Holiday in Bath

by Laura Matthews

  Trelenny turned her head to the window and considered whether she had any avenues of escape.

  ~ ~ ~

  When Cranford entered the Stanmore ballroom, his eyes quickly surveyed the company in hopes that Trelenny would still be there. He was reassured for a moment by the sight of Mrs. Storwood chatting comfortably with a matronly lady in one of the little chairs provided off to the side of the dancing. As he made to approach her, he caught sight of Lady Jane just leaving the dance floor and encountered her instead. “Have you seen Trelenny?”

  “Yes, a short while ago.” She turned her head to survey the shifting masses of people, but without success. “I don’t see her now."

  “When did you last see her?”

  “The set before last, I believe, with young Inglestone.”

  Cranford placed an urgent hand on her arm. “Jane, there may be trouble afoot. I’ve learned that Rowle was having his traveling carriage stop here tonight. We must find out immediately if she’s still here. I’ll speak to Mrs. Storwood; bring Inglestone over if you would.”

  Lady Jane was not deficient in understanding. Her face paled and she murmured, “Dear God! I’ll be right with you.”

  It seemed imperative to Cranford that no commotion be caused by their search. He therefore approached Mrs. Stor­wood and her companion with a smiling countenance, bowed gallantly, and asked if Mrs. Storwood would honor him with the next set. Ever aware of her obligation to him, she consented, though she was not particularly in the mood for the rigors of the Boulangère. To her surprise he began to lead her around the dance floor toward the doors.

  “Is something the matter, Cranford?” she asked hesitant­ly when they arrived in the hall.

  “Have you seen Trelenny recently?”

  “No, not for half an hour or so. She doesn’t come to me after each set anymore since she is always promised several dances ahead.”

  “I must find her immediately. Would you check the ladies’ retiring room?”

  Surprised but willing, Mrs. Storwood departed and re­turned just as Lady Jane arrived with Mr. Inglestone. “She isn’t in the retiring room. I wonder where she can have gone."

  Lady Jane shook her head unhappily as she drew her companion forward. “Please tell Mr. Ashwicke what hap­pened.”

  Embarrassed by the attention of three pairs of eyes, Mr. Inglestone nervously stroked his cravat. “Miss Storwood was approached by a footman while we were in the set and told that a messenger from Westmorland was waiting for her at the rear door. She asked to be taken to him.”

  “And you haven’t seen her since?” Cranford demanded.

  “No. Sorry, sir.”

  “Westmorland?” Mrs. Storwood looked faint, and Lady Jane encircled her waist with a comforting arm as she and Cranford shared a despairing glance.

  “Thank you, Mr. Inglestone. Forgive me for interrupting your evening.” Cranford’s dismissal of the young man was hastily acknowledged and he beat a relieved retreat. “Mrs. Storwood, I have every reason to believe that no messenger from Westmorland but an agent of Mr. Rowle’s was awaiting Trelenny outside. Have courage, ma’am. You must not let on that anything is amiss. Jane will see you home.” He received a confirming nod and continued. “Should anyone ask, say Trelenny has just been put in a chair—some indisposition— and you are following immediately. I’ll find out what I can here and Mr. Laytham will hopefully bring me some word of their possible destination. Are you all right?”

  Mrs. Storwood, ghostly pale and with trembling hands, drew a long breath. “Don’t concern yourself with me, I beg you. Just find her, Cranford, and bring her back to me.”

  “I will do everything in my power.” He turned away abruptly but stopped to say, “Thank you, Jane. I know I can depend on you."

  At the rear of the house the torch had been replaced and the area was bathed in a flickering light where several chairmen and coachmen stood about blowing a cloud and discussing their betters with evident relish. Laytham had not appeared as yet and Cranford was able to gain only the information that a young lady, taken sick, had been hurried into a carriage and driven off. No one had taken much notice, and Cranford did not wish to make the incident seem any more significant than it did to them, so he stifled his desire to drain every detail and went round to find the lad who was holding his hired mount. From a distance he saw Mrs. Storwood and Lady Jane, Mr. Wheldrake and Mrs. Wapling­ton descend the front stairs and depart. In a frenzy of impatience he mounted his horse but, having no direction to take, merely sat it uneasily, trying to rationally consider Mr. Rowle’s nefarious design and not Trelenny’s desperate situa­tion.

