The Nonesuch (29 page)

‘Oh, I shall say that you deceived me, and I never knew what your intentions were until – until you made
violent
love to me, just now!’ said Tiffany, smiling seraphically.

Laurence moved away
from the door. It seemed more than likely that she would put this threat into execution; and although it would be open to him to explain the true circumstances to such persons as came running to her rescue, not only did he shrink from taking any part at all in so vulgar and embarrassing a scene, but he doubted very much whether his story would be believed. He would not have believed it himself, for a more improbable story would have been hard to imagine. On the other hand, Tiffany’s story, backed by her youth, her staggering beauty, and the private parlour, was all too probable. He said mildly: ‘No need to kick up a dust! I ain’t stopping you. But the thing is that it will cost you a deal of money to buy a seat on the Mail, and
I
can’t frank you – haven’t above a couple of guineas in my purse!’

‘Then I shall go by the stage. Or even in a
carrier’s cart
!’
replied Tiffany, her chin mulishly set.

‘Wouldn’t take you,’ said Laurence. ‘Of course, you could go by the stage, but they’re deucedly slow, you know. Bound to be overtaken. Nothing that cousin of yours would like better than to go careering after a stage-coach in that phaeton of his!’

‘No! How should he guess where I was going? Unless you told him, and
surely
you wouldn’t be so wickedly treacherous?’

‘Well, I should have to tell him! Dash it all, –’

‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘You don’t care what becomes of me!’

‘No, but I care what becomes of
me
,’
said Laurence frankly.

Some dim apprehension that she had met her match dawned on Tiffany. She regarded Laurence with a mixture of indignation and unwilling sympathy, annoyed with him for considering no interest but his own, yet perfectly able to appreciate his point of view. After a reflective pause, she said slowly: ‘People would blame you?
I
see! But you’d help me if no one knew, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes, but they’re bound to know, so –’

‘No, they won’t. I’ve thought of a capital scheme!’ interrupted Tiffany. ‘You must say that I hoaxed you!’

‘I shall. It’s just what you did do,’ said Laurence.

‘Yes, so it will be
almost
true. Only, you must say that I went off to the dressmaker, and you waited, and waited, but I didn’t return, and though you looked all over for me you couldn’t find me, and you hadn’t the least notion what had happened to me!’

‘So I drove back to Broom Hall – just taking a look-in at Staples, to tell Miss Trent I’d lost you in Leeds!’

‘Yes,’ she agreed happily. ‘For by that time I shall be out of reach. I’ve quite made up my mind to go by the Mail, and I know precisely what to do about paying for the ticket: I’ll sell my pearls – or do you think it would be better to pawn them? I know
all
about that, because when I was at school, in Bath, Mostyn Garrowby, who was my
first
beau, though
much
too young, pawned his watch to take me to a fête in the Sydney Gardens one evening!’

‘You don’t mean to tell me you was allowed to go to fêtes?’ said Laurence, incredulously.

‘Oh, no! I had to wait until everyone had gone to bed, of course! Miss Climping never knew.’

This artless confidence struck dismay into Laurence’s soul. He perceived that Miss Wield was made of bolder stuff than he had guessed; and any hopes he might have cherished of convincing her that her projected journey to London would be fraught with too much impropriety to be undertaken vanished. Such a consideration could not be expected to weigh with a girl audacious enough to steal away from school at dead of night to attend a public fête in the company of a roly-poly youth without a feather to fly with.

‘What do you advise?’ enquired Tiffany, unclasping the single row of pearls she wore round her neck.

He had been pulling uncertainly at his underlip, but as she turned to the door, shrugging her shoulders, he said: ‘Here, give ’em to me! If you
must
go to London, I’ll pawn ’em for you!’

She paused, eyeing him suspiciously. ‘I think I’ll do it myself – thank you!’

‘No, you dashed well won’t!’ he said, incensed. ‘You don’t suppose I’m going to make off with your pearls, do you?’

