An Impetuous Miss

by Chase Comstock, Mary

  At that instant, Hazelforth released her suddenly, muttering a low curse in the darkness. “What have I done, Cat?” he whispered in anguish. “I am no better than …”

  “Please, Mr. Hazelforth... I beg you not to.” She hesitated, her voice faint. She did not, she realized with a guilty flush, wish for him to stop at all, yet she could hardly entreat him to proceed. She put her hands up to her cheeks, uncertain how to continue.

  He stood a few moments in wretched silence, feeling a cad and a fool. Here stood his love, trembling before him, unable to meet his eye. How could he have acted thus, particularly after his condemnation of Abelwhite? And how could he explain to Cat that, in spite of his actions, he did love and respect her? He waited until he had recovered himself before he spoke to her again. “Forgive me, Miss Catherine. Believe me that I bad no intention of … You may trust that I shall call early tomorrow to make my addresses. Let me go now to ask permission of Lady Montrose.” He took her hand and pressed it, then disappeared into the darkness, leaving Cat's head and heart spinning.

  If Cat had felt any momentary joy in hearing Hazelforth's intentions, it soon faded as reason reined in her heart. True, he had said he intended to make his addresses, to propose marriage, but his voice had been more anguished than impassioned. Worse, he had spoken not a single word of love. Would he make such a commitment simply because he felt he had compromised her? Merely in order to separate himself from the Henry Abelwhites of the world? Perhaps, she thought, perhaps. Marriage was what she had wanted, she finally admitted, but marriage with love.

  It was not impossible, though. I can make him love me, she insisted stubbornly to herself. However, a small voice from within whispered with cold persistence, might not a man such as Hazelforth eventually resent his situation? Might not his regard change slowly to bitterness and thence to hatred? The candles about her began to sputter, their dying light mocking her. With a heavy heart, she made her decision. In the morning she would offer to release Hazelforth from his pledge. Perhaps, she thought with some small hope, he would decline.

  Cat's sorrowful meditation was interrupted as she heard the sounds of the guests beginning to make their departures, and she turned slowly toward the house to help Lady Montrose bid them a good night. When she reached the foyer, she saw that her godmother and Mr. Hazelforth stood there side by side. While Lady Montrose smiled knowingly at her, she saw to her despair that Hazelforth's face had not lost its stricken look. He joined her and whispered hollowly, “It has all been arranged. I shall come by in the morning as early as is proper. Good night, Catherine.” At this he pressed her hand uncertainly once more and left her to the chatter of the departing guests.

  When the last of the company had finally been seen off, Cat was distressed to recognize the signs of weariness beneath Lady Montrose's smiling face. As Cat helped her make her way up the stairs, Lady Montrose turned to her and said, “I am very happy for you indeed, Cat. Many years ago I loved a man and lost him. I am glad that you have not been so careless with your love as I was with mine.”

  Cat found she could make no rejoinder, but silently accompanied the little lady to her apartments, where she bid her a good night. Turning down the hall to her own chamber, she stopped a moment to regard her image in a tall mirror one last time, reflecting that in it she had experienced both the heights and depths of emotion in the space of a half hour.

  Just as she reached her chamber, however, she heard her name called out and found herself accosted by Audrey, obviously distraught. “Oh, Miss Cat,” she wailed, wringing her hands. “It's them dogs of yours! They've gone and run away!”

  “When was this, Audrey?” Cat asked in sudden concern. “How long have they been gone?”

  “Just now, just this very minute. They was out the kitchen door after a stray cat, fast as two greased pigs.” Here, Audrey succumbed to noisy tears accompanied by a distressingly nasal whine, her small eyes puffed and pitifully red.

  “Well, don't worry, Audrey,” Cat reassured her. “They won't have strayed far from the kitchens if I know them. I'll just go down and call to them.”

  “Oh, yes, please do, Miss Cat!” Audrey exclaimed looking relieved. “That would do the trick right enough, never a doubt at all.”

  As they made their way down the staircase together, they encountered Eveline, smiling dreamily, on her way up. “I won't be too long, Eveline. Go on to bed. It seems Caesar and Brutus are up to their old tricks. They've played poor Audrey false and run away.”

