Charity Girl Part 4

But Desford only laughed, and went into the inn. The mistress of the establishment had taken Miss Steane upstairs, and when she presently joined his lordship in the coffee-room she had washed her face, tidied her unruly hair, and was carrying her cloak over her arm. She looked much more presentable, but the round dress of faded pink cambric which she wore was rather crumpled, besides being muddied round the hem, and in no way became her. She was looking very grave, but when she saw the chicken, and the tongue, and the raspberries on the table her eyes brightened perceptibly, and she said gratefully: "Oh, thank you, sir! I am very much obliged to you! I ran away before breakfast, and you can't think how hungry I am!"

She then sat down at the table, and proceeded to make a hearty meal.

Desford, who was not at all hungry, sat watching her, his tankard in his hand, thinking that for all her nineteen years she was very little removed from childhood. While she ate he forbore to question her, but when she came to the end of her nuncheon, and said that she now felt much better, he said: "Do you feel sufficiently restored to tell me all about it? I wish you will!"

Her brightened eyes clouded, but after a slight hesitation she said: "If I tell you why I've run away, will you take me to London, sir?"

He laughed. "I am making no rash promises-except to carry you straight back to Maplewood if you don't tell me!"

She said with quaint dignity, but as though she had a lump in her throat: "I cannot believe that you would do anything so-so unhandsome!"

"No, I am sure you cannot," he said sympathetically. "But you must consider my position, you know! Recollect that all I know at this present is that although you told me last night that you were not very happy I am persuaded you had no intention then of running away. Yet today I come upon you, in a good deal of distress, having apparently reached a sudden decision to leave your aunt. Did you perhaps have a quarrel with her, fly up into the boughs, and run away without giving yourself time to consider whether she had really been unkind enough to warrant your taking such an extreme course? Or whether she too had lost her temper, and had said much more than she meant?"

She looked forlornly at him, and gave her head a shake. "We didn't quarrel. I didn't even quarrel with Corinna. Or with Lucasta. And it wasn't such a sudden decision. I've wished desperately-oh, almost from the moment my aunt took me to Maplewood!-to escape. Only whenever I ventured to ask my aunt if she would help me to find a situation where I could earn my own bread she always scolded me for being ungrateful, and-and said I should soon wish myself back at Maplewood, because I was fit for nothing but a-a menial position." She paused, and, after a moment or two, said rather hopelessly: "I can't explain it to you. I daresay you wouldn't understand if I could, because you have never been so poor that you were obliged to hang on anyone's sleeve, and try to be grateful for a worn-out ribbon, or a sc.r.a.p of torn lace which one of your cousins gave you, instead of throwing it away."

"No," he replied. "But you are mistaken when you say that I don't understand. I have seen all too many of such cases as you describe, and have sincerely pitied the victims of this so-called charity, who are expected to give unremitting service to show their grat.i.tude for-" He broke off, for she had winced, and turned away her face. "What have I said to upset you?" he asked. "Believe me, I had no intention of doing so!"

"Oh, no!" she said, in a stifled voice. "I beg your pardon! It was stupid of me to care for it, but that word brought it all back to me, like-like a stab! Lucasta said I was well-named, and my aunt s-said: Very true, my love!' and that in future I should be called Charity, to keep me in mind of the fact that that is what I am-a charity girl!"

"What a griffin!" he exclaimed disdainfully. "But she won't call you Charity, you know! Depend upon it, she wouldn't wish people to think her spiteful!"

"They wouldn't. Because it is my name!" she disclosed tragically. "I know I told you it was Cherry, but it wasn't a fubbery, sir, to say that, because I have always been called Cherry."

"I see. Do you know, I like Charity better than Cherry? I think it is a very pretty name."

"You wouldn't think so if it was your name, and true!"

"I suppose I shouldn't," he admitted. "But what did you do to bring down all this ill-will upon your head?"

"Corinna was on the listen last night, when we talked together on the stairs," she said. "She is the most odious, humbugging little cat imaginable, and if you think I shouldn't say such a thing of her I am sorry, but it is true! I was used to think her the most amiable of my cousins, and-and my friend! And even though I did know that she was a shocking fibster, and not in the least above carrying tales against Oenone to my aunt, I never dreamed she would do the same by me!

Well-well, there was some excuse for her trying for revenge against Oenone, because Oenone is a very disagreeable girl, and for ever picking out grievances, and trying to set my aunt against her sisters. But-" Her eyes filled with tears, which she made haste to brush away-"she-she had no cause to do me a mischief! But-but she twisted everything I said to you, sir, m-making it seem quite different from what I did say! She even said that you wouldn't have come upstairs if I hadn't th-thrown out lures to you! Which I didn't! I didn't!"

"On the contrary! You begged me not to come upstairs!" he said, smiling.