‘No, but – Well, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if you went galloping back to Staples! Though I must own that if I could trust you – Oh, I know! I’ll come with you to the pawnbroker! And then we must discover where to find the Mail, and when it leaves Leeds, and –’

‘Very well! You come – but don’t blame
me
if we walk smash into someone who knows you!’

The change in her expression was almost ludicrous. She exclaimed: ‘Oh, no! No, no, surely not?’

‘Nothing more likely,’ he said. ‘Seems to me the tabbies spend the better part of their time jauntering into Leeds to do some shopping. Not that I care – except that I should be glad if we did meet the Squire’s wife, or Mrs Banningham, or –’

She flung up protesting hands. ‘Oh, how odious you are! You – you would positively
like
to betray me!’

‘Well, if that’s not the outside of enough!’ he said. ‘When I’ve
warned
you – !’

Still rampantly suspicious, she said: ‘If I let you go alone, and you met one of those horrid creatures, you’d tell them!’

‘Give you my word I wouldn’t!’ he replied promptly.

She was obliged to be satisfied, but it was with obvious reluctance that she dropped her string of pearls into his outstretched hand. He pocketed them, and picked up his hat. ‘I’ll be off, then. You stay here, and don’t get into a pucker, mind! I daresay it will take me some little time to arrange matters. I’ll tell ’em to send up a nuncheon to you.’

He then departed, returning nearly an hour later to find Miss Wield so sick with apprehension that she burst into tears at sight of him. However, when he handed her a ticket, and informed her that he had obtained a seat for her on the next Mail coach bound for London, her tears ceased, and her volatile spirits soared again. They were slightly damped by the news that it was not due to arrive in Leeds, coming from Thirsk, for another two hours, but agreeably diverted by the restoration to her of her pearls. ‘Thought it best to spout my watch instead,’ explained Laurence briefly.

She accepted them gratefully, saying, as she clasped them round her neck again: ‘I am
very
much obliged to you! Only, if I must wait so long for the Mail, perhaps I should travel on the stage, after all.’

‘Not a seat to be had!’ responded Laurence, shaking his head. ‘Way-bills all made up! Besides, the Mail will overtake the stage – no question about that! You’ll be set down at the Bull and Mouth, in St Martin’s Lane, by the bye. Plenty of hacks to be had there: nothing for you to do but to give the jarvey your uncle’s direction.’

‘No,’ she agreed. ‘But I do wish – Where must I go to meet the Mail?’

‘Golden Lion: no need to tease yourself over that! I’ll take you there.’

The anxious furrow vanished from her brow. ‘You don’t mean to leave me here alone? Then I am most
truly
obliged to you! I misjudged you, Mr Calver!’

He cast her a slightly harried glance. ‘No, no! That is, told you at the outset I’d have nothing to do with it!’

‘Oh, yes, but
now
everything will be right!’ she said blithely.

‘Well, I hope to God it will be!’ said Laurence, with another, and still more harried glance at the clock on the mantelshelf.

Miss Trent, returning from a long, dull drive, which had afforded her far too much opportunity to indulge in melancholy reflection, reached Staples in a mood of deep depression. Relinquishing the reins to the monosyllabic groom who had accompanied her on the expedition, she descended from the gig, and rather wearily mounted the broad steps that led to the imposing entrance to the house. The double-doors stood open to the summer sunshine, and she passed through them into the hall, pulling off her gloves, and hoping that she might be granted a respite before being obliged to devise some form of entertainment to keep her exacting charge tolerably well amused during an evening void of any outside attraction. She was momentarily blinded by the transition from bright sunlight to the comparative darkness of the hall, but her vision cleared all too soon; and a lowering presentiment assailed her that no period of repose awaited her. At the foot of the stairs, and engaged in close colloquy, were Mr Courtenay Underhill and Miss Maria Docklow, abigail to Miss Tiffany Wield. Both turned their heads quickly to see who had come into the house, and one glance was enough to confirm Miss Trent’s forebodings.

‘Oh, dear!’ she said, with a faint, rueful smile. ‘
Now
what’s amiss?’