  “Are you sure you don't need me, Cat?” Eveline asked. “They can be quite difficult to catch.”

  “Oh, no, Miss Bartlett,” Audrey broke in quickly. “I'm sure when they hear Miss Cat's voice they'll come a-running.”

  Cat was a little surprised when Audrey led her down through the orangeries to the end of the garden rather than toward the park. “You're sure this is the way they went?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes, Miss Cat, I'm certain sure. Why, is that the little fellows down there?” she asked, holding aloft her lantern and taking a few tentative steps into the impenetrable darkness.

  “I don't see them, Audrey. Caesar?” Cat called doubtfully, stepping into the dim alley. “Brutus?” She took another step and suddenly felt herself seized roughly from behind as a hand forced a cloth soaked in some pungent concoction over her face. She struggled for a moment, then lost consciousness as darkness closed in from all directions.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Several times during the night, Cat regained her consciousness enough to realize that she was confined in a carriage and being conveyed at a great speed, without apparent attention to either safety or comfort. Since the drug was reapplied forcefully each time she so much as groaned, Cat attempted to be still and feign unconsciousness. If she could rest and bide her time, she hoped she might be in possession of her wits should an opportunity for escape arise. Through her fogged senses she could hear snatches of a conversation, the voices of a man and a woman. Audrey? But who else? Surely it could not be Mr. D'Ashley? Could he have been so competent? It did not seem at all likely, yet all evidence pointed to a plot between the pair. She also wondered with increasing alarm whether her little dogs had indeed shared some part of her fate, or were fast asleep on her eiderdown pillows.

  The carriage stopped once, about dawn, for a change of horses, then proceeded on its rattling way. Cat could have cried with discomfort, so cramped and bruised was she, as well as nauseous from whatever they had used to subdue her senses. Wisely, however, she did her best to sleep and conserve her strength for the trials that undoubtedly lay ahead.

  ***

  Hazelforth had spent a restless night, fraught with self-recrimination at his excesses of the night before. He had cursed himself roundly for his lack of control and wondered if he could ever forgive himself the look of dismay that had suffused Cat's features on the previous evening. He felt like a hypocrite, having soundly trounced and transported that cad, Abelwhite, but a few weeks earlier. Now he stood convicted in his own mind of a similar, if not worse, offense. As he tossed and turned, he vowed he would make it up to her. He had waged his internal battle long enough; at last he had reconciled himself to the fact that he loved her and had finally made that plain to her. Or had he? He hadn't quite been able to pronounce the words, had he? It was this realization that sent him early from his lodgings to pace about in the park in front of Montrose House. He would set that last matter straight, should there be any doubt, as speedily as possible.

  He had hardly arrived, however, when he was met with the extraordinary sight of both Miss Bartlett and Lady Montrose, still in their wrappers, stepping out the front door of Montrose House and sending several footmen running speedily in several directions. At the same time, Martin, the boy of all work, came tearing through the park within a few feet of Hazelforth.

  “Ho there, Martin!” he called out, catching the boy by the arm. “Why all the uproar?”

  “Mr. Hazelforth! What good luck! I was just sent to fetch you an
d Mr. Sommers. It's our Miss Cat! She's gone!”

  “What do you mean, boy?” he cried impatiently.

  “When Felicia went up to take Miss Cat her chocolate this morning, she wasn't there. And her bed hadn't been slept in all night neither. And the dogs! Caesar and Brutus are gone, too!”

  At this disclosure, Hazelforth felt himself stricken to the core. Cat had run away into the night. Had his attentions, then, been so unwelcome?

  “I'd best be off to find Mr. Sommers now,” Martin continued breathlessly, and was soon dashing across the green. Wretched with self-recrimination and worry, Hazelforth made his way quickly to Montrose House and joined the distraught ladies just inside the door.

  “Martin has just told me that Cat and her dogs are gone,” he told them hurriedly. “Quickly! What else do you know? Did she leave a note?”

  “A note?” Lady Montrose protested in some confusion. “There could be no note. Why, Hazelforth, she has most certainly been abducted.”

