Sprig Muslin

by Джорджетт Хейер

  “I still don’t understand. What is your plan of campaign?”

  “Well, I’ll tell you, sir,” said Amanda, not displeased to describe what she plainly considered to be a masterpiece of generalship. “When Neil said that on no account would he take me to Gretna Green, naturally I was obliged to think of a different scheme. And although I daresay it seems to you pretty poor-spirited of him, he is not poor-spirited, and I don’t at all wish you to think such a thing of him.”

  “Set your mind at rest on that head: “I don’t!” replied Sir Gareth,

  “And it isn’t because he doesn’t wish to marry me, for he does, and he says he is going to marry me, even if we have to wait until I am of age,” she assured him earnestly. She added, after a darkling pause: “But, I must say, it has me quite in a puzzle to understand how he comes to be a very good soldier, which everyone says he truly, is, when he seems to have not the least notion of Surprise, or Attack. Do you suppose it comes from fighting under Lord Wellington’s command, and being obliged to retreat so frequently?”

  “Very likely,” responded Sir Gareth, his countenance admirably composed. “Is your flight in the nature of an attack?”

  “Yes, of course it is. For it was vital that something should be done immediately! At any moment now, Neil may be sent back to rejoin the regiment, and if he doesn’t take me with him I may not see him again for years, and years and years! And it is of no avail to argue with Grandpapa, or to coax him, because all he does is to say that I shall soon forget about it, and to give me stupid presents!”

  At this point, any faint vision which Sir Gareth might have had of a tyrannical grandparent left him. He said: “I quite expected to hear that he had locked you in your room.”

  “Oh, no!” she assured him. “Aunt Adelaide did so once, when I was quite a little girl, but I climbed out of the window, into the big elm tree, and Grandpapa said I was never to be locked in again. And, in a way, I am sorry for it, because I daresay if I had been locked in Neil would have consented to an elopement. But, of course, when all Grandpapa would do was to give me things, and talk about my presentation, and send me to parties in Bath, Neil couldn’t perceive that there was the least need to rescue me. He said that we must be patient. But I have seen what comes of being patient,” Amanda said, with a boding look, “and I have no opinion of it.”

  “What does come of it?” enquired Sir Gareth.

  “Nothing!” she answered. “I daresay you might not credit it, but Aunt Adelaide fell in love when she was quite young, like me, and just the same thing happened! Grandpapa said she was too young, and also that he wished her to marry a man of fortune, so she made up her mind to be patient, and then what do you think?”

  “I haven’t the remotest guess: do tell me!”

  “Why, after only two years the Suitor married an odious female with ten thousand pounds, and they had seven children, and he was carried off by an inflammation of the lungs! And none of it would have happened if only Aunt Adelaide had had a grain of resolution! So I have quite made up my mind not to cultivate resignation, because although people praise one for it I don’t consider that it serves any useful purpose. If Aunt Adelaide had been married to the Suitor, he wouldn’t have contracted an inflammation of the lungs, because she would have taken better care of him. And if Neil is wounded again, I am going to nurse him, and I shall not permit anyone,even Lord Wellington himself, to put him on one of those dreadful spring-wagons, which was harder to bear than all the rest, he told me!”

  “I’m sure it must have been. But none of this explains why you ran away from your home,” he pointed out.

  “Oh, I did that to compel Grandpapa to consent to my marriage!” she said brightly. “And also to show him that I am not a child, but, on the contrary, very well able to take care of myself. He thinks that because I am accustomed to be waited on I shouldn’t know how to go on if I had to live in billets, or perhaps a tent, which is absurd, because I should. Only it never answers to tell Grandpapa anything: one is obliged to show him. Well, he didn’t believe I should climb out of the window when I was locked into my room, though I warned him how it would be. At first, I thought I would refuse to eat anything until he gave his consent—in fact, I did refuse, one day, only I became so excessively hungry that I thought perhaps it wasn’t such a famous scheme, particularly when it so happened that there were buttered lobsters for dinner, and a Floating Island pudding.”