‘That damned resty, rackety, caper-witted cousin of mine – !’ uttered Courtenay explosively. He saw Miss Trent’s delicate brows lift slightly, and reddened. ‘Oh – ! Beg pardon, ma’am, but it’s enough to make anyone swear, by God it is!’

Miss Trent untied the strings of her straw bonnet, and removed it from her flattened locks. ‘Well, what has she done to vex you?’ she asked, laying the bonnet down on the table.

‘Vex me! She’s run off with that man-milliner, Calver!’ declared Courtenay.

‘Nonsense!’ said Miss Trent, preserving her calm.

‘Well, it ain’t nonsense! She’s been gone for three hours, let me tell you, and –’

‘Has she? Some accident to the carriage, I daresay, or perhaps the horse has gone lame.’

‘Worse, miss!’ announced Miss Docklow, in sepulchral accents.

‘Why, how can you know that?’ Miss Trent asked, still undismayed.

‘Ay! that’s what I said!’ said Courtenay grimly.

‘But,’ interposed the abigail, determined to hold the centre of the stage, ‘“if that, sir, is what you think,” I said, “come upstairs, and see what I have seen, sir!” I said.’

‘And what did you see?’ asked Miss Trent.

Miss Docklow clasped her hands to her spare bosom, and cast up her eyes. ‘It gave me a Spasm, miss, my constitution being what it is, though far be it from me to utter any
word of complaint, which anyone acquainted with me will testify!’

‘Oh, never mind that!’ said Courtenay angrily. ‘There’s no need for you to put on those die-away airs: no one is blaming
you
!
Tiffany has gone off with all her night-gear, and her trinket-box, ma’am!’

‘Packed in the box where I had her best hat put away!’ said Miss Docklow. ‘The one she wore to Harrogate, miss; the Waterloo hat, ornamented with feathers! And her China blue
pelisette
,
with the silk cords and tassels! And her riding-habit – the
velvet
habit, miss! – left on the floor! Never will it be the same again, do what I will!’ Startled at last, yet incredulous, Miss Trent hurried up the stairs, Miss Docklow and Courtenay in her wake. She was brought up short on the threshold of Tiffany’s bedchamber, and stood blinking at a scene of the utmost disorder. It bore all the signs of a hasty packing, for drawers were pulled out, the wardrobe doors stood open, and garments had been tossed all over the room. ‘Good God!’ said Miss Trent, stunned.

‘
Now
,
ma’am, perhaps you’ll believe me!’ said Courtenay. ‘Pretty, ain’t it? Rare goings-on! Just one of dear little Tiffany’s whisky-frisky pranks, eh? By God, it’s past all endurance! It ain’t enough for her to set us all at odds: oh, no! nothing will do for
her
but to kick up the most infamous scandal –’

‘Quiet!’ begged Miss Trent. ‘I do beg of you – !’

‘It’s all very well for you to say
quiet
,’
retorted Courtenay savagely, ‘
I’m
thinking of my mother! And when I consider the way she’s cosseted that little viper, and pandered to her –’

‘I perfectly understand your feelings,’ interrupted Miss Trent, ‘but railing won’t mend matters!’

‘Nothing can mend
this
matter!’

Looking round the disordered room, her spirit failed for a moment, and she was much inclined to agree with him. She pulled herself together, however, and said: ‘I can’t tell what may be the meaning of this, but I’m certain of one thing: she has not run off with Mr Calver.’

‘That’s where you’re out, ma’am! She did go with him! He was seen waiting for her in that carriage he hired from the Crown.’

‘True it is, miss, though I blush to say it! With his own eyes did Totton see him!’

‘He could hardly have seen him with anyone else’s eyes!’ snapped Miss Trent, her temper fraying. She controlled it, and said in a cooler tone: ‘You had better put all these garments away, Maria, and make the room tidy again. I am persuaded I need not tell you that we rely upon your discretion. Mr Underhill, pray come downstairs! We must try to think what is best for us to do.’

He followed her rather sulkily, saying, as he shut the door of the morning-parlour: ‘I know what I am going to do – and if you hadn’t come in just then I should be gone by now, for there’s no time to be wasted!’