  “And it's that horrid Mr. D'Ashley, I am almost certain of it,” Eveline cried miserably. “We should have listened to you and Mr. Sommers!”

  By the time Eveline had explained that not only had Audrey been missing that morning, but related what was known about her relationship with the said Mr. D'Ashley, Hazelforth was convinced as well, relieved on one score, but desperate with alarm on all others. Just then, Felicia bustled into the foyer dragging along with her Tom, the footman, who had clearly not been long roused from his bed. “Oh, Mr. Hazelforth, thank the good Lord you're here. Just listen to what Tom has to say about all this,” she cried urgently. “Go on now, Tom.”

  “Well, Mr. Hazelforth,” he began with slow deliberation, “it's like this. Just the other day, Wednesday it was, I happened to be out and about the town when I caught sight of that Mr. D'Ashley fellow. Well, he's a suspicious character, let me tell you. All havey-cavey, I thought from the very first, so I took it on myself to follow about after him on the sly.”

  If truth were known, Tom had indeed followed Mr. D'Ashley about that day, but for the sole purpose of observing his progress from tailor to snuff shop to haberdasher. Tom, who was convinced he had an eye for fashion, was far more taken with that gentleman's dandyish apparel than he would care to admit.

  “Get on with it, Tom,” Felicia prodded, delivering an impatient little dig in the poor footman's ribs.

  “Well, as I was about to say,” he continued huffily, “it wasn't too terrible long before I seen this Mr. D'Ashley meet a gentleman, by arrangement like. A very familiar gentleman, mind you.”

  “Out with it, man!” cried Hazelforth impatiently.

  “Well,” Tom pronounced self-importantly, looking about at the rapt faces of his audience, “it was none other than our Mr. Snagworth of Sparrowell Hall!”

  “Snagworth!” cried Eveline.

  “The very one,” Tom concurred with a significant nod.

  “Fetch me a horse,” Hazelforth commanded.

  ****

  Sleep had, at last, overcome Cat for several hours. When the carriage finally did come to a halt, it was beginning to grow dark once again, and Cat, though still feigning unconsciousness, was considerably more clearheaded than she had been earlier and surmised that the effects of the drug had worn off. When Mr. D'Ashley now attempted to rouse her from her supposed stupor, she perversely remained limp, and noted with a good deal of satisfaction that the villain was forced to grunt and strain as he awkwardly attempted to remove her (and the accompanying fifteen or twenty yards of shifting fabric of her costume) from the carriage. He succeeded at last, however, and tossed her unceremoniously over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

  “Zounds, Jeff, you haven't kilt her have you?” came a familiar voice through the darkness. Could it possibly be Snagworth? One swift glance beneath her lowered lids confirmed her conjecture. In light of past behavior, his complicity, at least, did not surprise Cat, although the vindication of her earlier suspicions was hardly rewarding at this point. She did wonder, however, how he came to know Mr. D'Ashley. This she soon discovered.

  “Never fear, Uncle,” returned her captor with a grunt as he shifted her weight, “she'll sleep it off before long.”

  “Who's this other one?” Snagworth asked testily, jerking his head at the white-faced parlor maid.

  “Ah, yes, Audrey. My artful accomplice. You must remember my uncle, Mr. Snagworth.”

  “Mr. Snagworth? Your uncle? Why, Jeff, you've not been straight with me, and that's a fact!” came Audrey's querulous voice. “Why, you told me you was a lord's son, disinherited though you was, and I'm for certain sure our Mr. Snagworth here ain't got no ounce of noble blood in him.”

  “Shut her up or make her useful, Jeff,” Snagworth snarled. “Now where's them dogs?”

  “Up there.” Peeking again through partially closed eyes, Cat could see Snagworth remove a basket, intricately secured with all manner of ropes and twine, from the top of the carriage. “Careful of those boys, Uncle. They've got a set of vicious teeth on them.”

  “I know all about them devils, Jeff. It'll be a pleasure to take off an ear or two should we need to make our guest a little more open to our schemes.”

  “Oh, Jeff,” wailed Audrey, who had grown quite attached to the little dogs in spite of their naughtiness, “you never said nothing about that.”

