‘But it is true that he abducted me,’ she argued.
‘I consider that his behaviour has throughout been chivalrous and gentlemanly,’ replied Hildebrand.
‘I thought you looked to be stuffy as soon as I saw you,’ said Amanda. ‘That is why I didn’t tell you how it really was. And I was quite right.’
‘It is not a question of being stuffy,’ said Hildebrand loftily, ‘but of having worldly sense, and proper notions of conduct. And now that I know the truth I can’t suppose that this Lady Hester would dream of coming here. How very much shocked she must have been!’
‘Well, she was not!’ said Amanda. ‘She was more truly sympathetic, so you know nothing of the matter! And also she told me that she has had a very dull life, besides being obliged to live with the most disagreeable set of people I ever saw, so I daresay she will be very glad to come here.’ She paused, eyeing him. He still looked dubious, so she said in another, and much more earnest voice. ‘Pray, Hildebrand, go and fetch her! That dreadful old woman upstairs will very likely kill poor Sir Gareth, because she is rough, and dirty, and I can see she means to lay him out! I won’t permit her to nurse him! I will nurse him myself, only – only that doctor said that he might grow feverish, and if, perhaps, I didn’t do the things I should for him, and he didn’t get better, but worse, and there was only you and me to take care of him – Hildebrand, I can’t!’
She ended on a note of suppressed panic, but Hildebrand was already convinced. The picture her words had conjured up made him blench. In his relief at finding that he had not killed Sir Gareth outright, optimism, which he now saw to have been unjustified, had sprung up in his breast. The thought that Sir Gareth might still die, here, in this tiny inn, far from his own kith and kin, attended only by a schoolroom miss and his murderer, made him shudder. Before his mind’s eye flitted a horrifying vision of himself seeking out Sir Gareth’s sister, and breaking to her the news that her brother was dead, and by his hand. He set his teacup down with a jar, exclaiming: ‘Good God, no! I hadn’t considered – Of course I will go to Chatteris! I never meant that I would not – and even if this Lady Hester should refuse to come back with me she will be at least able to tell me where I may find Sir Gareth’s sister!’
‘She will come!’ Amanda averred. ‘So will you go at once to tell the post-boy he must drive you to Brancaster Park?’
‘No,’ replied Hildebrand, setting his jaw. ‘I’ll have nothing to do with the fellow! Besides, what a shocking waste of money it would be to be hiring a chaise to carry me to Brancaster Park, when I shall reach it very much more quickly if I ride there – or, at any rate, to Huntingdon, where I may hire a chaise for Lady Hester’s conveyance – that is, if you think she won’t prefer to travel in her own carriage?’
Amanda, thankful to find him suddenly so amenable, said approvingly: ‘That is an excellent notion, and much better than mine! I see you have learnt habits of economy, which is something I must do too, for an expensive wife would not suit Neil at all, I daresay. But I have a strong feeling that that odious Lady Widmore would cast a rub in the way of Lady Hester’s coming to my aid, if she could, and she would be bound to discover what she meant to do, if Lady Hester ordered her carriage. In fact, the more I think of it, the more I am persuaded that Lady Hester must slip away secretly. So, when you reach Brancaster Park, you must insist on seeing her alone, and on no account must you disclose your errand to anyone else.’
Hildebrand was in full agreement with her on this point, having the greatest reluctance to spread further than was strictly necessary the story of the day’s dreadful events, but an unwelcome consideration had occurred to him, and he said uneasily: ‘Will it not make Mrs Chicklade even more unamiable, if we bring Lady Hester here to stay? You know, I don’t like to mention it to you, but she has been saying such things! I don’t think Chicklade will attend to her, because he seems to be a good sort of a fellow, but she wants him to tell Dr Chantry he won’t have Sir Gareth here, or any of us, because nothing will persuade her we are respectable persons – which, when one comes to think of it, we are not,’ he added gloomily. ‘Depend upon it, she doesn’t believe the hum you told her, about Sir Gareth’s being our uncle.’
‘We must remember always to say “my uncle” when we have occasion to mention him,’ nodded Amanda. ‘In fact, we had better call him Uncle Gareth even between ourselves, so that we get into the habit of it.’
