Sprig Muslin (28 page)

The minutes ticked by, and he became more and more apprehensive. He hoped that his neckcloth was straight, and his hair tidy, and, seeing that a mirror hung at one end of the room, he went to it, to reassure himself on these points. He was engaged in smoothing his rather creased coat when he heard the door open behind him, and turned quickly to find that he was being regarded by a lady in a pomona green half-dress and a lace cap tied over her softly waving brown hair. Much discomposed to have been surprised preening himself in front of a mirror, he blushed scarlet, and became tongue-tied.

After thoughtfully observing these signs of embarrassment, the lady smiled, and stepped forward, saying: "Pray do not mind! I know
exactly
how one is always quite positive that one's hat is crooked, or that there is a smut on one's face. How do you do? I am Hester Theale, you know."

"How do you do?" he returned, still much flushed. "My name is Ross—Hildebrand Ross, but—but you don't know me, ma'am!"

"No," she agreed, sitting down on the sofa. "But Cliffe said that you have a message for me. Won't you be seated?"

He thanked her, and sat down on the edge of a chair, and swallowed once or twice, trying to think how best to explain himself to her. She waited patiently, her hands folded in her lap, and smiled encouragingly at him.

"It is Amanda!" he blurted out. "I mean, it was she who made me come, because she said she knew you would help her, but I didn't above half like to do it, ma'am, only—only the case is so desperate, you see!"

She looked startled, and exclaimed: "Oh,
dear!
Didn't Sir Gareth find her, then? Of course I will do anything I can to help her, and if my uncle is the cause of her sending you to me, it is quite too dreadfully mortifying—though only to be expected, I am ashamed to say."

"No, no! I mean, Sir Gareth did find her, but—well, it isn't for herself that Amanda wishes you to go to her, but for him!"

She blinked at him. "I beg your pardon?" she said, bewildered.

He got up jerkily, squaring his shoulders. "The thing is—I don't know how to tell you—but I—but he is very ill, ma'am!"

"Sir Gareth very ill?" she repeated, still looking bewildered. "Surely you must be mistaken? He was perfectly stout when I saw him yesterday!"

"Yes, but the thing is that I have shot him!" said Hildebrand, rushing his fence.

He hoped very much that she would not swoon away, or fall into hysterics, and was at first relieved that she neither moved nor spoke. Then he saw that not only was she alarmingly pale, but her eyes were staring at him blindly, and he had a horrid fear that perhaps she was about to have a spasm. But when she spoke, it was in a strangely calm voice that seemed to come from a long way away. "You said—very ill. Did you mean—dead?"

"No, upon my honour!" he answered eagerly. "And the doctor assured us that the bullet didn't touch a vital spot, but he lost so much blood, in spite of Amanda's doing all she could to stanch it—which, I must say, she did—and it was in so deep, that he may become feverish, and there is only Amanda to nurse him—though I am ready to do
anything
in my power—because she won't let the midwife touch him. She says she is dirty and rough, and for my part I think she's an elbow-crooker, because she reeks of spirits."

She listened to this not very lucid speech intently, but it was apparently beyond her comprehension, for when he stopped she got up, and went to him, laying her hand on his sleeve, and saying: "I beg your pardon, but I don't understand what you are trying to tell me. I think there has been an accident, has there not? And Sir Gareth was hurt, but not fatally?"

"Yes—that is, I never meant to shoot him, I swear!"

"Oh, no, I am sure you could not have meant to!"

These soothing words, and the smile that went with them, made him say impulsively: "I was afraid you would be very angry. But Amanda said you would not, ma'am—though when you learn the whole—"

"I don't think I shall be
angry.
But I should be very much obliged to you if you would sit down beside me here, on the sofa, and tell me just how it happened, because at present it does seem very odd to me that Sir Gareth should have been shot. Unless, of course, you had taken your gun out after wood-pigeons, and shot him by accident?"

"Worse!" uttered Hildebrand, with a groan. "I held up his chaise!"

"But he wasn't travelling in a chaise," said Lady Hester.

