A Radical Arrangement

by Ashford, Jane

  It was at this moment that she thought of Philip. For some reason he had been absent from her thoughts throughout this awful evening, but now he recurred, and Margaret at once felt a vast relief. Philip would save her. They were, after all, engaged. He had said he admired and respected her. Surely all would be well again if she married him, as she had meant to do, instead of… She shuddered; she could not even think his name.

  Margaret breathed a great sigh. Why had her mother not thought of this solution? It was so easy and simple. But it didn’t matter. She had thought of it, and first thing tomorrow morning she would speak to Philip. Then everything would be just as it had been, and she could go back to living her quiet, tranquil life and not worry about these new, frightening feelings. They were all Sir Justin Keighley’s fault. Margaret could not understand what he had done to her, but she knew where the blame lay. If she could only thrust the man out of her life, everything would be peaceful again.

  Margaret relaxed and wiggled into a comfortable position under the bedclothes. Now she could sleep, but she would be sure to wake early and catch Philip before the others came down. That way, it would all be settled before her parents could open the subject again.

  * * *

  All the members of the Mayfield household were up betimes the following day. Both Mr. and Mrs. Mayfield had slept badly and woke early and irascible. Their houseguest, Philip Manningham, rose to begin packing his things, for he foresaw that his visit would soon become awkward.

  Margaret was out of bed as soon as it was light, and though her head still gave her some pain, she was washed and dressed by the time her maid brought early tea. She drank it with dogged determination, as if it were medicine, then went out into the corridor and approached Philip’s door. With the morning had come certain doubts about her plan, and great trepidation about this moment. Margaret would never before have imagined knocking at a man’s bedchamber. Only desperation made her do so now, and immediately she began conjuring up awful possibilities. What if Philip were asleep or not yet fully dressed?

  These fears dissolved when he opened the door, completely clothed and obviously wide awake. But the shock and amazement on his face when he saw her were almost as bad. Margaret’s cheeks crimsoned. “Ph-Philip,” she stammered, “I must talk to you. Could you come to the, er, library?”

  His face showed nothing. “I’m rather busy. Can’t it wait?”

  His cold indifference nearly discouraged her, but the alternative was so terrible that Margaret managed to say, “It’s important.”

  Philip looked annoyed. “Very well.” He came into the hall, carefully shutting the door behind him, and started toward the stairs. Margaret, after a moment’s hesitation, hurried after him. They did not speak until they reached the empty library. Then Philip said, “Well?”

  Margaret’s plan was crumbling around her. She could see that Philip’s attitude toward her had changed. Though he had never been an ardent lover, he had treated her kindly and always had a ready smile. Now he did not seem to want to look at her. But once again the threat of the future forced her on. “You…you know what happened yesterday,” she began.

  “I could hardly help it.”

  “Yes. Well…well, Mama is saying that I must marry Sir Justin.” She gazed at him with huge, appealing eyes.

  Philip nodded. “Very right. It is the only possible solution, though distasteful, of course.”

  “B-but I am engaged to you,” wailed Margaret, all her careful arguments falling away in the face of his agreement.

  He stiffened. “You must realize, Margaret, that after what occurred here last night I cannot be expected to continue that connection. I am very sorry, naturally, but…”

  “You are breaking it off?” Margaret sounded dazed.

  “I should think your parents would have told you how it would be,” he replied, almost angry. “It is not my fault. I did nothing.”

  “I thought you wished to marry me.”

  “So I did. It was a good match for us both. But you must see that it is impossible now. I am to have a seat in Parliament next election. I cannot have a wife who… Well, you understand.”

  “I thought you would help me. I cannot marry that man. If we married instead, would it not…”

  Philip looked horrified. He backed away a few steps. “You are not seriously suggesting… It would ruin my career. No one could expect me to… This is all Keighley’s fault. He is the one who must make amends. It is your duty to marry him, Margaret.” The look in her blue eyes was too piteous to be ignored. “I know you don’t like the idea now, but I daresay it won’t be so bad. Keighley is considered very attractive to women, you know. They flock around him in London. And he has a tidy fortune. You’ll be quite comfortable.”

  “Comfortable.” She sounded revolted.

  “You needn’t look at me that way. I’m not to blame for this. No one can say that—”

  “Of course they cannot,” interrupted Margaret harshly. “Forgive me for expecting anything whatever. Good-bye, Philip.” She fled in a rustle of skirts, leaving her former fiancé gazing uneasily after her.

  He waited a few minutes to be sure she was gone, then returned to his room and his packing. The sooner he got away, the better.

  In her bedchamber Margaret sat numbly in the window seat and wondered what she was to do. Her mother would come up very soon and reopen the question of her marriage to Justin Keighley. She would not be able to resist her for long. Then they would bring him here again, and she would be expected to accept his offer. Margaret leaped to her feet. She couldn’t. She really couldn’t. Running to her wardrobe, she pulled out a bandbox and began to stuff a few necessities into it. Her only hope was to run away.