‘Yes, but she is so horridly suspicious that I daresay that won’t answer. And, in any event, it wouldn’t explain Lady Hester. I don’t think we ought to say that she is betrothed to Sir – to Uncle Gareth – if you are not perfectly sure of it. Ten to one, it would make her feel very awkward, if it turned out to be no such thing.’
‘Yes, very true,’ she replied, frowning over this difficulty. ‘I don’t at all wish to put her in an uncomfortable situation, so we must think of some tale which that disagreeable woman will believe.’
He watched her doubtfully, but after a moment her brow cleared, and she said: ‘Of course I know the very thing to make all right! Lady Hester must be my aunt! Because it is the circumstance of my having no chaperon that makes Mrs Chicklade so disobliging. While I was putting off my stained gown, she kept on asking me the most impertinent questions, and saying that she wondered that my mother should let me travel in such a way, just as if she was sure I had no mother, which, indeed, I haven’t, as I told her. And also I told her that I had an aunt instead, and I could see that she didn’t believe me, though it is quite true. So, I think, Hildebrand, that the thing for you to do is to inform Chicklade that you feel it to be your duty to fetch my aunt, and that will convince Mrs Chicklade that I was speaking the truth!’
Thus it was arranged, Chicklade greeting the suggestion with instant approval, and a good deal of relief. Hildebrand saddled Prince, and rode off, leaving Amanda preparing to banish Mrs Bardfield irrevocably from the sickroom. It seemed likely that she would enjoy this task very much more than he expected to enjoy his.
He managed to reach Huntingdon in good time, by riding whenever possible across country. He learned there that his goal was situated very much nearer to St Ives, and so rode on to that town. At the Crown, he was able to hire a post-chaise and pair, and to stable Prince; and midway through the afternoon he arrived at Brancaster Park.
Amanda, having strictly enjoined him to disclose his errand to none but Lady Hester, had seemed to think there could be no difficulty about doing this, but when he was admitted into the house by a servant, who civilly enquired what his name was, he saw that it was only too probable that Lady Hester would refuse to receive a gentleman quite unknown to her. He explained, stammering a little, that his name would not be familiar to her ladyship; and then, as he thought the servant was looking suspiciously at him, he added that he was the bearer of an urgent message. The man bowed, and went away, leaving him in a large saloon, where he instantly fell a prey to all sorts of forebodings. Perhaps the Earl would come in, and demand to know his business; perhaps Lady Widmore would intercept the message to her sister-in-law; or, worse than all, perhaps Lady Hester was not at home.
The minutes ticked by, and he became more and more apprehensive. He hoped that his neckcloth was straight, and his hair tidy, and, seeing that a mirror hung at one end of the room, he went to it, to reassure himself on these points. He was engaged in smoothing his rather creased coat when he heard the door open behind him, and turned quickly to find that he was being regarded by a lady in a pomona green half-dress and a lace cap tied over her softly waving brown hair. Much discomposed to have been surprised preening himself in front of a mirror, he blushed scarlet, and became tongue-tied.
After thoughtfully observing these signs of embarrassment, the lady smiled, and stepped forward, saying: ‘Pray do not mind! I know exactly how one is always quite positive that one’s hat is crooked, or that there is a smut on one’s face. How do you do? I am Hester Theale, you
know.’
‘How do you do?’ he returned, still much flushed. ‘My name is Ross – Hildebrand Ross, but – but you don’t know me, ma’am!’
‘No,’ she agreed, sitting down on the sofa. ‘But Cliffe said that you have a message for me. Won’t you be seated?’
He thanked her, and sat down on the edge of a chair, and swallowed once or twice, trying to think how best to explain himself to her. She waited patiently, her hands folded in her lap, and smiled encouragingly at him.
‘It is Amanda!’ he blurted out. ‘I mean, it was she who made me come, because she said she knew you would help her, but I didn’t above half like to do it, ma’am, only – only the case is so desperate, you see!’
