While her footman jumped down to open the carriage-door, and to let down the steps, she had time to assimilate the details of the mishap which had befallen two fellow-travellers. A gig, with one wheel missing, was lying at a drunken angle at the side of the road, and beside it were standing two people: a female, huddled in a cloak, and a fair young man, who was feeling the knees of the sturdy cob which he had drawn out from between the shafts of the gig, and who said, just as James, the footman, pulled open the door of Miss Wychwood’s carriage: “Well, thank God, at least this bonesetter is none the worse!”
His companion, whom Miss Wychwood perceived to be a very young, and a very pretty girl, replied, with some asperity: “I don’t see much to be thankful for in that!”
“I daresay you don’t!” retorted the young gentleman. “You won’t be called upon to pay for—” He broke off, as he became aware that the slap-up equipage which had just swept round a bend in the road had come to a halt, and that its occupant, a dazzlingly lovely lady, was preparing to descend from it. He gave a gasp, pulled off his modish beaver, and stammered: “Oh! I didn’t see—I mean, I didn’t think—that is to say—”
Miss Wychwood laughed, and relieved him from his embarrassment, saying, as she alighted from her carriage: “Did you suppose anyone could be so odiously selfish as not to stop? Not I, I promise you! The same thing happened to me once, and I know just how helpless it makes one feel when one loses a wheel! Now, what can I do to rescue you from this horrid predicament?”
The girl, eyeing her warily, said nothing; but the gentleman bowed, and said: “Thank you! It is excessively good of you, ma’am! I shall be very much obliged to you if you will direct them, at the next posting-house, to send a chaise here, to carry us to Bath. I am not familiar with this part of the country, so I don’t know—And then there is the horse! I can’t leave him here, can I? Perhaps—Only I don’t like to ask you to find a wheelwright, ma’am, though I think a wheelwright is what is chiefly needed!”
At this, his companion intervened, announcing that a wheelwright was not what she needed. “Ten to one he wouldn’t come at all, and even if he did come, whoever heard of a wheelwright mending a wheel on the road? Particularly a wheel that has two broken spokes! It would be hours before we reached Bath, and you must know that it is of the first importance that I should be there not a moment later than five o’clock! I might have known how it would be when you meddled in what is quite my own affair, for of all the mutton-headed people I ever was acquainted with you are the most mutton-headed, Ninian!” she said indignantly.
“Let me remind you, Lucy,” retorted the gentleman, flushing up to the roots of his fair hair, “that the accident was no fault of mine! And, further, that if I had not meddled, as you choose to call it, in your affair you would have found yourself at this moment stranded miles from Bath! And if we are to talk of mutton-heads—!” He broke off, controlling himself with a visible effort, set his teeth, and said in the icy voice of one determined not to allow his anger to get the better of him: “I shall not do so, however!”
“No, don’t!” said Annis, considerably amused by this interchange. “You really have no time to indulge in recriminations at just this moment, have you? If it is a matter of importance to you to reach Bath before five o’clock, Miss—?”
She left a pause, her brows raised questioningly, but the youthful lady before her did not seem to be very willing to fill it. After hesitating for a few moments, she stammered: “If you please, ma’am, will you just call me Lucilla? I—I have a very particular reason for not wishing anyone to know my surname—in case they come in search of me!”
“They?” enquired Miss Wychwood, wondering what kind of an adventure she had stumbled on.
“My aunt, and his father,” said Lucilla, nodding towards her escort. “And very likely my uncle too, if he can be persuaded to bestir himself!” she added.
“Good God!” exclaimed Miss Wychwood, her eyes dancing. “Can it be that I am assisting in an elopement?”
The haste with which both the lady and the gentleman repudiated this suggestion was attended by so much vehemence, and with so much loathing, that Miss Wychwood was hard put to it not to burst out laughing. She managed to keep her countenance, and said, with only a tiny tremor in her voice: “I beg your pardon! Indeed, I can’t think how I came to say anything so shatter-brained, for something seemed to tell me at the outset that it was not an elopement!”