"Yes, he was, ma'am. A hired chaise, to carry him and Amanda to Bedford."

"Is that where she lives?" Lady Hester asked hopefully.

"Oh, no! At least, I don't know, but I shouldn't think so. He was meaning to hire a better chaise there, for they only had one at Kimbolton, and the shabbiest old thing! That is where I fell in with them. I am on my way to Wales."

"Now I begin to understand!" she said, pleased to find that he was not, as she had begun to fear, suffering from sun-stroke. "I daresay you fell into conversation with Amanda, and that is how it all came about. What a resourceful girl she is, to be sure!"

"Yes, I suppose she is," he said reluctantly. "Though it wasn't she who thought of holding up the chaise.
I
thought of it!"

"I expect you are very resourceful too," she said kindly.

"Well, I did think of that—not that I wish to boast, and of course I see
now
that it was very wrong—but from the way Amanda talks, you would imagine— You see, ma'am, this is how it was!"

He then poured into her ears an account of the whole affair. He discovered her to be a good listener, and since she did not put him out by uttering exclamations of horror or condemnation, he was encouraged to confide everything to her, even his own unfortunate weakness, which he could not mention without severe mortification. Indeed, he found it difficult to describe the scene in the lane without turning squeamish, and he was not at all surprised that his words drove the colour out of Lady Hester's cheeks again. "It was horrible!" he muttered, covering his face with his hands, and shuddering.
"Horrible!"

"Yes," she agreed faintly. "But you said—surely you said! —not fatal?"

"Dr. Chantry told us that he did not anticipate that it would be so, but he says he must be most carefully nursed, and that is why Amanda made me come to fetch you, because she doesn't know where his sister lives, or even what her name is."

"To fetch me?" she said, startled. "But—" She stopped, looking at him blankly.

"Oh, if you please,
wont
you come?" Hildebrand begged. "I told Amanda I was sure you would not, but the case is desperate, and even if you tell me where to find Sir Gareth's sister it must be at least two days before she could reach him, and it might be too late! And, what is more," he added, bethinking himself of a fresh difficulty, "I don't think I have enough money left to pay for such an expensive journey."

"Oh, if only I
could
come!" she said, in an anguished tone. She got up quickly, and began to walk about the room. "You see, it isn't possible! My father has gone to Brighton, but there is still my brother, and his wife, and the servants—" Again she stopped, but this time it was as though an idea had occurred to her. Hildebrand watched her anxiously. Suddenly her myopic gaze focused on his face, and she smiled. "Dear me, what a very poor creature I must seem to you! You see, I have never been in the habit of doing anything at all out of the way, so you must forgive me for not immediately thinking that I could. I daresay nothing could be easier. After all, Amanda contrived to escape from her home without the least difficulty, and I expect she was much more closely watched than I am. Let me consider a little!"

He waited in pent-up silence, venturing after a few moments to say: "I have a chaise waiting outside, if—if you feel that you could come with me, ma'am."

"Have you? Oh, well, that makes everything perfectly simple!" she said, her worried frown lightening. "I shall tell the servants that you have come to me from my sister, Lady Ennerdale. I wonder what can have happened at Ancaster? The children, of course—they must be ill! Now, was it the Ennerdale children who had measles two years ago, or was it my sister Milford's children. No, the Ennerdales have
not
had the measles: it was whooping-cough, now I come to think of it. Very well, they shall have the measles—all five of them, which would quite account for my sister's desiring me to go to her." She smiled vaguely upon Hildebrand, and said, gathering her half-train up: "Will you wait while I direct my woman to pack for me? My sister-in-law has driven to Ely, and I do not expect her to return until dinner-time. My brother is somewhere on the estate, but even if he were to come in, I daresay we may fob him off very easily. Do you think, in case you found yourself obliged to answer any awkward questions, you could decide how it comes about that my sister sent you to fetch me rather than one of her servants? It seems an odd thing for her to have done, but I am sure you will think of a very good reason. Sir Matthew Ennerdale-Ancaster— three boys and two girls, and poor little Giles is very sickly, and my sister sadly nervous!"

