At that very point in her reflections, a step sounded on the stone floor behind her.
She turned quickly. Her heart was pounding and her legs felt curiously weak.
“What are you doing here?”
The voice was harsh, but a gentleman’s, and decidedly of this earth. Amanda let out her pent-up breath in a heartfelt sigh of relief. The man standing accusingly before her was attired in a greatcoat and riding boots: she judged him to be somewhere in his late twenties. He looked stern and arrogant, and did not remove his tricorne hat when he addressed her. She noticed this with trepidation. Such a breach of manners must indicate an uncommon degree of annoyance. Perhaps he was the owner of the house? She began a stumbling apology.
“I — I beg your pardon, sir — of course, I had no right — but seeing the ruined tower from the opposite bank, I thought —”
“Indeed you had no right.”
The ice in his voice seemed to cut through Amanda’s blood. She winced inwardly.
“I am glad that you have sufficient wit to realise it,” he continued in biting accents. “Perhaps you will oblige me by removing yourself from this place instantly.”
“Of — of course.” Amanda swallowed nervously. “But if you would only let me explain, sir —”
“Your explanations, my good young woman, could only be tedious. I prefer your absence to your conversation. Good day.”
This was not to be borne. Amanda’s consciousness of being in the wrong faded abruptly before such cavalier treatment.
“I am not your good woman!” she retorted, incensed. “If you would only permit me to explain, I was about to inform you that I believed the place to be a ruin — had I realised that it was inhabited —”
She stopped suddenly, seeing only too well the weakness of her defence. He raised one eyebrow in what she thought of as a supercilious manner, and examined her muddy skirts and shoes with a cold detachment that brought the hot blood to her cheeks.
“You must, however, have seen your mistake as soon as you stepped out of the trees. I am right in supposing that you came from the river bank?”
She nodded, momentarily humiliated: the movement caused the hood of her cloak to fall back from her head, thus revealing her honey-coloured curls. He glanced at them, and his lip curled sarcastically.
“This is no place for curious schoolgirls. If I find you here again, I shall be obliged to take sterner measures than warning you off. And now — go.”
“Very well.”
Amanda drew herself up to her full height, and turned to step out of the cloisters on to the lawn. Then her dignity cracked suddenly. She turned her head impulsively towards him.
“But I think you are vastly uncivil, sir and I am not a schoolgirl!”
“That is apparent,” he said, and laughed softly.
It was too much. With difficulty Amanda resisted a long since forgotten impulse to put out her tongue. She turned and fled.
She did not pause for breath until she had once more gained the river bank. There was as yet no sign of Jem. In the present stormy state of her feelings, she was glad of this. A short wait would cool her red cheeks and steady her breathing. Her thoughts raged within her. Schoolgirl, indeed! That had stung, as well it might to one not yet quite eighteen, and fresh from the schoolroom. His tone, so peremptory, so — so arrogant! Of course a still, small voice whispered, she had been in the wrong — but to refuse to listen to a civil explanation, to treat her as a mere, vulgar, prying slip of a schoolgirl! Justice insisted that in a sense he had been right, she had indeed been prying; but injured vanity would not heed. She had been treated abominably — the man was a monster!
Presently, her rage cooled sufficiently for her to realise that the boat was approaching the spot where she stood. In another moment, Jem had jumped out to help her safely aboard. There was another man in the boat now, a brawny, bearded giant whom she had no difficulty in identifying as the blacksmith. He clutched a bag to his wide chest, and she guessed that he carried the tools of his trade. He gave her a queer look as she seated herself in the boat, a look that put her in mind of the one bestowed on her by the ferryman when Jem had explained her intention of exploring the ruin across the river.
It was not until they were walking back towards the farm that Jem made any reference to her exploit.
“Did yon place please ye, Miss?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Well enough.”
He nodded towards the blacksmith, who was walking a little apart from them.
“Burly Joe over yonder seemed uncommon put about to learn that I’d left my mistress there,” he said, with a chuckle. “Seemed to fancy there might be ’obgoblins, or some such; but more ’e wouldn’t say.”
Amanda glanced sharply at the man, and beckoned to him to draw nearer. He approached, tugging at his forelock.
“What is the name of that place across the river where we were just now?” she asked.
The man seemed reluctant to answer. “Med’nam Abbey, ma’am,” he said, at last.
“Then it is an abbey!” exclaimed Amanda. “Or perhaps I should say that it once was. What is the name of the owner?”
Once again, there was a slight hesitation.
“Mr. Duffield did own it,” rumbled the man, reluctantly. “But now it belongs to a gennelman from Lunnon way — dunno the name for sure, ma’am.”
“What is all this talk of hobgoblins?” continued Amanda.
The fellow glanced half-fearfully over his shoulder, and seemed more unwilling than ever to reply.
“Come,” said Amanda, encouragingly. “I’m sure you’re not afraid, a big fellow like you!”
This remark seemed to put the blacksmith on his mettle.
