A Cousinly Connection

by Sheila Simonson

  "Oh, yes. That is, a bit gloomy just now. A friend of his in Yorkshire--Tarrant, you know--has taken a bad fall and Julian's devilish worried. We mean to drive up tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow," Jane said blankly. "But Drusilla--"

  "Oh, poor Dru. She's mad as fire, but she can't very well impose on Mrs. Tarrant at such a time. She'll stay with Lady Georgy."

  Vincent appeared to regard staying with Lady Herrington as ample compensation for Drusilla's disappointment.

  Drusilla did not agree.

  Later that day Jane and her aunt paid her ladyship an afternoon call. As soon as Aunt Hervey and Jane had exchanged civilities with Lady Herrington, Drusilla began to pester Jane to take her north. In vain did Jane point out the impropriety of going against Meriden's wishes, the difficulties attendant upon ladies travelling without male escort, the want of a hostess to receive them in Yorkshire.

  Drusilla pleaded and begged and stormed, and behaved so much like Felix in a pet that Jane was ashamed of her. Lady Herrington watched the girl without apparent emotion, but her eyes had narrowed to green slits.

  Jane said rather desperately, "I'm sorry for your disappointment, Drusilla, but you must see that it's impossible for you to go now."

  "I don't see it. I should help Mrs. Tarrant. I'm very good with invalids."

  "Not with Mama," Maria interjected smugly.

  Drusilla's eyes filled. "It's not fair. I bore with Mama all summer because Julian asked me to, and now he won't take me north when he goes dashing off to some beastly friend who ain't even family. Mama is right. He is a villain. I'm his sister, ain't I? He owes me..." She buried her head in a sopha cushion and began to weep lustily.

  "Drusilla," Lady Herrington murmured, "you are making a vulgar spectacle of yourself. Dry your eyes and cease shrieking, if you please."

  Drusilla sat up with a startled sniff.

  Lady Herrington rose. "You must understand that your brother owes Mr. Tarrant his life, for it was Will Tarrant who found him so badly wounded in Brussels, and brought him home and cared for him. And that is considerably more than Julian owes you or any member of his family." She did not raise her voice. "I am very glad to receive you and Maria, for Julian's sake, but I will not hear my cousin abused. Drusilla, you may go to your room. Miss Goodnight, I wonder if you will be so kind as to escort her?"

  When a scarlet Drusilla and her fluttering escort had vanished, Lady Herrington turned back to her callers. "Dear me, how happy I am not to be sixteen. Mrs. Hervey, Miss Ash, I beg your pardon."

  Maria, upright and pale, was still sitting on the sopha.

  A tiny frown formed between Lady Herrington's excellent brows. "Maria, my love, do not look so downcast. I am very glad to have you visit me, but you do see that I was obliged to give your sister a set-down, do you not? Only imagine what would happen if she were to throw such a tantrum in Lady Jersey's company."

  Maria did not smile.

  Lady Herrington sat beside her and, quite unaffectedly, gave her a hug. "There now, don't pull away."

  "I shan't," Maria said with dignity, "and I am sorry my sister behaved so ill, but I believe you are unjust. We did not know Julian. Indeed we did not know he was hurt. You did, cousin. If that is so, how came it that you, who have known him all your life, left him to be cared for by strangers?" She stood up and stalked from the room with quite un-Maria-like dignity.

  Lady Herrington gazed after her thoughtfully. "I shall certainly present Maria. Who would have thought the child had so much spirit?"

  In the previous few minutes Jane had experienced wild impulses to flight. Aunt Hervey appeared beset with the same feelings and, indeed, bent upon acting on them, for she gave every sign of preparing to depart. Lady Herrington's last remark, however, so intrigued Jane that she placed a restraining hand on her aunt's wrist.

  Lady Herrington came to herself with a small shake of the head and startled Jane very much by giving her an engaging grin. Her languor had vanished.

  "Forgive me," she said simply. "Do stay. There is a deal I must discuss with you, Miss Ash. Only first excuse me, for I must tell Greave I am not receiving, or who knows how many interruptions we shall have?" She rose and slipped from the room.

  Jane and her aunt exchanged glances.

  "Well, upon my word." Aunt Hervey began.

  "No, dear Aunt, do not. If she will see to Maria's come-out, nothing could be better."