She had sunk into a chair, her elbows on the table, and her hands pressed to her temples, but she raised her head at this: ‘Gone where?’

‘Harrogate, of course!’

‘
Harrogate?
For heaven’s sake, why?’

‘Lord, ma’am, the fellow can’t drive all the way to the Border in a whisky! Depend upon it, he’s hired a chaise, and where else could he do that but in Harrogate?’

‘Good God, are you suggesting that they are eloping to Gretna Green?’ she exclaimed incredulously.

‘Of course I am! It’s just the sort of thing Tiffany
would
do – you can’t deny that!’

‘It is not at all the sort of thing Mr Calver would do, however! Nor do I think that Tiffany could by any
means be persuaded to elope with a mere commoner! She has far larger plans, I assure you! No, no:
that’s
not the answer to this riddle.’

‘Then what
is
the answer?’ he demanded. ‘Yes, and why didn’t she go with you to Nethersett? You told me at breakfast that you meant to take her along with you!’

‘She wished to visit Patience…’ Miss Trent’s voice faltered, and died.

Courtenay gave a scornful snort. ‘That’s a loud one! Wished to visit Patience, indeed! To beg her pardon, I daresay?’

‘To make amends. When you told her that Mr Edward Banningham had spread the true story of what happened in Leeds – Oh, how much I wish you’d kept your tongue! You might have known she would do something outrageous! But so should I have known! I should never have left her: I am shockingly to blame! But she seemed so quiet this morning, scheming how to overcome her set-back –’

‘Ay, the sly cat! Scheming how to be rid of you, ma’am, so that she could run off with Calver!’

She was silent, staring with knitted brows straight before her. She said suddenly: ‘No. She
did
go to the Rectory: recollect that her riding-habit was lying on the floor, with her whip, and her gloves! Something must have happened there. Patience – no, Patience wouldn’t rebuff her! But if Mrs Chartley gave her a scold? But what could she have said to drive the child into running away? Mr Underhill, I think I should go to the Rectory immediately; and discover –’

‘
No!
’ he interrupted forcefully. ‘I won’t have our affairs blabbed all round the district!’

‘It’s bound to be talked of. And I’m persuaded Mrs Chartley –’

‘Not if I fetch her back! Which I promise you I mean to do, for my mother’s sake!’ He added rather grandly: ‘I shall be obliged to call that fellow out, of course, but I shall think of some pretext for it.’

At any other time she must have laughed, but she was too busy racking her brains to pay much heed to him. ‘Something must have happened,’ she repeated. ‘Something that made her feel she couldn’t remain here another instant. Oh, good God, Lindeth! He must have offered for Patience – and she told Tiffany!’

Courtenay gave a whistle of surprise. ‘So that’s serious, is it? Well, by Jove, if ever I expected to see her given her own again! Lord, she’d be as mad as fire! No wonder she ran off with Calver! Trying to hoax everyone into thinking it was him she wanted all along!’

She was momentarily daunted, but she came about again. ‘Yes, she might do that, in one of her wild fits, but he would not. Wait! Only let me think!’ She pressed her hands over her eyes, trying to cast her mind back.

‘Well, if she isn’t going to Gretna Green, where else can she be going?’ he argued.

Her hands dropped. ‘What a fool I am! To London, of course! That’s what she wanted – she begged me to take her back to the Burfords! Of course that’s the answer! She must have persuaded Mr Calver to take her to Leeds – perhaps even to escort her to London!’ She read disbelief in Courtenay’s face, and said: ‘If she made him believe that she was being hardly used here – you know how she always fancies herself to be ill-treated as soon as her will is crossed! Recollect that he doesn’t know her as we do! She has shown him her prettiest side, too – and she can be very engaging when she chooses! Or – or perhaps he has done no more than put her on the stage, in charge of the guard.’

‘Stage!’ exclaimed Courtenay contemptuously. ‘I wish I may see Tiffany condescending to a stage-coach! A post-chaise-and-four is what she’d demand! And much hope I have of catching it!’