  Quarter of an hour passed before Laytham’s horse came clattering up the street, but nothing could have been more welcome to Cranford than the wide, triumphant grin he wore. “You know where they’re headed?”

  “Haytesbury”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “It’s on the way to Salisbury. Just follow me.”

  For some time they were silent, negotiating the chairs and carriages in the heart of Bath, but Cranford could no longer suppress his need to know that they were indeed headed in the right direction. “You’re sure someone wasn’t misleading you? I don’t mean to question your knowledge, but it would be just like Rowle to have laid a false scent.”

  “You forget that I am familiar with his tactics, Mr. Ashwicke. For a guinea I bought the information that he was headed to Wells; for another and a promise to take the lad into my service I found his real destination. There can be no doubt of it. Rowle has had dealings of an underhanded kind with the landlord of the Bell there, and this lad has no desire to remain in his service. I had to take him to the White Hart before he felt confident enough to tell me the truth.”

  “I shan’t ever be able to repay you, Laytham, but I’ll see to the lad.”

  “No need. He’s well enough, and I’m grateful for an opportunity to satisfy my debt to you.”

  “You’ve done that and more. How far is it?”

  “Hour and a half in a carriage. Less on horseback, of course, if these nags can stand the pace.”

  When they had not overtaken the carriage by Warmin­ster after an hour’s hard riding Cranford began to have doubts. If they were going in the wrong direction there was no chance of reaching Trelenny before. . . A soft curse es­caped him and Laytham, understanding, said, “We’ll be in time. Do you want to change here?”

  “No! He’s not much for speed but he’s well bottomed.” Cranford whispered encouragement to his hack as they left the town behind and once again lengthened stride. There was no use cramming him when Cranford had no idea how much further they had to go. Blessed with a sure-footed prad on a cold, black night, he had no wish to press his luck.

  They had traveled no more than a mile further when they could hear a carriage ahead in the still night air, the jangling of harness and the thud of hooves announcing its presence before they could see it. Was Rowle fool enough to resist their rescue of Trelenny? Was he that desperate? Cranford raised his hand warningly. “I would prefer to sur­prise them if possible. Do you know this country? Can we get ahead of them without being seen?”

  “If we’re quick about it. The road bends in a short while and there’s a wood to the left. We’d have to cut across the fields most of the way, but a road skirts the wood.”

  “So that if we were on the road they wouldn’t see us for the woods until they were upon us?”

  “Right.”

  “Let’s try it.”

  Their horses were tired and the route across the fields rough, with the necessity of opening and closing gates as they went, but once they reached the road they made up for the lost time. Standing back in the cover of the woods they could hear the approaching carriage and Cranford asked, “Would you rather wait here?”

  “And miss the fun? Never! What do you want me to do?”

  “Anything that will make the coachman draw in his horses. Ride toward him shouting—a flood, an accident, some danger
in the road ahead. I shall deal with Mr. Rowle.”

  His black scowl made Laytham laugh. “Would it were me. I owe the fellow something.”

  “Now!”

  Laytham spurred his horse forward yelling incoherently of all the possibilities at once, but his advent so startled the coachman that he instinctively drew back on the reins. As he did so, Cranford rode directly to the coach door and flung it open, leaped to the ground and confronted the two startled occupants. Rowle leaned forward to grab Trelenny but Cran­ford was faster. With lightning speed he had grasped Rowle’s arm and pulled him ruthlessly out of the carriage onto the dusty road. Although no help was forthcoming from his coachman, who craned his neck to peer curiously at the unwonted activity, Rowle was in no frame of mind to let his prize slip so easily through his fingers. He leveled a kick at Cranford’s shin that did not wholly meet its target but glanced along the leg, throwing him off balance.

