Sprig Muslin

by Georgette Heyer

  ‘No, why? I shall say that I want them for you, because you are laid by the heels here, and have nothing to read.’

  ‘I wonder why I shouldn’t have guessed that you would drag me into it?’ observed Sir Gareth, in a musing tone.

  Hildebrand grinned, but assured him that he need have no fear.

  ‘I must own, Gareth,’ said Hester thoughtfully, after Hildebrand had departed, ‘that I can’t help hoping you may be wrong about Bow Street. What shall we do, if we have Runners after us?’

  ‘Emigrate!’ he replied promptly.

  She smiled, but said: ‘You know, it would be very exciting, but not, I think, quite comfortable, because, although we have done nothing wrong, the Runners might not perfectly understand just how it all came about. Unless, of course, Amanda is able to think of another splendid story.’

  ‘Any story of Amanda’s will infallibly land us all in Newgate. I see nothing for it but emigration.’

  ‘Not all of us, Gareth: only you!’ she said, with a gleam of humour. ‘She will certainly tell them that you abducted her, because nothing will persuade her that an abduction is something quite different. Oh, well, we must just hope that there may be a notice in one of the papers! And I should think that there would be, for the grandfather must wish to get Amanda back as soon as ever he may.’

  But when Hildebrand returned, later in the day, from his errand, she was found to have been wrong. Hildebrand came into Sir Gareth’s room, laden with periodicals, which he dumped on the floor, saying breathlessly: ‘All for you, Uncle Gary! He would have me bring them, because he says he knows you! Lord, I thought we were in a fix then, but I don’t fancy any harm will come of it.’

  ‘Oh, my God!’ exclaimed Sir Gareth. ‘I suppose you had to tell him my name? Who is he?’

  ‘Well, I never thought it would signify. And, in any event, everyone knows who you are, because the post-boy told Chicklade what your name was, when you were carried in, that day.’

  Amanda, who was seated on the floor, scanning, and discarding, copy after copy of the Morning Post, looked up to say, ‘I told you you would only make a muff of it! If I had gone myself, I should have made up a very good name for Uncle Gary, only you have no ingenuity, and can think of nothing!’

  ‘Yes!’ retorted Hildebrand. ‘You would have said he was Lancelot du Lake, or something so silly that no one would have believed it!’

  ‘Don’t imagine you are going to quarrel over me!’ interposed Sir Gareth. ‘What I want to know is not what name of unequalled splendour Amanda would have bestowed on me, but what is the name of this recluse, who says he knows me?’

  Amanda, uninterested, retired again into the advertisement columns of the Morning Post. Hildebrand said: ‘Vinehall, sir: Barnabas Vinehall.’

  ‘Well, I should never have made up as silly a name as that!’ interpolated Amanda scornfully.

  ‘Good God!’ ejaculated Sir Gareth. ‘I thought he was dead! You don’t mean to say he lives here?’

  ‘Yes, but there’s no need for any of us to be in a quake, because he never goes out now: he told me so!’ said Hildebrand reassuringly. ‘He is the fattest man I ever laid eyes on!’

  ‘I fail to see –’

  ‘No, but only listen, Uncle Gary! It’s dropsy!’

  ‘Poor man!’ said Hester sympathetically. ‘Who is he, Gareth?’

  ‘He was a crony of my father’s. I haven’t seen him for years. Dropsy, eh? Poor old Vinehall! What did you tell him, Hildebrand?’

  ‘Well, only that you had had an accident, and were laid up here. The mischief was that I had previously said I was your nephew, because as soon as he knew your name he said I must be Trixie’s eldest son. I didn’t know who Trixie was –’

  ‘– so, of course, you said you were not!’ put in Amanda.

  ‘No, I did not! You are not the only person who can tell untruths!’ retorted Hildebrand. ‘I said I was!’

  ‘Who did you say I was?’ demanded Amanda.

  ‘Nobody. You were not mentioned,’ replied Hildebrand, depressing pretension. ‘The only thing that put me in a fright, sir, was Mr Vinehall’s supposing that Aunt Hester must be this Trixie. Because I had said that your sister was nursing you, and I collect that Trixie is your sister.’

  ‘My only sister!’ said Sir Gareth, covering his eyes with his hand. ‘What I have ever done to deserve being saddled with such a nephew as you – ! Go on! Let me know the worst!’