Lucilla said, with dignity: “I may be a sad romp, I may be a little gypsy, and my want of conduct may give people a disgust of me, but I am not lost to all sense of propriety, whatever my aunt says, and nothing could prevail on me to elope with anyone! Not even if I were madly in love, which I’m not! As for eloping with Ninian, that would be a nonsensical thing to do, because—”
“I wish you will keep your tongue, Lucy!” interrupted Ninian, looking very much vexed. “You rattle on like a regular bagpipe, and see what comes of it!” He turned towards Annis, saying stiffly: “I cannot wonder at it that you were misled into supposing that we are eloping. The case is far otherwise.”
“Yes, it is,” corroborated Lucilla. “Far, far otherwise! The truth is that I am escaping from Ninian!”
“I see!” said Annis sympathetically. “And he is helping you to do it!”
“Well, yes—in a way he is,” Lucilla admitted. “Not that I wished him to help me, but—but the circumstances made it very difficult for me to stop him. It—it is all rather complicated, I’m afraid.”
“It does seem to be,” agreed Annis. “And if you are going to explain it to me—not that I wish to be vulgarly inquisitive!—how would it be if you were to get into my carriage, and allow me to convey you to wherever it is in Bath that you wish to go?”
Lucilla cast a somewhat longing look at the carriage, but shook a resolute head. “No. It is very kind of you, but it would be too shabby of me to leave Ninian behind, and I won’t do it!”
“Yes, you will!” said Ninian. “I have been wondering how to get you to Bath before you are quite frozen, and if this lady will take you there I shall be very much obliged to her.”
“I will certainly take her there,” said Annis, smiling at him. “My name, by the way, is Wychwood—Miss Annis Wychwood.”
“And mine, ma’am, is Elmore—Ninian Elmore, entirely at your service!” he responded, with great gallantry, “And this is—”
“Ninian, no!”cried Lucilla, much flustered. “If she were to tell my aunt where I am—”
“Oh, don’t be afraid of that!” said Annis cheerfully. “Never shall it be said of me that I’m an addle-plot, I promise you! I collect that you are going to visit a friend, or perhaps a relation?”
“Well,—well not precisely! In fact, I haven’t met her yet!” disclosed Lucilla, in a rush of confidence. “The thing is, ma’am, I am going to apply for the post of companion to her. She says—I have brought the notice I saw in the Morning Post with me, but most foolishly packed it in my portmanteau, so that I can’t immediately show it to you—but she says she requires an active and genteel young lady of willing disposition, and that applicants must call at her residence in North Parade between the hours of—”
“North Parade!” exclaimed Annis. “My poor child, can it be that you are going to visit Mrs Nibley?”
“Yes,” faltered Lucilla, dismayed by Miss Wychwood’s very obvious pity. “The Honourable Mrs Nibley, which made me think she must be a perfectly respectable person. Isn’t she, ma’am?”
“Oh, yes! A pattern-card of respectability!” answered Annis. “Renowned in Bath as the town’s worst archwife! She has had I don’t know how many active and genteel ladies to wait on her hand and foot during the three years I’ve been acquainted with her. Either they leave her house in strong hysterics, or she turns them off because they have not been sufficiently active or willing! My dear, do believe me when I tell you that the post she offers would not do for you!”
“I guessed as much!” interpolated Mr Elmore, not without satisfactio
n.
Lucilla bore all the appearance of having sustained a stunning blow, but at this her spirit flickered up in a brief revival, and she said: “No, you didn’t! Pray, how could you have guessed anything of the sort?”
“Well, at all events, I guessed no good would come of such a bird-witted start, and I said so at the time! You can’t deny that! Now what do you mean to do?”
“I don’t know,” said Lucilla, her lips trembling. “I shall have to think of something.”
“There’s only one thing you can do, and that is to return to Mrs Amber,” he said.
“Oh, no, no, no!” she cried passionately. “I would rather hire myself out as a cook-maid than go back to be scolded, and reproached, and told I had made my aunt ill, and forced to many you, which is what would happen, on account of my having run away with you! And it wouldn’t be the least use to tell my aunt, or your papa, that I didn’t run away with you, but away from you, because even if they believed me they would think it worse,and say we must be married!”