“There be queer tales in the village, ma’am,” he said, shame-facedly. “No servants live in the ’ouse, only an old man an’ ’is missus, who keeps theirselves to theirselves. There be coaches come sometimes wi’ crests on the panels, too, but they never stays long an’ no one ever sees their owners in the village. An’ there be some who say —” his voice dropped almost to a whisper — “that they do ’ave seen ghosties a-flittin’ up an’ down the lawn from t’other side o’ the river. An’ if ye stand ’neath the wall of a night — if so be ye should be so bold — ye’ll mayhap hear shrieks an’ laughin’ — fair curdles yer blood, it do!”
He shivered as he finished speaking, and quickened his pace with another backward glance. Amanda, her curiosity now thoroughly aroused, would have liked to question him further, but she saw that he wanted to have done with the subject, and, moreover, doubted if he could add anything to what he had already said.
“Sounds a bag o’ moonshine to me,” stated Jem, in a downright way; and he proceeded to lead the man on to talk of coaches and horseflesh, subjects on which he seemed infinitely happier to converse.
Amanda remained apart, lost in a reverie which remained unbroken by the governess’s horrified reception of her when at last they reached the road. Miss Brown’s remonstrances, as so often, fell on deaf ears; and with very few words on Amanda’s part, the time passed until the men had contrived a repair of the coach. The blacksmith was dismissed with a fat fee, and the vehicle resumed the journey to London.
Chapter III: Interlude at the Castle Inn
“You are uncommon silent, Miss Amanda,” said the governess at last, astonished. In general, the girl’s tongue ran on at great rate, but now she had been answering Miss Brown’s remarks in monosyllables for the last half-hour.
Amanda started guiltily.
“Am I, Brownie? I was — just thinking.”
“This is a change indeed,” replied Miss Brown, with a twinkle. “May I be permitted to know the subject of these deep deliberations?”
Prevarication had never come easily to Amanda, but she recognised the need for it now.
“I was wondering,” she said slowly, “how I shall find life in London. Bella talks endlessly of the diversions to be met with — balls and masques, gay company, splendid at
tire and the like — but somehow I’m not altogether certain that I shall feel as she does. Lately, it seems that our notions are not always alike.”
“That is not surprising,” replied Miss Brown. “Miss Isabella has shown signs of arriving at discretion this last twelve-month, but you, I fear, are still a sad hoyden! You have been accustomed to a deal of freedom in the country, you must realise, and cannot expect to go on in the same way in Town. Far be it from me to appear to be in any way criticising your excellent parents, but if there has been a fault, it has been on the side of indulgence. You cannot fail to be aware that I have several times represented to your dear Mama —”
“Yes, oh, yes, I know!” cut in Amanda. “But, dearest Brownie, pray do not moralise! You must realise by now that I am quite beyond hope of reform!”
The governess glanced at the girl at her side, and her hard, capable expression softened. To be sure, Miss Amanda was not a Beauty like her sister; she lacked the classic perfection of feature which the older girl possessed. But there was a vitality and warmth in her expression, a roguishness in her smile, that went straight to the heart of the beholder: while that profile, thought Miss Brown, with its tip-tilted nose and firm little chin, put one in mind of a cheeky London sparrow searching for crumbs.
“We would not have you changed,” she said, on impulse. “You are possessed of that most human of all virtues — a warm heart.”
Amanda looked her surprise. It was unlike Brownie to give way to sentiment. Then she remembered that this was to be their last journey together, and her expression sobered.
“Dearest Brownie, I shall miss you so!” she exclaimed, impetuously. “I know I have been a wretch to you at times, but indeed and indeed, I do love you!”
Miss Brown drew a clean handkerchief from her pocket, and blew her nose vigorously.
“There, there, we must not give way to our feelings!” she said, in a brisk tone. “After all, I am to go only as far as Richmond, and to your own young cousins, so we shall see and hear of each other from time to time. You are a young lady now, and must take your place in the world. You no longer have need of a governess.”
“I suppose not,” admitted Amanda, a little sadly. “But, Brownie, do you not sometimes wish that we need never have changes — that we might always keep people just as they are at this moment — that they didn’t have to leave us, or grow old? I do, often!”
Miss Brown was moved: but she showed it in characteristic fashion by squaring her shoulders, and recommending Miss Amanda not to indulge in morbid thoughts. In this direction she was aided by the arrival of the coach at Salt Hill, where it was necessary to change horses.
By now it was quite dark, and the Castle Inn was a blaze of light. Ostlers ran to and fro in the yard, for this was a busy posting-house. Jaded horses were being led away to the stables and fresh, prancing animals brought out to be set to the waiting coaches. One or two travellers had alighted to seek refreshment within doors on this sharp Spring evening, while the business of changing horses was afoot. Amanda turned eagerly to Miss Brown as their own animals were being unharnessed.
“Do let us go within, Brownie! I would dearly like a cup of coffee or chocolate!”
“There will scarce be time,” demurred the governess. “We are already late, and must cross Hounslow Heath, which, as you are no doubt aware, is a notorious haunt of highwaymen. It will be better to do so as early in the evening as possible, when there will be other travellers abroad.”
“Pooh!” Amanda wrinkled her nose. “The men are armed, are they not?”