"Yes, and so I told them, but neither my aunt nor Lucasta would believe me. They-they accused me of being a-a designing little squirrel, and my aunt read me a scold about g-girls like me ending up in the Magdalen: and when I asked her what the Magdalen is, she said that if I continued to make sheep's eyes at every man that crossed my path I should very soon discover what it is. But I don't, I don't!" she said vehemently. "It wasn't my fault that you came up to talk to me last night, and it wasn't my fault that Sir John Thorley took me up in his chaise and so very kindly drove me back to Maplewood, the day he overtook me walking back from the village in the rain; and it wasn't my fault that Mr Rainham came over to talk to me when I brought Dianeme and Tom down to the drawing-room one evening! I did not put myself forward! I sat down, just as my aunt bade me, in a chair against the wall, and made not the least push to keep him beside me! I promise you I didn't, sir!" Her tears brimmed over, but she brushed them away, and said: "It was nothing but kindness on their parts, and to say that I lured either of them away from Lucasta is wickedly unjust!"

Since he had himself succ.u.mbed to the unconscious appeal of her big eyes, and had been moved to compa.s.sion by her forlorn aspect, he could readily understand the feelings that had prompted two gentlemen, whom he guessed to be admirers of Lucasta, to pay her a little attention.

He thought, with a sardonic curl of his lips, that Lady Bugle was no wiser than a wet-goose; and wondered how many of Lucasta's court would have paid any attention to her little cousin had Cherry been suitably attired, and treated by Lady Bugle with the affection that lady showed towards Lucasta. Not many, he guessed, for, although she had an innocent charm, she was no more than a candle to the sun of Lucasta's beauty; and if she had been happy she would have roused no chivalrous emotions in any male breast. These reflections, however, he kept to himself, setting himself instead to the task of soothing her agitation, prior to doing what lay within his power to convince her that a return to her house of bondage would be preferable to her present scheme.

With the first of these objects in view, he encouraged her to unburden herself of her wrongs, thinking that to be allowed to pour out her troubles would sensibly allay whatever feelings of hurt and injustice had overset her. He suspected that these might have been exaggerated in her mind by what had obviously been a pulling of caps; but by the time she had been induced to describe what her life had been at Maplewood there was no hint of a smile in his eyes, and no scepticism in his mind.

For she did not answer his questions willingly, and she seemed always to be able to find excuses for the many unkindnesses she had received at Maplewood. Nor did she resent the demands that had been made on her: she felt it was only right that she should repay her aunt's generosity by performing whatever services were required of her; but when she said simply: "I would do anything if only she would love me a little, and just once say thank you!" he thought he had never heard a sadder utterance.

It was obvious that Lady Bugle had seen in her not an orphaned niece to be cherished, but a household slave, to be made to fetch and carry all day long, to wait not only on her aunt but on her cousins as well, and to mind the two eldest nursery children whenever Nurse desired her to do so. He suspected that if she had been less docile and less easily dismayed she would have fared better at Maplewood: he had been standing close enough to Lady Bugle on the previous evening to observe her when she approached her husband, and said something pretty sharp to him under her breath. He had not heard what she had said, but that she had issued an order was patent, for Sir Thomas had at first expostulated, and then gone off to do her bidding, and Desford had written her down then and there as one of those overbearing females who would tyrannize over anyone too meek or too scared to withstand her. It had at first surprised him to learn that his brief meeting with Cherry had brought down on her head such a venomous scold, but the more he studied the sweet little face before him the less surprised did he feel that the ambitious mother and daughter should have been so furious to learn that he had been sufficiently attracted by Cherry to have gone upstairs to talk to her. Lucasta was a Beauty, but Cherry was by far the more taking.

While she told her story, at least half of his brain was occupied in trying to think what to do for her. It had not taken long to make him abandon his original intention of restoring her to her aunt, and he wasted no eloquence on attempting to persuade her to agree to such a course. A fleeting notion of placing her in Lady Emborough's care no sooner occurred to him than he banished it; and when he suggested that she should return to Miss Fletching she shook her head, saying that nothing would prevail upon her to make any more demands on that lady's kindness.

"Don't you think you might be very useful to her?" he coaxed. "As a teacher, perhaps?"

"No," she replied. Suddenly her eyes lost their despairing look, and danced mischievously. She giggled, and said: "I shouldn't be in the least useful, and certainly not as a teacher! I am not at all bookish, and although I do know how to play on the pianoforte I don't play at all well!

I have no apt.i.tude for languages, either, or for painting, and my sums are always wrong. So you see-!"

It was certainly daunting. He could not help laughing, but he said: "Well, now that you've told me all the things you can't do, tell me what you can do!"

The cloud descended again on her brow. She said: "Nothing-nothing of a genteel nature. My aunt says I am only fitted to perform menial tasks, and I suppose that is true. But while I have been at Maplewood I have learnt a great deal about housekeeping, and I know I can take care of sick old ladies, because when old Lady Bugle became too ill to leave her bed there were days when she wouldn't let anyone enter her room except me. And I think she liked me, because, though she pinched at me a good deal-she was nearly always as cross as crabs, poor old lady-she never ripped up at me as she did at my aunt, and Lucasta, and Oenone, or accuse me of wishing her dead. So I thought that I could very likely be a comfort to my grandfather. I believe he lives quite alone, except for the servants, which must be excessively melancholy for him. Don't you think so, sir?"