  As be put out an arm to catch himself against the carriage, Rowle leaped to his feet and struck a blow to the midsection. It was the last contact he made with his oppo­nent. Infuriated by the fellow’s gall, Cranford landed right and left in a style which would have pleased Gentleman Jackson and certainly flattened the likes of Mr. Rowle, who lay still in the road bleeding from his nose, with an eye rapidly blackening and swelling.

  Cranford disgustedly turned from him and climbed into the carriage, where Trelenny had watched the whole with a sort of horrified fascination. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  “I had no idea you could fight like that, Cranford! Where did you learn? Do you go to matches?”

  “You’re all right,” he said dryly. “Have you no nerves, my girl? One would think you were abducted daily.”

  The animation left her face. “I was really very fright­ened,” she admitted, allowing him to take her icy hands. “He intended to force me to marry him and for all he’s a pipsqueak, he is a great deal stronger than I am, Cranford.” A lone tear slipped down her cheek and she licked it off her lip. “I have tried for the last hour to think of some way to escape but only the most impossible things occurred to me. What good are fantasies when you are faced with...? The only real thing I could think of was that somehow you would find us, even if I couldn’t tear off bits of my petticoats to leave a trail. I don’t know why I should have thought that was any more real than visions of lightning striking him dead, but I did. How did you find us?”

  “I’ll tell you in a moment. Let me get us headed back first.”

  She could hear his instructions to the coachman and the gentleman on horseback both of whom apparently acknowl­edged his authority, but the coldness of his terms to Rowle left her somewhat shaken.

  “I will expect you to have left the country within forty-eight hours, Rowle. No whisper of this night’s activities will pass your lips or those of any other. If one breath of scandal attaches to Miss Storwood’s name, I shall know where to put the blame, and I don’t think you would like the consequences. Lord Rissington and Mr. Bodford, as you well know, would not appreciate any damage done to Miss Stor­wood’s reputation, and if I am not available to see to the matter, one or the other would gladly step into the breach. I hope you will not bother to deceive yourself that any one of us is more than capable of dealing with you. Your coach will be returned to your father’s house, but you will be left here to make your own way tonight. Perhaps the walk will clear your head.”

  Trelenny caught only a glimpse of him sitting beside the road with his head in his hands before the carriage moved forward to turn in the road. Seated beside her, Cranford did not even glance out the window. “How will he manage?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care, but he will do it.”

  “Is Mama dreadfully worried?”

  “Of course, but I had Jane go home with her to Henri­etta Street. We’ll have fresh horses put to in Warminster and make it to Bath as quickly as possible. You have Mr. Laytham to thank for your rescue.” He proceeded to enlight­en her as to the events of the evening, even remembering to hand her the letter from Mrs. Laytham, which she could not read in the darkness of the carriage.

  When he had finished relating his story Trelenny said sadly, “Aren’t you going to say ‘I told you so’?”

  “No, my darling girl, I am not. I feel as responsible as you do, and I am only relieved that you’re safe and un­harmed. Have you any idea of the agonies I suffered? No, and you have had quite enough of your own to occupy your mind. Forgive me.”

  The gentleness of his tone, his calling her his “darling girl,” wrenched Trelenny as nothing else had that evening. Why had she been such a fool as to let him fall in love with Lady Jane? Why was it that the Rissingtons and Bodfords held no appeal to her when compared with Cranford? His was not just a familiar, reliable face anymore but the only one which mattered at all. How could she have been so stupid as to grow to love him only once he was out of her reach? Lady Jane and he were so very well-suited—their taste for antiquities, their love of music, their common friends. Tre­lenny could not even fault Lady Jane on her spirit; she was a lively woman whose natural refinement kept her within the limits of propriety Cranford so respected. They were the ideal match, and Trelenny had never felt so desolate in her life. She turned her head away to hide the tears which coursed down her cheeks.

  “Are you hungry? There’s food in this basket.”

  Trelenny gulped down a sob. “No, th-thank you.”