He blenched visibly, and ejaculated: “Oh, my God, that’s just what they would do! What a hobble we’re in! It almost makes me wish I hadn’t caught you creeping out of the house, and thought it my duty to see you came to no harm!”
“Forgive me!” interposed Miss Wychwood. “May I offer a suggestion?” She smiled at Lucilla, and held out her hand. “If you are set on being a companion, come and be a companion to me!” She heard Miss Farlow within the carriage utter a faint, outraged clucking, and made haste to add: “It won’t do, you know, to be putting up at an hotel, all by yourself; and it’s not to be expected that Mrs Nibley—even if she engaged you, which I think extremely unlikely—would be prepared to do so immediately. She will require you to furnish her with the name and direction of some respectable person willing to vouch for you.”
“Oh, goodness!” exclaimed Lucilla, dismayed. “I never thought of that!”
“Most understandable that you should not!” said Annis. “One can’t think of everything, after all! But I do feel that it is a matter which ought to be considered, and I also feel that it is quite impossible to consider anything when one is standing in the open road, with a perfectly horrid wind positively freezing one’s wits! So do, pray, get into my carriage! Mr Elmore will follow us in due course, and we can discuss the matter when we have dined, and are sitting snugly beside the fire.”
“Thank you!” Lucilla said unsteadily. “You are very kind, Miss Wychwood! Only—only how is Ninian to manage, when he can’t leave the horse?”
“There is no need for you to fret about me,” said Mr Elmore nobly. “I shall lead the horse to the next hostelry, and trust to being able to hire some sort of a carriage to carry me to Bath.”
“You might even ride the horse,” suggested Annis.
“But I am not dressed for riding!” he said, staring at her. “And—and even if I were, it is not a saddle-horse!”
Annis now perceived that Mr Elmore was a very correct young gentleman. She was a good deal amused, but although the ready laughter sprang to her eyes she said, with perfect gravity: “Very true! We must leave you to do as you think best, but I should perhaps warn you that since this is not a post-road you may find it difficult to hire a chaise at the—the ‘next hostelry’, and may even be reduced to contenting yourself with some vehicle quite beneath your touch! However, I shan’t despair of seeing you in Upper Camden Place in time for dinner!” She then furnished him with her exact direction, smiled benignly upon him and pushed Lucilla to the steps of her carriage.
Propelled irresistibly by a firm hand in the small of her back, Lucilla mounted them, but paused at the top, to say, over her shoulder: “If I could be of the least use to you, Ninian, I wouldn’t leave you in this fix, even though you wouldn’t have been in it if you hadn’t meddled in my affairs!”
“You may make yourself easy on that head!” responded Mr Elmore. “Far from being of use to me, your presence would make everything worse! If it could be!” he added.
“Well, of all the unjust things to say!” gasped Lucilla indignantly. She would have said more, but Miss Wychwood cut short her recriminations by thrusting her into the carriage. She then directed her interested footman to transfer her unexpected guest’s baggage from the gig to the carriage, and, when this was done, herself mounted into the carriage, briskly desired Miss Farlow to make room for a third person on the back seat, pushed her own hot brick under Lucilla’s feet, tucked a generous share of the fur-lined carriage-rug round her, and nodded to her footman to put up the steps. In a very few minutes the coachman had set his horses in motion, and Lucilla, snuggling between her hostess and Miss Farlow, heaved a small sigh, and, stealing a cold hand into Miss Wychwood’s, whispered: “Oh, I do thank you, ma’am!”
Miss Wychwood chafed the little hand, saying: “You poor child! You are quite frozen! Never mind! We shall soon be in Bath, and we shan’t discuss your problems until you are warm, and have dined, and—er—have the benefit of Mr Elmore’s advice!”
Lucilla gave an involuntary choke of laughter, but refrained from comment. Very little conversation was exchanged during the rest of the journey, Lucilla, worn-out by the day’s adventures, being on the brink of sleep, and Miss Wychwood confining her remarks to a few commonplaces addressed to Miss Farlow. For her part, Miss Farlow’s usual flow of chit-chat was dried up, because (as she would presently tell her employer) her feelings had been wounded by the imputation that her own companionship did not suffice Miss Wychwood. Miss Jurby preserved a rigid silence, as befitted her position, but she too had every intention of favouring Miss Wychwood with her opinion of her latest, ill-judged start, as soon as she was alone with her—and in far more forthright terms than would be used by Miss Farlow.