  ‘There is no worst! He did say that he hoped Trixie – your sister, I mean, sir – would visit him, but I made that right immediately, by saying that she might not leave you while you were ill, and that as soon as you were better she would be obliged to hurry back to her own home. Then I said that I was sure you would wait on him, as soon as you were able, which seemed to please him very much. Then he talked about your father, and at last he made his butler tie up a great bundle of papers and periodicals for you to read, and so I made my escape. Now tell me if I did wrong, sir?’

  ‘Well!’ The word burst from Amanda, sitting back on her heels in a welter of newspapers, her eyes flashing. ‘Would you have believed it? He has not done it! Why – why – one would almost think he did not wish to have me back!’

  ‘Impossible!’ murmured Sir Gareth.

  ‘Of course it is impossible!’ said Hester, casting a reproving glance at him. ‘I daresay there has not been yet time for the advertisement to be inserted. Wait a few days longer!’

  ‘Is Hildebrand to visit Vinehall every day?’ enquired Sir Gareth. ‘Courting disaster – but far be it from me to complain!’

  ‘No, for he said he would send his groom over with the newspapers,’ said Hildebrand. ‘No harm can come of that, surely, sir?’

  ‘None at all – provided he doesn’t take it into his head to come himself.’

  ‘Oh, no fear of that!’ Hildebrand said cheerfully. ‘He told me that he finds it hard to get about, and was only sorry that he was unable to drive over to see you.’

  He had underrated Mr Vinehall’s spirit. On the following afternoon, when both the ladies of the party were in the parlour, Amanda standing in the middle of the room, and Lady Hester kneeling at her feet to stitch up a torn flounce on her dress, a vehicle was heard to drive up. Neither paid much heed, since this was no unusual circumstance; but after a minute, Amanda, craning her neck, managed to catch a glimpse of it, and exclaimed: ‘Good gracious, it’s a carriage! The most old-fashioned thing! Whoever can it be?’

  They were not left above a couple of minutes in suspense. Whoever it was had already entered the inn, and the arrival seemed to have thrown the Chicklades into strange confusion. A babel of voices sounded, Chicklade’s deep one sharpened by surprise, and a still deeper one wheezing an answer.

  ‘Good God!’ uttered Hester, in a panic. ‘Could it be Mr Vinehall? Amanda, what are we to do? If he sees me –’

  The words died on her lips, for the door had been flung open, and she heard Chicklade say: ‘If your honour will be pleased to step into the parlour! You’ll find Sir Gareth’s sister and niece, and very glad to see you, sir, I’ll be bound.’

  Gladness was not the predominant expression in either lady’s face. Hester, hurriedly breaking off her thread, and getting up, was looking perfectly distracted; and Amanda’s eyes, fixed on the doorway, were growing rounder and rounder in astonishment.

  Hildebrand had not exaggerated in his description of Mr Vinehall. His bulk filled the aperture. He was a man in the late sixties, dressed in clothes as old-fashioned as his carriage. A stalwart footman hovered watchfully behind him, and, as soon as he was clear of the doorway, hastened to lend him the support of his arm, and to lower him on to a chair, where he sat, breathing heavily, and staring at Amanda. An appreciative smile gradually spread over his very red face, and he said: ‘So you are little Trixie’s girl, my dear? Well, well, y
ou don’t resemble her greatly, but I’ve no complaint to make! I’ll wager you’ll break as many hearts as she did!’ His mountainous form shook alarmingly, and a rumbling laugh appeared to convulse him. The footman patted him on the back, and after wheezing a good deal, he gasped: ‘You don’t know who the devil I am, eh? Well, my name’s Vinehall, and I knew your mama when she was in a cradle. Gary, too. To think of his being within five miles of my place, and me having not a suspicion of it! If it hadn’t been for your brother’s coming to call on me yesterday, I daresay I should never have been a penny the wiser, for the only news I get is from the doctor, and he hasn’t been next or nigh me for ten days. Damme, I thought, when the lad was gone off, why don’t I heave myself into my carriage, and go to see Gary, since he can’t come to see me? So here I am, and not a penny the worse for it. Now, where’s your mama, my dear? I’ll warrant she’ll bless herself when she hears who’s come to wait on her!’

  ‘She – she isn’t here, sir,’ said Amanda.