  Her shoulders shook and he reached for the carriage rug. “Here, let me put this about you! For God’s sake, Trelenny, why didn’t you tell me you were upset? I am a barbarian, aren’t I? Of course you’re upset!” He pressed her head to his chest and tightened his arms about her. “Poor little one. What a night you’ve had! Cry it all out, my dear. That feels better, doesn’t it? It won’t be so long before you’re home with your mother again. She was very brave; don’t worry about her. And Jane will know just how to best keep her spirits up.” The more he tried to console her, the harder she cried, so he stopped speaking and stroked the short, fluffy hair until she at length raised her head to try to speak. When no words came she looked so distressed that he bent and kissed her.

  If he had meant to console her, which is what he told himself, he was not prepared for her response. She clung to him as though for dear life and returned his kiss with a shy, moving earnestness which entirely disoriented him. Not that he desisted. Her very intensity swept him from the tender caress he had originally intended to a much more passionate embrace, which she, to his wonder and confusion, readily accepted. When they drew apart he stared at her unbelieving­ly. “Is it possible? No, it is only the shock you’ve had, isn’t it?” Her eyes were luminously moist in the light from outside, and he realized that they had entered Bath. They would be in Henrietta Street in a short time. He shook his head to clear it. “Trelenny, you know I have spoken with your father, have meant to offer for you for some time. Is it possible you have changed your mind? Can you have decided to have me after all?”

  Her throat ached at the necessity of her reply. “No, thank you very much, Cranford.”

  * * *

  Chapter 23

  In the uncertain light he tried to study her face but she turned from him, smoothing down her gown and saying sadly, “I know your father will be disappointed, Cranford, but he will adjust to a different match for you.”

  “My father has nothing to say to the matter.”

  She looked at him reproachfully. “How can you say so? He has pulled the purse strings shut on you and will only open them if you marry me.”

  “I don’t need his money, Trelenny. Coverly is doing very well.” A glimmer of hope appeared in his eyes. “Is that why you thought I offered for you?”

  “Well, when you approached Papa, you didn’t even like me!”

  “But that’s not true now! I admit that at the time I had another reason.”

  “What was it?” she asked bluntly, her chin coming up.

  “It’s unimportant.”r />
  “Not to me.”

  “Trelenny, when my mother died I was supposed to be there, and I had failed to come. I didn’t know she was dying. She had written me a letter shortly before, telling me how you were growing into a young lady and she hoped one day we would marry. Lord, I caused her so much anguish! My father said that her dying words were to the same effect, that I should marry you.”

  “Then he lied to you. Mama was there, and all Lady Chessels wanted to tell you was that she loved you and hoped you would be happy. Surely Mama told you so.”

  “She would hardly tell me that my mother wanted me to marry her daughter.”

  “That’s not the point, Cranford. Your mother wanted you to be happy. How could you think it would please her to do something you didn’t want to do?” Trelenny glanced out the window to see the familiar houses in Henrietta Street. “We’re here.”

  The carriage had barely come to a stop when she jumped down without the aid of the steps or Cranford’s hand and rushed to the door, where the porter, bleary-eyed but relieved to hear the carriage stopping and see young miss, swung the door wide. “Where is my mother?”

  “In the parlor, miss.”

  Trelenny raced to the door and flung it open but paused on the threshold at the sight which confronted her. The tableau struck brilliantly on her mind after the other trials of the day. While Mrs. Waplington, her husband, and Lady Jane had risen at the sound of approaching footsteps, Mrs. Stor­wood sat unaware in the circle of Mr. Wheldrake’s arm. Her mother’s eyes were red and she held a handkerchief to them, but her head rested against Mr. Wheldrake’s shoulder until he cried, “She’s here! Maria, Trelenny’s safe.”

  Unable for an instant to believe her own eyes, Mrs. Storwood remained immobile on the sofa. Trelenny flew into her arms saying over and over, “I’m all right, Mama. I’m all right. He didn’t hurt me. I’m all right.”

  “Oh, my love, thank God!”

  The others turned to Cranford for details while Mrs. Storwood touched Trelenny’s hair and eyes and chin to assure herself that it was truly not a figment of her imagination. “You must go directly to bed,” she said irrationally. “Yes, that would be the best thing. You’ve had a great shock; I’ll take you straight to your room.”