  * * *

  When she had packed what she thought she could carry, Margaret went to the door and softly opened it. There was no one in the corridor. Taking the bandbox and a cloak, she crept out and hurried to the head of the stairs, where she stood listening for a long moment before running down them. The front hall was also empty. She was at the front door when she thought of something that made her cheeks pale. She hesitated, then ran to the library just down the hall; she slipped in, took a certain object, and the next minute was outside and away. She would get one of the stableboys to saddle her horse. She could think of a story that would satisfy him. And before anyone noticed she had gone, she would be well away.

  She was halfway to the stables when she realized that she had no idea where to go. Who would shelter her in this dreadful situation? Margaret quickly reviewed her various relations; there was not one who would not return her immediately to her parents. She thought of her London acquaintances. No help there, either. She put a hand to her breast as she realized that for the first time in her short life she was alone. She trembled, and almost turned back. She could not manage by herself. Then she stiffened a bit and tried to think. Was there nowhere she could go?

  London was out of the question. Too many people would recognize her there; besides, she was frightened of the crowds. No, she would not go east. This decision led naturally to its opposite, and she suddenly recalled Penzance. She and her mother had visited that town several times when an old aunt was ill there. The woman had since died, but Margaret was familiar with the place and loved it. She would go west to Penzance, and once there… Well, she would worry over that when the time came. With a slight nod, she continued on her way to the stables.

  Three

  Margaret’s plan was not really a very clever one. She had had little experience with any sort of subterfuge, and it was immediately apparent to Mrs. Mayfield, when she entered her daughter’s room less than a quarter hour after the girl had left it, that something was wrong. A hasty examination of the wardrobe told her all, and she hurried to lay her discovery before her husband in the breakfast room.

  “Run away?” exclaimed Ralph Mayfield. “Margaret?”

  His
wife was working her fingers into a pair of ivory kid gloves. She had been dressed to go out for some time. “I know it seems unbelievable, but Margaret was under a great strain. We must send to the stables, of course, to make sure, but I am satisfied that she has gone.”

  “What shall we do? I must go after her, I suppose. But where?”

  “I don’t think so,” answered Mrs. Mayfield.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think we should wait for the outcome of my talk with Sir Justin.”

  “You still intend to go?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “And Margaret?

  “An hour or two will make no difference. She may even have second thoughts and return in that time. In any case she hasn’t the sense or the courage to run far. We can fetch her when we like.”

  Mr. Mayfield looked doubtful. “Something might happen to her. I don’t like to think of her out on the roads alone.”

  “Something already has happened to her,” replied his wife brusquely. “And now I must go and see what I can do about it. I shouldn’t be long.” She swept out into the hall and to her waiting barouche, leaving her husband frowning into his coffee cup.

  Sir Justin Keighley, though a late riser in town, was always out of bed early in the country, and he had already breakfasted and was about to go out riding when Mrs. Mayfield arrived. He greeted her with annoyed resignation, but no surprise, and ushered her into his study. He had known that he had not heard the last of the Mayfield affair and anticipated facing Mrs. Mayfield before it was over, a confrontation he felt fully able to dominate.

  “You know, of course, why I have come,” the lady began.

  Keighley bowed his head in acknowledgment.

  “My husband has told me your story and your position. I must say I am disappointed in you, Sir Justin.”

  One corner of his mouth turned up. “Surely not. From what I have gathered of your opinion of me, it must have been just what you expected.”

  Mrs. Mayfield met his hazel eyes stonily. “I never thought you without honor.”

  He inclined his head ironically again. “We won’t dispute the point, since it does not enter here.”

  “You do not think your treatment of my daughter…”

  “Mrs. Mayfield, if your husband indeed told you my ‘story,’ you know that I did nothing whatever to your daughter. I am sorry that she has been upset, but I haven’t the faintest notion why.”

  “Considering the two personalities involved, that is rather difficult to believe, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know. I am barely acquainted with Miss Mayfield.”

  His guest drew herself up. “Do you dare to suggest…”

  “I suggest nothing, except that you and your husband are making a great deal too much out of a trivial matter. I will not be forced to marriage over this, madam. You can be sure of that.”

  Meeting his gaze, Mrs. Mayfield realized she would not move him with accusations or threats. “Margaret has run away,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Run away. I discovered it this morning.”

  “But why?”

  Mrs. Mayfield debated with herself for a moment. Should she tell him the true reason? He would find that very amusing, no doubt. “Because we told her you refused to marry her,” she answered. “She could not face the disgrace.”

  Sir Justin Keighley’s hazel eyes flashed. “You stupid woman. How could you treat your own daughter so?”

  Though she clenched her fists, Mrs. Mayfield held her temper in check. “I thought it best that she know the truth.”

  “Indeed? Well, I hope you see your mistake now. When Mayfield brings her back, you must—”

  “Oh, we shan’t go after her.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “We will let her go. It seems best. She is irretrievably ruined.” Though she did not look directly at Keighley when she said this, she watched his reaction from the corner of her eye.

  “You cannot be serious.”

  Mrs. Mayfield shrugged. “What is she to do if she returns home? Margaret is not strong enough to face down gossip.”

