else moved. She breathed a little more easily when she dropped down into the meadow and began to make her way to the stream that she meant to use as her guide. It would mean rough walking, but at least she would be moving by hidden ways, with ample opportunity to take cover if danger threatened.

  It took her longer than she had expected. She saw no one, but the moonlight was treacherous and she had to watch her footing carefully. Despite her urgent need to reach shelter, it would do no good to turn an ankle. Dawn was already at hand as she climbed the gate that led to the stable-yard at Furzedown. She did not wish to rouse the household. With memories of the reprobate Jem, whom she had helped succour, she contemplated hiding in the potting shed until the house began to show signs of life. Surely, then, knowing its ways as she did, it should be possible to slip quietly indoors and make her way to Mrs Bedford.

  She had reckoned without Mandy. As she passed the corner of the stable buildings where the dogs slept, there was an outburst of shrill barking, supported and sustained almost immediately by Meg’s deeper bay. Her attempts to quieten the pair only made matters worse, Mandy, upon recognising the beloved voice, going into a perfect ecstasy of yelps and whines and whimpers, hurling herself against the door and generally behaving like a creature demented.

  Since Simon was the only one who slept in the old end of the house nearest the stables, he was first to hear the uproar, and after waiting for a moment or two in the hope that the dogs would settle down again, he got up, pulled on a dressing-gown and went to investigate, expressing his views on these disturbers of his peace in distinctly colourful language, since he suspected that the cause of all the excitement was no more than a marauding rat. He turned the corner of the building explaining aloud just what he would do to the sinners when he laid hands upon them and stopped short at the sight of the small figure pressed against the door. For a moment he thought he must be dreaming. Then she abandoned her vain attempt to quieten the dogs and turned towards him, her face bleached and strained in the pale light, her hands outstretched in mute appeal.