Lucilla awoke when the carriage drew up in Upper Camden Place, and was insensibly cheered by the welcoming candlelight coming through the open door of the house, and by the benevolent aspect of the elderly butler, who beamed upon his mistress, and accepted, without a blink, the unheralded arrival of a stranger in her company.
Annis handed Lucilla over to Mrs Wardlow, her housekeeper, with instructions to bestow her in the Pink bedchamber, and to direct one of the maids to wait on her; and prepared herself to deal with her affronted companion.
Waiting only until Lucilla, meekly following Mrs Wardlow up the stairs, was out of earshot, Miss Farlow said that while she trusted it would always be far from her intention to criticize any of her dear cousin’s actions she felt herself bound to say that had she known that her companionship no longer satisfied dear Annis she would instantly have resigned her post.
“Whatever the exigencies of my circumstances,” she said tearfully, “I should prefer to five in utter penury than to remain where I am not wanted, however comfortable this house may be, which indeed it is, not to say luxurious, for Better a dinner of herbs where love is than a stalled ox and hatred therewith! Even though I am not at all partial to herbs, except for a little parsley in a sauce, and I have never been able to understand how anyone, even a Biblical person, could possibly live on herbs. However, times change, and when one thinks of all the most peculiar things that happened in the Bible, well, it makes one positively thankful one didn’t live in those days! Bushes catching fire, and ladders coming down out of the sky, and people being swallowed up by whales, and not being a penny the worse for it—well, I should find that sort of thing most disconcerting! Manna, too! I’ve never been able to discover what kind of food that was, but I am persuaded I shouldn’t like it, even if I were starving, and it was suddenly dropped on me, which I think extremely unlikely. But,”she continued, fixing Miss Wychwood with a reproachful gaze, “I would make a push to like it if you wish to set Another in my place!”
“Don’t be such a goosecap, Maria!” replied Miss Wychwood, in a rallying tone. “I haven’t the least desire to set Another in your place!” Always appreciative of the ridiculous, she could not resist the impulse to say: “I can vouch for it that there is no hatred in this
house—unless Jurby hates you, but you wouldn’t care for that, because you must know that she wouldn’t do so if she didn’t fear that you were ousting her in my regard!—but the stalled ox has me in a puzzle! Where, cousin, do you suspect me of stalling an ox?”
“I was speaking metaphorically,” answered Miss Farlow, in outraged accents. “It is not to be supposed that you could stall an ox anywhere in Bath, for you may depend upon it that it would contravene the regulations. I daresay you wouldn’t be permitted to stall a cow,and that would be of far more use to you!”
“So it would!” agreed Miss Wychwood, much struck.
“Oxen and cows have nothing to do with the case!” said Miss Farlow, dissolving into tears. “My sensibilities have been deeply wounded, Annis! When I heard you invite that young woman to come here to be a companion to you, I suffered an—an electrical shock from which I fear my nerves will never recover!”
Perceiving that her elderly cousin was very much upset, Annis applied herself to the task of soothing her lacerated feelings. It took time and patience to mollify Miss Farlow, and although she succeeded in convincing her that she stood in no danger of being dismissed she failed to reconcile her to Lucilla’s presence in Camden Place. “I cannot like her, cousin,” she said impressively. “You must forgive me if I say that I am astonished that you should have offered her the hospitality of your home, for in general you have such very superior sense! Mark my words, you will live to regret it!”
“If I do, Maria, you will have the comfort of being able to say that you told me so! But what reason could I possibly have for not rescuing that child from a very awkward predicament?”
“It’s my belief,” said Miss Farlow darkly, “that the story she told you was a take-in! A very hurly-burly young female I thought her! So coming—quite brass-faced indeed! Such a want of delicacy, running away from her home, and in the company of a young gentleman! No doubt I am old-fashioned, but such conduct doesn’t suit my sense of propriety. What is more, I am very sure dear Sir Geoffrey would disapprove quite as strongly as I do!”
Lady of Quality Page 2