  “Naturally you couldn’t forgo two such dishes,” he said sympathetically.

  “Well, no,” she confessed. “Besides, it wouldn’t have shown Grandpapa that I am truly able to take care of myself, which is, I think, important.”

  “Very true. One can’t help feeling that it might have put just the opposite notion into his head. Now tell me why you think that running away from him will answer the purpose!”

  “Well, it wouldn’t: not that part of it, precisely. That will just give him a fright.”

  “I have no doubt it will, but are you quite sure you wish to frighten him?”

  “No, but it is quite his own fault for being so unkind and obstinate. Besides, it is my campaign, and you can’t consider the sensibilities of the enemy when you are planning a campaign!” she said reasonably. “You can have no notion how difficult it was to decide what was best to be done. In fact, I was almost at a stand when, by the luckiest chance, I saw an advertisement in the Morning Post. It said that a lady living at—well, living not very far from St. Neots, wished for a genteel young person to be governess to her children. Of course, I saw at once that it was the very thing!” A slight choking sound made her look enquiringly at Sir Gareth. “Sir?”

  “I didn’t speak. Pray continue! I collect that you thought that you might be eligible for this post?”

  “Certainly I did!” she replied, with dignity. “I am genteel, and I am young, and, I assure you, I have been most carefully educated. And having had several governesses myself, I know exactly what should be done in such a case. So I wrote to this lady, pretending I was my aunt, you know. I said I desired to recommend for the post my niece’s governess, who had given every satisfaction, and was in all respects a most talented and admirable person, able to give instruction in the pianoforte, and in water-colour painting, besides the use of the globes, and needlework, and foreign languages.”

  “An impressive catalogue!” he said, much struck.

  “Well, I do think it sounds well,” she acknowledged, accepting this tribute with a rosy blush.

  “Very well. Er—does it happen to be true?”

  “Of course it’s true! That is to say—Well, I am thought to play quite creditably on the pianoforte, besides being able to sing a little, and sketching is of all things my favourite occupation. And naturally I have learnt French, and, lately, some Spanish, because although Neil says we shall be over the Pyrenees in a trice, one never knows, and it might be very necessary to be able to converse in Spanish. I own, I don’t know if I can teach these things, but that doesn’t signify, because I never had the least intention of being a governess for more than a few weeks. The thing is that I haven’t a great deal of money, so that if I run away I must contrive to earn my bread until Grandpapa capitulates. I have left behind me a letter, you see, explaining it all to him, and I have told him that I won’t come home, or tell him where I am, until he promises to let me be married to Neil immediately.”

  “Forgive me!” he interpolated. “But if you have severed your lines of communication how is he to inform you of his surrender?”

  “I have arranged for that,” she replied proudly. “I have desired him to insert an advertisement in the Morning Post! I have left nothing to chance, which ought to prove to him that I am not a foolish little girl, but, on the contrary, a most responsible person, quite old enough to be married. Yes, and I didn’t book a seat on the stage, which would have been a stupid thing to do, on account of making it easy, perhaps, for them to discover where I had gone. I hid myself in the carrier’s cart! I had formed that
intention from the outset, and that, you see, was what made it so particularly fortunate that the lady who wished for a governess lived near to St: Neots.”

  “Oh, she did engage you?” Sir Gareth said, unable to keep an inflection of surprise out of his voice.

  “Yes, because I recommended myself very strongly to her, and it seems that the old governess was obliged to leave her at a moment’s notice, because her mother suddenly died, and so she had to go home to keep house for her papa. Nothing could have fallen out more fortunately!”

  He was obliged to laugh, but he said: “Abominable girl What next will you say? But if you are now on your way to take up this desirable post, how come you to be trying to hire yourself as a chambermaid at this inn, and why do you wish to go to Huntingdon?”

  The triumphant look in her eyes was quenched; she sighed, and said: “Oh, it is the shabbiest thing! You would hardly believe that my scheme could miscarry, when I planned it so carefully, would you? But so it was. I am not on my way to Mrs.—to That Female. In fact, quite the reverse. She is the horridest creature!”