“If by armed you refer to the old blunderbuss which has probably not been fired these ten years, and is, in any event, kept underneath the box — yes, then I suppose you may say that they are,” replied the governess, dryly.
“Oh, come, Brownie, it may never happen!” said Amanda cheerfully. “’Pon rep, I would dearly love to see the highwayman who would dare hold you up! He would indeed be a bold man!”
Miss Brown smiled and allowed herself to be persuaded. With a word of explanation to Jem, they made their way to the door of the inn.
It opened straight into the public coffee room. Miss Brown looked disparagingly about her as she entered. The room was a pleasant, low-ceilinged apartment, set about with oak beams. A bright log fire burned on the hearth, and before it stood a high-backed wooden settle. There were a few people sitting on a bench over against the far wall, and a gentleman was leaning negligently against one of the beams, reading a newspaper. Amanda noticed out of the corner of her eye that he was dressed for riding, in buckskin breeches, high boots, and an olive green coat. His travelling cloak and hat were flung carelessly on a chair beside him. He had a decided air of fashion. This much she took in quickly, without appearing to pay any particular attention, while she followed Miss Brown, who steered her purposefully in the direction of the settle before the fire.
“We may as well be warm, child,” said the governess, seating herself and drawing off her gloves. She spread out her fingers to the welcome blaze. “It is a chilly night.”
A pretty serving wench presently came by, and Miss Brown gave their order in a clear, decisive voice that carried across the room. The gentleman with the newspaper momentarily looked up, and Amanda observed that he was youngish, and decidedly handsome.
After an interval, the maid returned, bearing the refreshment they had bespoken, and placed a tray upon the small table which was set close to Miss Brown. While the governess busied herself with the cups, Amanda looked about her. Her eyes followed the maid idly. The girl had almost reached the door which gave on to a passage communicating with the kitchen quarters and the tap room, when a man entered the coffee room from that direction. He had a fine, swashbuckling air about him that evidently owed something to liquor, for his gait was unsteady, and his wig a trifle askew.
He bore down upon the serving-wench, and circled her slim waist with one arm. She evidently did not welcome this gallantry, for she squeaked in protest. He tightened his grasp with a laugh. All at once, with a force unbelievable in one so slight, she pushed him off so that he staggered, and almost fell. With an audible curse, he made a grab for her; but she eluded his grasp easily, and ran from the room.
Amanda could not repress a smile at this scene; it was unfortunate that the man should have happened to glance in her direction at that same moment, and observe her amusement.
He tugged at his crumpled cravat with an unsteady hand, and started waveringly across the room towards her. She hastily turned away, accepted a cup from Miss Brown’s hands, and began to sip her coffee. Nothing daunted, the fellow seated himself beside her upon the settle, and favoured her with a long, insolent stare which seemed to burn into the back of her neck. Her face she kept studiously turned away.
“S’fine evenin’,” he offered, in slurred tones.
Amanda ignored this, and continued to sip her coffee and converse with her governess. The man edged a little nearer to her. She turned then, and gave him a frigid stare which must have deterred a sober man. He registered no effect.
“D’ye go to Lunnon?” he asked, with a bold leer.
Amanda felt just the least bit dismayed, and turned a look of appeal on Miss Brown.
“I believe,” said the latter, in loud, clear tones, “that it will be necessary to summon the landlord.”
At that moment, a shadow fell across the settle. Looking up, Amanda saw that it was the gentleman whom she had noticed reading the newspaper when they had first entered the room. He addressed himself to their tormentor.
“I believe these ladies wish to be private.”
His tone was quiet, but carried authority. The man looked up.
“Wassat to you?” he asked aggressively.
“Perhaps I could better explain myself outside.”
Again he spoke quietly, but there was menace in the tone, and his hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword.
How the matter would have ended, Amanda was fated not to know; for, somewhat to her d
isappointment, the landlord came over to them at that moment, having been hastily summoned by the maid. With a jerk of his thumb, he indicated that the man should leave his inn at once. Evidently the fellow recognised this authority, and was not prepared to argue the matter; for he rose unsteadily to his feet, mumbled something inaudible, and took a wavering course for the door.
Amanda turned to thank the stranger for his intervention, but the landlord’s profuse and prolonged apology drowned her opening words. The stranger bowed, and withdrew instantly to the other side of the room, where Amanda noticed he picked up his hat and cloak, and presently left the inn.
They also left, after paying their score, escorted to their coach by a still apologetic landlord.
“This will have been an object lesson to you, Miss Amanda,” warned the governess, as the coach rattled over the cobblestones of the yard on to the road for London. “You will perhaps now see how unwise it is to venture into an inn unless escorted by a gentleman.”
“I suppose so,” conceded her charge, “although it was not so very dreadful, Brownie, after all. Did you not admire our deliverer?”
“A very proper gentleman,” approved Miss Brown. “He did not force his company upon us, but withdrew instantly when the landlord arrived.”
“Very.” Amanda’s dimple appeared. “But do you think that perhaps he would have retired quite so promptly — had I been unchaperoned?”
“You are a minx,” replied the governess, severely.
“Oh, Brownie!” Amanda dissolved into laughter. “I was only roasting you!”
The Georgian Rake Page 3