  ‘Not here? Where’s she gone off to, then? The boy told me she couldn’t leave Gary!’

  ‘I don’t know. I mean, she never was here! It is my Aunt Hester who is nursing Uncle Gary!’

  ‘But your brother said –’

  ‘Oh, I expect he did not hear just what you were asking him!’ said Amanda glibly. ‘He is very deaf, you know!’

  ‘God bless my soul! Didn’t seem to be deaf to me!’

  ‘No, because he very much dislikes to have it known, and so he pretends that he can hear quite well.’

  ‘You don’t mean it! I should never have suspected it. So Trixie ain’t here after all! Who is this Aunt Hester you spoke of? One of your papa’s sisters?’ He seemed to become aware of Hester, standing frozen behind Amanda, and bowed. ‘How de do, ma’am? You’ll excuse my getting up!’

  ‘Yes, indeed!’ Hester said faintly. ‘How do you do?’

  He frowned suddenly. ‘Ay, but you can’t be Gary’s sister, if you’re a Wetherby!’

  ‘No, no! I mean, I’m not a Wetherby! That is –’

  Amanda, observing her flounderings, rose nobly, but disastrously, to the rescue. ‘She is Uncle Gary’s other sister,’ she explained.

  ‘Other sister? He ain’t got another!’ said Mr Vinehall. ‘Never more than three of them: Gary, poor Arthur, and Trixie! What’s the game, you little puss? Trying to humbug an old man? No, no, you’ll catch cold at that!’

  ‘Excuse me!’ Hester said, unable to bear another moment of what was fast developing into an inquisition. ‘I will see if Sir Gareth can receive you, sir!’

  With these hastily uttered words, she slipped from the room, and fled upstairs, tripping on her dress, and arriving in Sir Gareth’s room out of breath, and with her cap crooked. ‘Gareth!’ she gasped. ‘The most dreadful thing! We are quite undone!’

  He lowered the copy of the Quarterly, which he had been reading. ‘Good God, what is it?’

  ‘Mr Vinehall!’ she said, sinking limply into a chair.

  ‘What, here?’ he demanded.

  ‘In the parlour, talking to Amanda. He has come to see you!’

  ‘Now we are in the basket!’ said Sir Gareth, accepting the situation with maddening calm. ‘Has he seen you?’

  ‘Yes, of course he has, and of course he knew I wasn’t Mrs Wetherby! I was ready to sink, for I could think of nothing to say, and Amanda made a fatal mistake! Gareth, how can you lie there laughing?’

  ‘My dear, I can’t help but laugh when you burst in upon me looking perfectly demented, and with that ridiculous cap over one eye! I do wish you will throw it away!’

  ‘This is no moment to be discussing my cap!’ she scolded. ‘Amanda told him I was your other sister!’

  ‘Now, that is not worthy of Amanda,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘He won’t swallow it. She must think of something better.’

  ‘I don’t see how she can! And, depend upon it, Hildebrand will come in, having no notion that he’s very deaf, just to make matters worse!’

  ‘Oh, is Hildebrand deaf?’ he asked, interested.

  ‘Yes – that is, no, you know very well he isn’t! Oh, dear, I ought to have said I was a Wetherby! What’s to be done now? One thing I am determined on! I won’t meet him again! What shall you tell him?’

  ‘I can’t imagine,’ he said frankly. ‘It will depend on what Amanda may have told him.’

  ‘You may be obliged to tell the truth.’

  ‘I may, but I shall do my best to avoid the necessity.’

  ‘Yes, pray do! It is such a very complicated story, and I daresay it would quite exhaust you to have to explain it all to him.’

  His lips quivered, but he replied gravely: ‘And then we might discover that he hadn’t believed a word of it.’

  ‘Yes, very true! Good God, he is coming!’ she cried, springing out of her chair. ‘I can’t and I won’t face him! I should be bound to ruin everything by saying something bird-witted – you must know I should!’

  ‘Yes, but I own I should dearly love to hear you!’ Sir Gareth said, his eyes warm with amusement.

  ‘How can you be so unfeeling? Where can I hide?’ she said, looking wildly round.

  ‘Slip away to your own room until he has gone!’ he advised.