She looked startled, and exclaimed: ‘Oh, dear! Didn’t Sir Gareth find her, then? Of course I will do anything I can to help her, and if my uncle is the cause of her sending you to me, it is quite too dreadfully mortifying – though only to be expected, I am ashamed to say.’
‘No, no! I mean, Sir Gareth did find her, but – well, it isn’t for herself that Amanda wishes you to go to her, but for him!’
She blinked at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said, bewildered.
He got up jerkily, squaring his shoulders. ‘The thing is – I don’t know how to tell you – but I – but he is very ill, ma’am!’
‘Sir Gareth very ill?’ she repeated, still looking bewildered. ‘Surely you must be mistaken? He was perfectly stout when I saw him yesterday!’
‘Yes, but the thing is that I have shot him!’ said Hildebrand, rushing his fence.
He hoped very much that she would not swoon away, or fall into hysterics, and was at first relieved that she neither moved nor spoke. Then he saw that not only was she alarmingly pale, but her eyes were staring at him blindly, and he had a horrid fear that perhaps she was about to have a spasm. But when she spoke, it was in a strangely calm voice that seemed to come from a long way away. ‘You said – very ill. Did you mean – dead?’
‘No, upon my honour!’ he answered eagerly. ‘And the doctor assured us that the bullet didn’t touch a vital spot, but he lost so much blood, in spite of Amanda’s doing all she could to stanch it – which, I must say, she did – and it was in so deep, that he may become feverish, and there is only Amanda to nurse him – though I am ready to do anything in my power – because she won’t let the midwife touch him. She says she is dirty and rough, and for my part I think she’s an elbow-crooker, because she reeks of spirits.’
She listened to this not very lucid speech intently, but it was apparently beyond her comprehension, for when he stopped she got up, and went to him, laying her hand on his sleeve, and saying: ‘I beg your pardon, but I don’t understand what you are trying to tell me. I think there has been an accident, has there not? And Sir Gareth was hurt, but not fatally?’
‘Yes – that is, I never meant to shoot him, I swear!’
‘Oh, no, I am sure you could not have meant to!’
These soothing words and the smile that went with them, made him say impulsively: ‘I was afraid you would be very angry. But Amanda said you would not, ma’am – though when you learn the whole –’
‘I don’t think I shall be angry. But I should be very much obliged to you if you would sit down beside me here, on the sofa, and tell me just how it happened, because at present it does seem very odd to me that Sir Gareth should have been shot. Unless, of course, you had taken your gun out after wood-pigeons, and shot him by accident?’
‘Worse!’ uttered Hildebrand, with a groan. ‘I held up his chaise!’
‘But he wasn’t travelling in a chaise,’ said Lady Hester.
‘Yes, he was, ma’am. A hired chaise, to carry him and Amanda to Bedford.’
‘Is that where she lives?’ Lady Hester asked hopefully.
‘Oh, no! At least, I don’t know, but I shouldn’t think so. He was meaning to hire a better chaise there, for they only had one at Kimbolton, and the shabbiest old thing! That is where I fell in with them. I am on my way to Wales.’
‘Now I begin to understand!’ she said, pleased to find that he was not, as she had begun to fear, suffering from sun-stroke. ‘I daresay you fell into conversation with Amanda, and that is how it all came about. What a resourceful girl she is, to be sure!’
‘Yes, I suppose she is,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Though it wasn’t she who thought of holding up the chaise. I thought of it!’
‘I expect you are very resourceful too,’ she said kindly.
‘Well, I did think of that – not that I wish to boast, and of course I see now that it was very wrong – but from the way Amanda talks, you would imagine – You see, ma’am, this is how it was!’
He then poured into her ears an account of the whole affair. He discovered her to be a good listener, and since she did not put him out by uttering exclamations of horror or condemnation, he was encouraged to confide everything to her, even his own unfortunate weakness, which he could not mention without severe mortification. Indeed, he found it difficult to describe the scene in the lane without turning squeamish, and he was not at all surprised that his words drove the colour out of Lady Hester’s cheeks again. ‘It was horrible!’ he muttered, covering his face with his hands, and shuddering. ‘Horrible!’
‘Yes,’ she agreed faintly. ‘But you said – surely you said! – not fatal?’