  “Quiet,” he snarled at her, and she began to weep noisily. Cat, whose apprehensions were now even more severe, felt herself being conveyed into a building. From her vantage point she could see only the carpet and lower portions of the furnishings, but she soon realized with a mixture of relief and outrage that she had been brought home once again to her beloved Sparrowell Hall.

  “Where shall I put her down, Uncle?” D'Ashley called out indistinctly, for a good deal of the slippery fabric of Cat's gown had by now bunched itself up in front of his mouth.

  “Lock her and them hateful dogs in the library. We've got some talking to do, boy. Can this one watch her?” Snagworth asked in disparaging tones.

  “Audrey will do anything I ask her, won't you, love?” D'Ashley returned with an insinuating laugh. “Don't worry, Uncle.

  Soon Cat heard the doors to the library open and suppressed a groan as she was dumped heavily onto a leather sofa.

  “Here now, Audrey,” came D'Ashley's voice, “you keep good watch on her. Now, hold on to this musket. If she tries anything, fire it up into the ceiling.”

  Audrey took the musket with quaking hands as the men made their way out. As soon as the key could be heard in the door, however, Audrey placed the musket on the table beside her and wiped her hands anxiously on her skirts. Then she knelt down by the basket.

  “Are you all right, boys?” Audrey whispered uncertainly. “You know I'd set you free if I could, but if they ever found me out, they'd have my head on a platter and no mistake.” She patted the basket apprehensively and made some comforting noises before dissolving once again into extravagant weeping.

  Cat lay still, thinking for some time. It was clear that she was in some danger. Moreover, the likelihood of her abduction being discovered early on was exceedingly remote, as was the possibility that anyone would fathom the destination of her captors. It was also true that neither Snagworth nor his nephew had taken any trouble to lower their voices so, except for the conspirators, she realized she must be quite alone in the house. In short, a rescue was not to be looked for any time soon. That task, Cat determined with a sinking feeling, would have to be undertaken by herself before any harm could come either to herself or Caesar and Brutus.

  She realized immediately that several aspects of the situation were in her favor, not the least of which was that the men had apparently underestimated their victim and overestimated themselves and Audrey. In addition, Cat not only knew her own home far more intimately than they, but she had also spent much of the day sleeping and was as well-rested as they were fatigued. It would just be a matter of time before Audrey, whose emotions were by now quite spent, fell pr
ey to her exhaustion.

  In this hope, Cat was not disappointed. Before half an hour had passed, the sounds of Audrey's sobbing had been transformed to whimpering and thence to muffled snores. After several minutes had passed thus, Cat was convinced that she must seize on this opportunity to put her hastily formulated plan into action.

  Snagworth and his nephew could not have chosen a room more suited to Cat's purposes than the library. She rose quietly from the sofa and moved silently toward the massive fireplace. The priest's hole and the passages which connected it to the rest of the house had been a part of the original design of the Hall some three hundred years earlier. Although these clandestine features had been put to but little use during those troubled times, they had provided an endless source of amusement (and mischief) for the children of ensuing generations.

  Cat and Cecily had known those passages well, and it was with a practiced hand that Cat twisted one carved rosette below the mantel, and a panel at her side swung wide. As was the custom of the house, candles and a phosphorous box were situated just inside. Her escape route now secured, she picked up the musket and the still-bound basket in which Caesar and Brutus had been incarcerated, entered the passage and swung the door shut behind her. It was fortunate, she reflected, that she knew these passages well enough to forego the use of a candle. The basket and musket were a heavier, more awkward load than she had anticipated, and she did not think she could have carried one more thing.

  As she slowly made her way through the darkness, she continued to sort her thoughts. Part of Cat's dilemma as she considered her predicament had been her dogs. Where could she put them where they would be quiet, and out of harm's way? She could, of course, leave them for a time in the passageway, but should they happen to bark and be overheard, her plans would be thwarted. As it turned out, the solution occurred to her as she remembered their history of bad behavior. The pantry, she decided, must be the very place for them, for nothing would distract them from laying waste to its tempting contents were they given free rein, and surely they would simply go to sleep once they had eaten their fill.