  Presently her ladyship returned, followed by a servant with a teatray the sight of which in some sort mollified Aunt Hervey.

  "I had not understood Meriden's obligation to Mr. Tarrant," Jane ventured, "or I should have made myself plainer to Drusilla."

  Lady Herrington grimaced. "What a coil! I have never even met the man. Maria is right, of course. Only, you know, we were deep in Devon and did not have word of the battle until two weeks after it was fought. By the time we reached Town, we had the casualty lists, but things were in such an uproar at the Horse Guards that even Richard could not get word of Julian's whereabouts."

  Sir Richard Herrington was an ornamental member of the Opposition. Lady Herrington's faith in her husband's capacity to track down missing cousins was touching but, Jane thought, a little naive, considering the magnitude of the battle and the confusion afterwards. Her father had waited a month for word of Jack.

  "I went to Lord Meriden, that is, Julian's father." Spots of colour burnt in her ladyship's cheeks. "He told me," she said indignantly, "not to put myself in a pother."

  Jane grinned.

  "Yes, you may smile now, but I can tell you it was not amusing at the time. What a toad that man was. I beg your pardon, Miss Ash."

  "No need," Jane said warmly. "He was not my kin, and toad is the least I should have said."

  Lady Herrington' s mouth relaxed in a reluctant smile. "In August I had a note from Julian to say he was with friends in Yorkshire. I was to thank Mr. Tarrant that he did not write to me in the character of Pegleg Stretton. I was relieved, I must say, but I cannot help feeling guilty."

  "No one could censure you, Georgianna," Aunt Hervey pronounced.

  "I could," Lady Herrington said shortly, "and so, apparently, could my sweet cousin-in-law, Maria. Tell me, Miss Ash, if Maria is so lion-hearted, how has she contrived these past few days to appear so dim?"

  Jane preserved her gravity. "I believe Maria may have been a trifle in awe of you, my lady."

  Lady Herrington wrinkled her perfect nose. "Could you call me Georgy?"

  "If you will call me Jane."

  "Very well, Jane--now, dragon that I am, I have stunned Maria into insipidity..."

  Jane laughed. "It is surely not so bad as that. As you see, she has spirit. Given confidence, she shews pretty, funning ways, and her share of the Stretton charm."

  "Do you find the Strettons charming? I must tell Julian."

  Jane felt herself blush and avoided Aunt Hervey's eye. She was not about to be outfaced by this unexpected and alarming lady, however. "Vincent is quite the most beguiling young man of my acquaintance, and Harry, you know, was famous for his address. As for his lordship, his appearance is deceptive, for I think him capable de tout."

  Lady Herrington gave a crow of delight. "You're perfectly correct. He's outrageous. What fun we had as children, and how many scrapes he got me into. He is quite my favourite relation." She chuckled. "And his abominable twin brothers are exactly like him. Tell me, Jane, is it necessary for Julian to mew himself up in the country? I have longed to loose him on the ton. He would set everyone by the ears in no time."

  "No doubt you are right." Jane smiled but rather vacantly, for she was a little stunned by the allusion to Arty and Horatio.

  Lady Herrington sighed. "Ah, well, one cannot always indulge one's wishes. He seems bent on turning himself into an agriculturalist. Considering the state in which his tedious father left things, I daresay he believes he has no choice." Her green eyes lit. "Only to think of Julian raising corn. Or mangel-wurzels."

  The mention of mangel-w
urzels depressed Jane so severely she could not smile. She pictured Meriden slowly metamorphosing into her father and shuddered.

  "I was only funning."

  Jane forced the smile. "Does his lordship have a taste for Society? I should have said not."

  "He might have at one time, but he never had the means to indulge it, and now I fear he cannot take our frivolities seriously enough to enjoy the game." Her smile turned rueful. "I wouldn't wish him otherwise, but I could wish for his company rather more often than I'm likely to have it."

  Jane found herself liking Lady Herrington very much.

  Unaware she had just received Jane's stamp of merit, her ladyship gave her head a tiny shake. "Lord, why am I prosing on about Julian? It's these sisters of his we should be speaking of. Maria, now--you think she'll blossom?"

  "With proper cultivation."

  "What an agricultural turn our conversation has taken. I shall prune with a will, and do you see if you can root out Lady Meriden's objections, whatever they may be. Maria must stay with me."