With these cryptic words, she went away, leaving Hildebrand quite as nervous as Lady Ennerdale. He hoped devoutly that Lord Widmore would not come in: the information conveyed to him by Lady Hester seemed to him meagre.

Upstairs, Lady Hester overcame the difficulty of answering Povey's surprised questions by ignoring them. This, since she knew herself to be in disgrace, did not astonish Povey, but when she learned that she was not to accompany her mistress to the stricken household she was moved to the heart, and burst into tears. Lady Hester was sorry for her distress, but since some explanation would have to be forthcoming for her unprecedented conduct in going away unattended by her maid, she thought the best thing to do would be to pretend that she was still too angry with Povey to wish for her company. So she said, with gentle coldness: "No, Povey, I do not want you. Lady Ennerdale's woman will do all I require. Do not pack any evening gowns, if you please: they will not be needed."

At any other time, Povey would have expostulated, for however ill Lady Ennerdale's offspring might be it was in the highest degree unlikely that her ladyship would collapse into a state of what she, as well as Povey, would certainly consider to be squalor. But the awful punishment that had been meted out to her possessed her mind so wholly that it was not until much later that the strange nature of the packing she had mechanically performed occurred to her. It was conceivable that Lady Hester might discover a need for hartshorn, but what she wanted with a roll of flannel, or why she insisted on taking her own pillow to her sister's well-appointed house, were matters that presently puzzled Povey very much indeed.

When she came downstairs again, a plain pelisse worn over a sad-coloured morning-dress which she commonly wore when engaged in gardening, or attending to her dogs, Hester found the butler awaiting her in the hall, and she knew at once, from the look on his face, that he was not going to be as easy to deceive as the lachrymose Povey.

She paused at the foot of the stairs, drawing on her gloves, and looking at Cliffe with a little challenge in her eyes.

"My lady, where are you going to?" he asked her bluntly. "That chaise never came from Ancaster! It's from the Crown at St. Ives, and the post-boy with it!"

"Oh, dear, how vexatious of you to recognize it!" sighed Hester. "And now I suppose you have told all the other servants!"

"No, my lady, I have not, and well you know I would not!"

She smiled at him, a gleam of mischief in her face. "Don't! I
rely
on you to tell my brother, and her ladyship that I have gone to Lady Ennerdale—because the children
all
have the measles."

"But where
are
you going, my lady?" Cliffe asked, perturbed.

"Well, I don't precisely know, but it really doesn't signify! I shall be quite safe, and not very far from here, and I shall return—oh, very soon, alas! Don't try to detain me,
pray!
I have written a very untruthful letter to her ladyship: will you give it to her, if you please?"

He took it from her, and after staring very hard at her for a moment, bowed, and said: "Yes, my lady."

"You have always been such a kind friend to me: thank you!"

"There is no one in this house, my lady, barring those it wouldn't be seemly for me to name, who wouldn't be happy to serve you—but I wish I could be sure I was doing right!"

"Oh, yes! For I am going upon an errand of mercy, you might say. Now I must not waste any more time: will you tell Mr. Ross I am quite ready to start?"

"Yes, my lady. I should perhaps mention that Mr. Whyteleafe has been with him for the past twenty minutes, however."

"Dear me, how very unfortunate! I wish I knew what Mr. Ross may have told him!" she murmured. "Perhaps I had better go to the Red Saloon myself."

She entered this apartment in time to hear Mr. Ross's firm assertion that
all
the children had the measles, though none was so alarmingly full of them as little Giles. Lady Ennerdale, he added, was prostrate with anxiety.

"You astonish me!" exclaimed the chaplain, rather narrowly observing him. "I had not thought her ladyship—"

"Because," said Mr. Ross hurriedly, "the nurse had the misfortune to fall down the stairs, and break her leg, and so everything falls upon her shoulders!"

"Yes, is it not dreadful?" interposed Lady Hester. "Poor Susan! no wonder she should be distracted! I am quite ready to set forward, Mr. Ross, and indeed I feel that we should lose no time!"