  “Ah!” said Sir Gareth. “Did she refuse after all to employ you?”

  “Yes, she did!” answered Amanda, her bosom swelling with indignation. “She said I was by far too young, and not at all the sort of female she had had in mind. She said she had been quite deceived, which was a most unjust observation, because she said in the advertisement that she desired a young lady!”

  “My child, you are a shameless minx!” said Sir Gareth frankly. “From start to finish you deceived this unfortunate woman, and well you know it!”

  “No, I did not!” she retorted, firing up. “At least, only in pretending I was Aunt Adelaide, and saying I had been my own governess, and that she didn’t know! I am truly able to do all the things I told her I could, and very likely I should be able to teach other girls to do them too. However, all was to no avail. She was very disagreeable, besides being excessively uncivil. Unreasonable, too, for in the middle of it her eldest son came in, and as soon as he heard who I was he suggested that his mama should engage me for a little while, to see how I did, which was most sensible, I thought. But it only made her crosser than ever, and she sent him out of the room, which I was sorry for, because he seemed very amiable and obliging, in spite of having spots,” She added, affronted: “And I do not at all understand why you should laugh, sir!”

  “Never mind! Tell me what happened next!”

  “Well, she ordered the carriage to take me back to St. Neots, and while it was being brought round she began to ask me a great many impertinent questions, and I could see she had an extremely suspicious disposition, so I though of a splendid story to tell her. I gave myself an indigent parent, and dozens of brothers and sisters, all younger than I am, and instead of being sorry for me, she said she didn’t believe me! She said I wasn’t dressed like a poor person, and she would like to know how many guineas I had squandered on my hat! Such impudence! So I said I had stolen it, and my gown as well, and really I was a wicked adventuress. That, of course, was impolite, but it answered the purpose, for she stopped trying to discover where I had come from, and grew very red in the face, and said I was an abandoned girl, and she washed her hands of me. Then the servant came to say that the carriage was at the door, and so I made my curtsy, and we parted.”

  “Abandoned you most certainly are. Were you driven to St. Neots?”

  “Yes, and it was then that I hit upon the notion of becoming a chambermaid for a space.”

  “Let me tell you, Amanda, that a chambermaid’s life would not suit you!”

  “I know that,and if you can think of some more agreeable occupation of a gainful nature, sir, I shall be very much obliged to you,” she responded, fixing him with a pair of hopeful eyes.

  “I’m afraid I can’t. There is only one thing for you to do, and that is to return to your grandpapa.”

  “I won’t!” said Amanda, not mincing matters.

  “I think you will, when you’ve considered a little.”

  “No, I shan’t. I have already considered a great deal, and I now see that it is a very good thing Mrs.—That Female—wouldn’t employ me. For if I were a governess in a respectable household Grandpapa would know that I was perfectly safe, and he would very likely try to—to starve me out. But I shouldn’t think he would like me to be a chambermaid in an inn, would you?”

  “Emphatically, no!”

  “Well, there you are!” she said triumphantly. “The instant he knows that that is what I am doing, he will capitulate. Now the only puzzle is to discover a suitable inn. I saw a very pretty one in a village, on the way to St. Neots, which is why you find me in this horrid one. Because I went back to it, after the coachman had set me down, only they didn’t happen to need a chambermaid there, which was a sad pity, for it had roses growing up the wall, and six of the dearest little kittens! The landlady said that I should go to Huntingdon, because she had heard that they needed a girl to work at the George, and she directed me to the pike-road, and that is why I am here!”

  “Are you telling me,” demanded Sir Gareth incredulously, “that you bamboozled the woman into believing that you were a maidservant? She must be out of her senses!”

  “Oh, no!” said Amanda blithely. “I thought of a splendid story, you see.”

  “An indigent parent?”

  “No, much better than that one. I said I had been an abigail to a young lady, who most kindly gave me her old dresses to wear, only I had been turned off, without a character, because her papa behaved in a very improper way towards me. He is a widower, you must know, and also there is an aunt—not like Aunt Adelaide, but more like Aunt Maria, who is a very unfeeling person—”

  “Yes, you may spare me the rest of this affecting history!” interrupted Sir Gareth, between amusement and exasperation.