  "I shall certainly do my best. It is very kind in you, Georgy. As for Drusilla..."

  Lady Herrington's creamy brow clouded. "I trust I have not quite crushed her spirits."

  "It would take more than a single reproof to crush Drusilla," Aunt Hervey interjected.

  Both ladies jumped for they had half-forgot her presence.

  "Aunt is a little unkind," Jane murmured. "Drusilla behaved abominably, but I believe she had looked forward to the northern journey very much. She has not got over her hoydenish ways, so Bath did not suit her, and she and her mother do not go on easily. I'm sorry for Dru. Perhaps I can think of some outing she would enjoy."

  "Ah, she's very young," Lady Herrington said indulgently. "I'll leave her to reflect on her sins for a time, then make my peace with her. Do you think she would enjoy a review? Richard might contrive something. He has friends in the Household Cavalry."

  "It might do," Jane replied, but she had doubts. Drusilla's was a very tenacious mind.

  Next morning Jane did not rise early. She had attended a theatre party the evening before and had retired late to lie awake several hours brooding over the unkindness of fate which, it was clear, was determined to deny her even a glimpse of Meriden.

  She breakfasted in bed and made her way downstairs after eleven to find a message awaiting her. It was brief, elliptic, and hard to decipher, but it seemed that something grave had transpired and would she come at her earliest convenience to her obliged Friend Georgy Herrington.

  Jane did not await her aunt, but caused the doorman to summon a hackney directly, flung on her pelisse, and flung out of the house.

  Her sensible self told her Drusilla or Maria had probably broken out in the measles. Her gothic alter ego, however, kept tossing up horrors. Meriden had been assaulted by rioters, thrown from his bolting horse, murdered by footpads.

  She bit back these fancies as best she could, but she reached Lady Herrington's door in an agitated frame of mind and, shewn into the salon by a carefully blank-faced butler, was not immediately soothed to sense.

  Maria greeted her with a Banbury tale about Drusilla having run off to the border, and Miss Goodnight was too much occupied soothing Maria to present a coherent narrative, so Jane greeted Lady Herrington's entrance with relief.

  Her ladyship did not speak but handed Jane a note.

  Dear Jane,

  I have gone off Alone to Yorkshire. Do not be alarmed for my Safety. I have got Money. Farewell, crule cousin.

  Yours, etc.

  Drusilla Louisa Mary Stretton

  Jane returned the note to Lady Herrington. "What an ill-conducted brat she is. What's to be done?"

  Maria wailed something about Scandal.

  "Nonsense," Jane said shortly. "She has merely gone off on the mail coach and is probably having a splendid time. I daresay she'll come to no harm beyond the scolding she'll receive when she reaches her brother."

  "If she reaches him." Lady Herrington's green eyes were shadowed. "You are too sanguine, Jane. My cousin is at Whitethorn--or will be--and the mail goes no nearer than Market Yeading. I trust she will know when to get down. If she leaves the coach at Malton, the distance is nearly thirty miles. She has taken no abigail. I need not tell you the perils attendant upon an unescorted journey in a girl Drusilla's age. Furthermore, my cousin's stepmother will not regard this...this ramshackle escapade as amusing. The consequences of Lady Meriden's displeasure must be grave for Maria as well as for Drusilla and, I fear, for Julian. I had Drusilla in charge. If harm comes to her, her mother will justly blame me."

  "And unjustly blame Meriden. And our plan for Maria's come out must go by the board. I see."

  "There is another thing." Lady Herrington twisted her rings. "Sufficient scandal attaches to the Stretton name already, what with Harry's duel and Vincent's debts, without tales being circulated of a Stretton daughter wandering unescorted about the countryside."

  "Someone must fetch her," Jane said slowly.

  All three ladies looked at Jane.

  "No. Oh, no. There I draw the line. I will not be bullied by Drusilla..." Her voice trailed off under their combined reproach.