‘Dr Chantry told us that he did not anticipate that it would be so, but he says he must be most carefully nursed, and that is why Amanda made me come to fetch you, because she doesn’t know where his sister lives, or even what her name is.’
‘To fetch me?’ she said, startled. ‘But –’ She stopped, looking at him blankly.
‘Oh, if you please, won’t you come?’ Hildebrand begged. ‘I told Amanda I was sure you would not, but the case is desperate, and even if you tell me where to find Sir Gareth’s sister it must be at least two days before she could reach him, and it might be too late! And, what is more,’ he added, bethinking himself of a fresh difficulty, ‘I don’t think I have enough money left to pay for such an expensive journey.’
‘Oh, if only I could come!’ she said, in an anguished tone. She got up quickly, and began to walk about the room. ‘You see, it isn’t possible! My father has gone to Brighton, but there is still my brother, and his wife, and the servants –’ Again she stopped, but this time it was as though an idea had occurred to her. Hildebrand watched her anxiously. Suddenly her myopic gaze focused on his face, and she smiled. ‘Dear me, what a very poor creature I must seem to you! You see, I have never been in the habit of doing anything at all out of the way, so you must forgive me for not immediately thinking that I could. I daresay nothing could be easier. After all, Amanda contrived to escape from her home without the least difficulty, and I expect she was much more closely watched than I am. Let me consider a little!’
He waited in pent-up silence, venturing after a few moments to say: ‘I have a chaise waiting outside, if – if you feel that you could come with me, ma’am.’
‘Have you? Oh, well, that makes everything perfectly simple!’ she said, her worried frown lightening. ‘I shall tell the servants that you have come to me from my sister, Lady Ennerdale. I wonder what can have happened at Ancaster? The children, of course – they must be ill! Now, was it the Ennerdale children who had measles two years ago, or was it my sister Milford’s children? No, the Ennerdales have not had the measles: it was whooping-cough, now I come to think of it. Very well, they shall have the measles – all five of them, which would quite account for my sister’s desiring me to go to her.’ She smiled vaguely upon Hildebrand, and said, gathering her half-train up: ‘Will you wait while I direct my woman to pack for me? My sister-in-law has driven to Ely, and I do not expect her to return until dinner-time. My brother is somewhere on the estate, but even if he were to come in, I daresay we may fob him off very easily. Do you thi
nk, in case you found yourself obliged to answer any awkward questions, you could decide how it comes about that my sister sent you to fetch me rather than one of her servants? It seems an odd thing for her to have done, but I am sure you will think of a very good reason. Sir Matthew Ennerdale-Ancaster – three boys and two girls, and poor little Giles is very sickly, and my sister sadly nervous!’
With these cryptic words, she went away, leaving Hildebrand quite as nervous as Lady Ennerdale. He hoped devoutly that Lord Widmore would not come in: the information conveyed to him by Lady Hester seemed to him meagre.
Upstairs, Lady Hester overcame the difficulty of answering Povey’s surprised questions by ignoring them. This, since she knew herself to be in disgrace, did not astonish Povey, but when she learned that she was not to accompany her mistress to the stricken household she was moved to the heart, and burst into tears. Lady Hester was sorry for her distress, but since some explanation would have to be forthcoming for her unprecedented conduct in going away unattended by her maid, she thought the best thing to do would be to pretend that she was still too angry with Povey to wish for her company. So she said, with gentle coldness: ‘No, Povey, I do not want you. Lady Ennerdale’s woman will do all I require. Do not pack any evening gowns, if you please: they will not be needed.’
At any other time, Povey would have expostulated, for however ill Lady Ennerdale’s offspring might be it was in the highest degree unlikely that her ladyship would collapse into a state of what she, as well as Povey, would certainly consider to be squalor. But the awful punishment that had been meted out to her possessed her mind so wholly that it was not until much later that the strange nature of the packing she had mechanically performed occurred to her. It was conceivable that Lady Hester might discover a need for hartshorn, but what she wanted with a roll of flannel, or why she insisted on taking her own pillow to her sister’s well-appointed house, were matters that presently puzzled Povey very much indeed.
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