  “Well, you asked me!” she said indignantly. “And you need not be so scornful, because I took the notion from a very improving novel called—”

  “—Pamela. And I am astonished that your grandfather should have permitted you to read it! That is to say, if you have a grandfather, which I begin to doubt!”

  She showed him a shocked face. “Of course I have a grandfather! In fact, I once had two grandfathers, but one of them died when I was a baby.”

  “He is to be felicitated. Come, now! Was there one word of truth in the story you told me,or was it another of your splendid stories?”

  She jumped up, very much flushed, and with tears sparkling on the ends of her long eyelashes. “No, it was not! I thought you were kind, and a gentleman,and now I see I was quite mistaken, and I wish very much that I had told you a lie, because you are exactly like an uncle, only worse! And what I told those other people was just—just make-believe, and that is not the same thing as telling lies! And I am excessively sorry now that I drank your lemonade, and ate your tarts, and, if you please, I will pay for them myself. And also,” she added as her misty gaze fell on an empty bowl, “for the cherries!”

  He too had risen, and he possessed himself of the agitated little hands that were fumbling with the strings of a reticule, and held them in a comforting clasp. “Gently, my child! There, there, don’t cry! Of course I see just how it was! Come! Let us sit on this settee, and decide what is best to be done!”

  Amanda, tired by the day’s adventures, made only a token of resistance before subsiding on to his shoulder, and indulging in a burst of tears. Sir Gareth, who had more than once sustained the impassioned and lachrymose confidences of an ill-used niece, behaved with great competence and sangfroid, unshaken by a situation that might have cast a less experienced man into disorder. In a very few minutes, Amanda had recovered from her emotional storm, had mopped her cheeks, and blown her diminutive nose into his handkerchief, and had offered him an apology for having succumbed to a weakness which, she earnestly assured him, she heartily despised.

  Then he talked to her. He talked well, and persuasively, pointing out to her the unwisdom of her present
plans, the distress of mind into which a continuance of them must throw her grandfather, and all the disadvantages which must attach to a career, however temporary, as a serving-maid in a public inn. She listened to him with great docility, her large eyes fixed on his face, her hands folded in her lap, and an occasional sob catching her breath; and when he had finished she said: “Yes, but even if it is very bad it will be better than not being allowed to marry Neil until I come of age. So will you please take me to Huntingdon, sir?”

  “Amanda, have you attended to one word I’ve said to you?”

  “Yes, I attended to all of them, and they were exactly the sort of things my own uncles would say. It is all propriety and nonsense! As for grieving Grandpapa, it is quite his own fault, because I warned him that he would be excessively sorry if he didn’t give his consent to my marriage, and if he didn’t believe me he deserves to be put in a pucker for being so stupid. Because I always keep my word, and when I want something very much I get it.”

  “I can well believe it. You must forgive me if I tell you, Amanda, that you are a shockingly spoilt child!”

  “Well, that is Grandpapa’s fault, too,” she said.

  He tried another tack. “Tell me this! If he knew of your exploit, do you think your Neil would approve of it?”

  She replied unhesitatingly: “Oh, no! In fact, I expect he will be very angry, and give me a tremendous scold, but he will forgive me, because he knows I would never serve him such a trick. Besides, he must perceive that I am doing it all for his sake. And I daresay,” she added reflectively, “that he won’t be so very much surprised, because he thinks I’m spoilt, too, and he knows all the bad things I’ve done. Indeed, he has often rescued me from a fix, when I was a little girl.” Her eyes brightened; she exclaimed: “Why, that would be the very thing! Only I think it ought to be a dire peril this time. Then he can rescue me from it, and restore me to Grandpapa, and Grandpapa would be so grateful that he would be obliged to consent to the marriage!” She frowned in an effort of concentration. “I shall have to think of a dire peril. I must say, it’s very difficult!”