‘She couldn’t go post,’ said Miss Trent decidedly. ‘She spent all her pin-money in Harrogate. And I must think it extremely unlikely that Mr Calver could have been able to oblige her with a loan. She would need as much as £25, you know, and how should he be carrying such a sum upon him when all he meant to do was to take her out for a driving-lesson? And I fancy he’s not at all beforehand with the world.’ She thought for a moment, and then said, in a constricted voice: ‘Mr Underhill, I think – I think you should drive over to Broom Hall, to consult Sir Waldo. He is Mr Calver’s cousin, and – and I think he is the person best fitted to handle this matter.’

‘Well, I won’t!’ declared Courtenay, reddening. ‘I’m not a schoolboy, ma’am, and I don’t need him to tell me what I should do, or to do it for me, I thank you! I’m going to tell ’em to bring the phaeton up to the house immediately. If that precious pair went to Leeds they must have passed through the village, and someone is bound to have seen them. And if they did, trust me to have Tiffany back by nightfall! If you ask me, I’d say good riddance to her, but I’ll be
damned
– begging your pardon! – if I’ll let her shab off to the Burfords as if we had made her miserable here!’

Miss Trent had no great faith in his ability to overtake a truant who had had three hours’ start; but since she felt quite as strongly as he did that every effort must be made to do it, and realized that to persist in urging that Sir Waldo should be consulted would be a waste of breath and time, she resigned herself to the prospect of an uncomfortable, and possibly nerve-racking drive. He was relieved to learn that she meant to accompany him, but he warned her that he was going to
put ’em along.
That he would do better to be content with putting his horses well together was an opinion which she kept to herself.

When she found that he had had a team harnessed to the phaeton her heart sank. His leaders were new acquisitions, and he was not yet very expert in pointing them, or, indeed of sticking to them, as she very soon discovered. Observing that there was not a moment to be lost, Courtenay sprang his horses down the avenue to the lodge-gates. Since it was not only rather narrow, but had several bends in it as well, Miss Trent was forced to hold on for dear life. The sharp turn out of the gates was negotiated safely, though not, perhaps, in style, and they were soon bowling along the lane that led to the village. Courtenay, exhilarated by his success in negotiating the difficult turn out of the gate, confided to Miss Trent that he had been practising the use of the whip, and rather thought he could back himself to take a fly off the leader’s ear.

‘I beg you won’t do any such thing!’ she replied. ‘I have no wish to be thrown out into the ditch!’

Nettled, he determined to show her that he was at home to a peg, and it was not long before her worst fears were realized. Within less than a quarter of a mile from Oversett, feather-edging a bend in the lane, his front-wheel came into sharp collision with a milestone, partially hidden by rank grass, and the inevitable happened. Miss Trent, picking herself up, more angry than hurt, found that one wheel of the phaeton was lying, a dismal wreck, at some distance from the carriage, that one of the wheelers was down, a trace broken, and both the leaders plunging wildly in a concerted effort to bolt. Blistering words were on the tip of her tongue, but she was a sensible woman, and she realized that there were more urgent things to do than to favour Courtenay with an exact and pithy opinion of his driving-skill. She hurried to his assistance. Between them, they managed to quieten the frightened leaders, backing them gently to relieve the drag on the crippled phaeton from the remaining trace. ‘Cut it!’ she commanded. ‘I can hold this pair now. Do you get that wheeler on his feet!’

Speechless with rage and chagrin, he had just freed the leaders when, sweeping round the bend towards them, came the Nonesuch, his team of chestnuts well in hand, and his groom seated beside him. The team was pulled up swiftly, every rein holding as true as if it had been single, the groom jumped down, and ran to the wheelers’ heads; and the Nonesuch, his amused gaze travelling from Courtenay, beside his struggling wheeler, to Miss Trent, who had led the two sweating leaders to the side of the lane, said: ‘Dear me! Do what you can, Blyth!’

The groom touched his hat, and went to Courtenay, who was suffering such agonies of mortification at being found in such a situation that he would have been hard put to it to decide whether he wished himself dead or the Nonesuch. He blurted out, scarlet-faced: ‘It was that curst milestone! I never saw it!’