  ‘I can’t! The stairs are directly opposite this door! Oh, heavens, Gareth, only listen to him! How dreadful if he were to expire on the stairs! Though it would be a great stroke of good fortune for us, of course. But one cannot wish it to happen – unless, perhaps, it would be a merciful release for him, poor man! I shall have to get behind the curtain. For heaven’s sake, Gareth, think of something to say that will satisfy him!’

  The little bedchamber did not boast a wardrobe, but a chintz curtain had been hung across one corner of the room. To Sir Gareth’s deep delight, Lady Hester plunged behind it, amongst his coats, just as Chicklade, who had aided the footman to push and haul Mr Vinehall up the narrow stairs, opened the door, and announced the visitor.

  Sir Gareth composed his countenance admirably, and greeted his father’s old friend with every proper expression of gratitude and pleasure. It was some moments before Mr Vinehall, deposited in a chair beside the bed, could recover his breath. His exertions had turned the red in his cheeks to purple, but this gradually abated. He waved his solicitous attendants out of the room, and said: ‘Gary! Well, by Jupiter! It must be a dozen years since I saw you last! How are you, my dear boy? Not in a good point, I hear. How came you to break your arm? Lord, I should have recognized you anywhere!’ He barely gave Sir Gareth time to answer suitably before he was off again, dropping his voice confidentially, and saying: ‘I’m glad I don’t find that young lady with you, for I shouldn’t know what to say to her, upon my word I should not! I wouldn’t have put her out of countenance for the world, as I hope you know!’

  ‘I am quite sure you would not, sir,’ said Sir Gareth, feeling his way.

  ‘Ay, but it was not a very gallant way to behave, and I could see she was put out. Well, no wonder, for there was I blundering along, and Trixie’s girl tells me she is devilish sensitive!’

  ‘She has a great deal of sensibility,’ admitted Sir Gareth cautiously.

  ‘Ay, I daresay, and there I was, bringing home the evils of her situation to her, like a regular blubberhead! I should have known how it was as soon as that pretty chit said she was your other sister, but it never so much as crossed my mind. As soon as she was gone, Trixie’s girl told me, and, I give you my word, Gary, I was never more thunderstruck in my life! God bless my soul, I should have said your dear father was the last man on earth – why, even when he was cutting a dash in his salad days I never knew him to be in the petticoat line! Ay, and I was as well acquainted with him as any man. I declare I can’t get over it! You acknowledge her, I see?’

  ‘Quite – quite privately!’ said Sir Gareth, o
nly the faintest tremor in his voice.

  ‘Ay, very proper,’ nodded Mr Vinehall. ‘Was your mother aware of her existence?’

  ‘Happily, no!’

  ‘Just as well. She wouldn’t have liked it. Nasty shock for her, for she doted on your father. Well, well, poor George, he managed to keep it dark, and you needn’t fear I shall spread the tale about. Couldn’t, if I wanted to, for it’s seldom I see anyone these days. You’ll know how to tell the poor girl she don’t have to fear me. It’s a sad business. Taking little thing, too: got a sweet face! What you should do, Gary, is to find her a respectable husband.’

  ‘I shall do my best to, sir.’

  ‘That’s right: you’re too like your father not to do just as you ought! But tell me, my boy, how do you go on? How is Trixie? That was a tragic thing, Arthur’s getting himself killed.’

  He remained for some twenty minutes, chatting in a rambling way about old times and old acquaintances; but he had evidently been warned by Amanda that he must not stay for long with the invalid, for he soon pulled out his watch, and said that he must be off. He could not rise unassisted from his chair, but his attendant was waiting outside the door, and came in answer to his husky bellow. After grasping Sir Gareth’s hand, and adjuring him not to leave the district without coming over to see him, he went ponderously away, and was soon heard cursing Chicklade genially for some piece of clumsiness.

  Lady Hester emerged from her hiding-place, her cap now wildly askew. Sir Gareth lay back against his pillows, watching her, a question behind the brimming laughter in his eyes.

  ‘Gareth!’ said Hester, in an awed voice. ‘You must own that Amanda is wonderful! I should never have thought of saying I was your natural sister!’

  He was shaking with laughter, his hand pressed instinctively to his hurt shoulder. ‘No? Nor I, my dear!’

  Suddenly she began to laugh too. ‘Oh, dear, of all the absurd situations – ! I was just thinking how W-Widmore would l-look if he knew!’