  “You will abandon a girl of, what, eighteen or nineteen? Do you have any idea what is likely to happen to her?”

  The woman shook her head and looked down. “I suppose it is God’s will.”

  “God’s…” He paused and surveyed her. “I don’t believe it.”

  “What?”

  “You have wrapped that girl in cotton wool since she was born. You won’t let her go now.”

  Mrs. Mayfield met his eyes squarely. “There is nothing I can do for her. It would be more cruel to bring her back to face the world’s scorn.” She rose. “I am not to blame for my poor daughter’s plight. You are. And you are the only one who can make amends.”

  “Nonsense,” replied Keighley automatically. His mind appeared to be elsewhere. Mrs. Mayfield watched him carefully. “Where could she go?” he added. “To London?”

  His guest’s eyes glinted, though she kept her face impassive. “Oh, no. She has no friends there. I suppose she would go west.”

  “To Cornwall?”

  “Yes. We have visited several times in Penzance.”

  “Ah. She has friends there, then.” He seemed to relax a little.

  “Not any longer.” Keighley glanced sharply up at her, but Mrs. Mayfield was absorbed in pulling on her gloves. “I must go. Ralph is prostrate over this affair. He mustn’t be left alone.”

  “Too ill to travel, I suppose?” said Sir Justin sarcastically.

  “Much,” agreed the other. “Good day.” As she turned away, Mrs. Mayfield again examined him from the corner of her eye. What she saw seemed to satisfy her, and her expression as she left the house was much less unpleasant than when she arrived.

  Keighley paced his study uneasily for several minutes after she had gone. Finally he leaned on the mantelpiece and tapped it with impatient fingers. “She can’t have been telling me the truth,” he said aloud. “They must go after the chit.” He tapped his fingers and frowned, recalling all he knew about the Mayfields. They were the most pompous, stiff-necked, narrow-minded people he had ever encountered. Was it possible that they would abandon a daughter they believed disgraced, seeing that as the easiest way out? He could not quite reject the possibility.

  That girl is no more fit to fend for herself than a lame sheep, he thought. He pictured various horrible fates that might befall her. I shouldn’t have teased her. I could see that she wasn’t up to it. He thought again of the previous evening, remembering Margaret’s inexplicable behavior. She’s practically half-witted, he concluded. Then, with a sigh half exasperated, half resigned, he rang for a servant. “Is my horse ready?” he asked when the bell was answered.

  “Yes, sir, the groom has been waiting.”

  “Good. I have just remembered some business I must take care of. I may not return until late.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sir Justin strode out, and as he mounted his horse he thought that it would scarcely take more than a day for him to catch the girl and return her to her home, with a few choice words for her parents as he did so.

  * * *

  For the first hour Margaret had ridden in an agony of apprehension. The grooms had looked at her strangely when she settled her bandbox before her on the saddle, and she was terrified that they would fetch her mother to stop her or send someone in pursuit. But as the time passed and no one came she relaxed enough to allow other worries to intrude. When she had traveled down to Cornwall before, it had been by coach, so she had a hazy recollection of the roads, but she was afraid to ask the way of strangers. Indeed, the people she met, some of whom looked surprised to see a young lady riding unaccompanied with a parcel before her, were her chief concern. Novel reading and her mother’s strictures had given her vivid
pictures of what happened to lone women who had anything to do with unknown persons.

  Yet no one accosted her, and gradually the beating of her heart slowed a bit. Perhaps she could manage this journey. She need only keep going west and south, and surely there would be signposts. When she reached Penzance… Here, Margaret faltered, but her memories of that town were so filled with sunshine and flowers that she could not believe she would have trouble there.

  The July morning grew warm, and Margaret’s blue cloth riding habit became oppressive. It also occurred to her that she had done nothing about food. Though she was only a little hungry now, she would have to get something to eat before the day was out, and that meant an inn, a prospect that made her quake. She had known that she could not make this journey in one day, but she had been putting off thinking of inns and other complications, concentrating on getting away from the neighborhood of home. Now she faced the fact that she would have to apply to strangers for shelter, and the idea made her heart start to pound again.

  Always her parents, her governess, or some servant had been with her when she traveled, making all the arrangements and dealing with people. The only time she had spoken to strangers was during the season, and then she had said little to a few carefully screened by her mother. How could she engage a room for the night? What would she say? She trembled even imagining it.

  This moment was probably the lowest of Margaret’s whole life. Plodding along on her docile mare, wearily balancing the bandbox before her, she considered turning around and going home again. Perhaps it would be easier just to do what they asked. Perhaps marriage to Sir Justin would not be too dreadful. Yet the thought of it made her shiver, even in the July heat. And suddenly something happened to her. In the past twenty-four hours her life had been revolutionized. She had experienced feelings wholly alien to her, and she had taken action with a determination that astonished her, now that she thought about it. Here she was, riding along alone, and nothing dreadful had occurred. The sky had not fallen; passersby did not stare at her in horror. Perhaps, she thought, I can do more than I know. Perhaps I do not need Mama or the others to tell me how to go on.