  Lady Herrington said carefully, "I am sensible of the burden it places upon you, and if I could hit upon another solution... Richard cannot leave now, what with the debate in the House, and I cannot. I have engaged to be present at a levée honouring the Prince of Orange. I am afraid my absence must be remarked. You are Drusilla's cousin. She was heard by the servants pleading with you to escort her. If you agree to go--Miss Goodnight has kindly offered to companion you--we shall put it about that you finally consented to take Drusilla. She mistook the day of departure and left for your Aunt Hervey's this morning by mistake. I shall lend you my travelling carriage. It's comfortable and well-sprung. My coachmen will serve you admirably. When you return with Drusilla, gossip must be satisfied and no more need be heard of the matter."

  "No," said Jane feebly.

  Maria began to weep.

  Jane rose and walked about the room. "Why should I go to Yorkshire? What motive can I have?"

  "Why, none," said Lady Herrington in some surprize. "None but indulgent good nature."

  Jane bit her lip. It was on her tongue to suggest that she might be seen as rackety to be pursuing Meriden into Yorkshire, but such a thought had apparently not entered anyone's head, and she did not wish to put it there.

  "My Aunt Hervey will not like it," she objected with absolute hypocrisy.

  "I shall go with you to your aunt and explain everything," Lady Herrington pronounced.

  Jane's heart sank. "What of my engagements?" she shot back. "You are not the only one whose absence from Town might be remarked."

  Lady Herrington blinked. "You're right, of course. How stupid of me."

  Abruptly Jane saw irony in the situation. She had wished to meet Meriden again, in spite of her noble resolution to avoid setting snares. Now she would chase him to his lair in his own cousin's splendid well-sprung carriage and with everyone's blessing. So much for heroic self-restraint.

  She bit back a chuckle. "Very well, I'll go. In truth, I've nothing so pressing as your levée, Georgy. I was being absurd."

  Lady Herrington let out her breath in an undignified "phew."

  Jane turned to Miss Goodnight. "Goody, my dear, I shall be glad of your company, but I warn you I shall not hold your head all the way to York."

  Chapter XVI

  The journey took four days. By the time the coach rattled into Market Yeading, both ladies were road-weary and battered. Heroic Miss Goodnight had been ill three times only, but forbearance had told on her.

  At the posting inn in York they had inquired after Drusilla. She had indeed passed through that city, changing there for the Scarborough coach, and had caused some comment--ribald, of course--among the ostlers. Jane reflected wearily that Drusilla had spared no pains to make of herself a scandal and a hissing, and that if Meriden had not already murde
red the girl, she would.

  At Malton they learned nothing. At Market Yeading, however--the proper town at which to turn off to Whitethorn and Tarrant Manor--they had word of a girl with a bandbox who had bribed a farmer's lad to carry her in his cart. Jane's spirits revived. She wished she might have seen Drusilla--no doubt fancying herself an aristo fleeing the Terror--jouncing along in a load of cabbages. What a resourceful brat she was, to be sure.

  The prospect of explaining Drusilla's aberrant behaviour to Meriden threw Jane into the dismals again, and she was not at all elated when at last the elegant, though by now sadly mud-spattered, carriage drew to a halt, and Lady Herrington's coachman announced, "Whitethorn, miss," and threw open the door.

  Jane stepped down and looked about her. In the grey afternoon light she saw a pleasantly situated small house--not much larger than a farmhouse--which had been built within the past half-century or so. In its kind it was perfectly proportioned and just beginning to mellow. She liked it, but it looked sadly deserted.

  Lady Herrington's man rapped heavily with the brass knocker. No response. He rapped again. Just as he raised the knocker a third time, the door swung open and a severe, black-clad woman of middle age required him in carefully genteel accents to state his business.

  Jane moved forward. "I am Jane Ash, a connexion of Lord Meriden's, and I would like to speak with his lordship on a matter of some urgency."

  The housekeeper--her modest keychain proclaimed her state--regarded Jane with suspicion. "Lord Meriden is not here."

  Jane's heart sank. Had Lady Georgy's carriage outrun Meriden as well as Drusilla? "Is Mr. Vincent Stratton here?"

  "No, miss."

  "Well, Thorpe, then," Jane said desperately.

  There was an imperceptible softening of the housekeeper's stiff features, "I'll summon Mr. Thorpe. He's out t'stables, miss. Will you come in?"

  Jane gave a heartfelt sigh of relief. "Thank you, Mrs...?"

  "Bradford, miss."

  "Mrs. Bradford. I wonder if my companion may not have a cup of tea. She is sadly overset, for we have had a long journey."