"I should certainly find it so, but your grandfather is said to be a-a confirmed recluse. I have never met him, but if the stories that are told about him are true he is not a very amiable person. After all, you told me yourself that he had written a very disobliging reply to Miss Fletching's letter, didn't you?"

"Yes, but I don't think she asked him to take charge of me," she argued. "She wanted him to pay the money Papa owed her, and I shouldn't wonder at it if she set up his back, for I know, from what Papa has said to me, that he is shockingly clutchfisted."

"Did your aunt pay her?" he interrupted.

She shook her head, flushing a little. "No. She too said that she wasn't responsible, but because of blood being thicker than water she-she would relieve Miss Fletching by taking me away to live with her. So-so no one has paid for me-yet! But I mean to save every penny I can earn, and I shall pay her!" Her chin lifted, and she said: "If my grandfather-if I can see him, and explain to him how it is-surely he won't refuse to let me stay with him at least until I've found a suitable situation?"

The Viscount could not think this likely. No matter how indisposed and eccentric Lord Nettlecombe might be, he could scarcely turn away a dest.i.tute granddaughter who had no other shelter in London than his house. The probability was that he would take a fancy to her, and if that happened her future would be a.s.sured. And if he was such a shabster as to turn her away, he would find he had to deal with my Lord Desford, who would cast aside the deference to his elders so carefully drilled into him from his earliest days, and would counsel the old muckworm in explicit terms to think well before he behaved in so scaly a fashion as must alienate even the few friends he had, once the story became known, as he, Desford, would make it his business to see that it did.

He did not favour Cherry with these reflections, but got up abruptly, and said: "Very well! I will take you to London!"

She sprang to her feet, caught his hand, and kissed it before he could prevent her. "Oh, thank you, sir!" she cried, grat.i.tude throbbing in her voice, and making her eyes shine through the sudden tears of relief which filled them. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Considerably embarra.s.sed, he drew his hand away, and gave her a pat on the shoulder with it, saying: "Draw bridle, you foolish child! Wait until we see how your grandfather receives you before you fly into raptures! If he doesn't receive you, you will have nothing to thank me for, you know!"

He then went away to pay his shot, telling her that he would bring his curricle to the door in a few minutes, and so cut short any further expressions of her grat.i.tude.

But he had still to run the gauntlet of his devoted servitor's disapproval. When he informed Stebbing that he was driving Miss Steane to London, that worthy found himself wholly unable to receive this news in a manner befitting his station, but said forthrightly: "My lord, I beg and implore you not to do no such thing! You'll find yourself in the briars, as sure as check, and it's me as will get the blame for it when his lordship comes to hear of it!"

"Don't be such a gudgeon!" said the Viscount impatiently. "His lordship won't come to hear of it-and if he did the only thing he would blame you for is making such a piece of work about nothing! Do you imagine I'm abducting the child?"

"More likely she's abducting you, my lord!" muttered Stebbing.

The Viscount's eyes hardened; he said coldly: "I allow you a good deal of licence, Stebbing, but that remark goes far beyond the line of what I will permit!"

"My lord," said Stebbing doggedly, 'if I spoke too free, I ask your pardon! But I've served you faithfully ever since you was pleased to accept of me as your personal groom, and I couldn't look myself in the face if I didn't make a push to stop you doing something so caper-witted as to carry off this young pers-lady!-the way you're meaning to! You can turn me off, my lord, but I must and will tell you to your head that I never seen a young lady which would go off with a gentleman like this Miss Steane is willing to go off with you!"

"Doesn't it suit your sense of propriety? Well, you must bear in mind that you will be sitting behind us, and I give you leave to intervene to protect Miss Steane's virtue from any improper advances I might make to her!" Perceiving that Stebbing was deeply troubled, he relented, and said, laughingly: "There's no need for you to be so hot in the spur, you old pudding-head! All I've engaged myself to do is to convey Miss Steane to her grandfather's house. And if you weren't a pudding-head you would know that her willingness to go with me to London springs from innocence, and not, as you seem to think, from a want of delicacy! Good G.o.d, what would you have me to do in this situation? Abandon her to become the prey of the first rake-shame she encounters on the road? A pretty fellow you must think me!"

"No, my lord, I don't think no such thing! But what I do think is that you should take her back where she came from!"

"She won't go, and I have no right to force her to do so." A gleam of humour shot into his eyes; he added: "And even if I had the right I'd be d.a.m.ned if I'd do it! Lord, Stebbing, would you drive a girl who was crying her eyes out, in an open carriage?" He laughed, and said: "You know you wouldn't! Put to the horses, and don't spill any more time sermonizing!"

"Very good, my lord. But I shall take leave to say- asking your pardon for making so bold as to open my budget!-that I never seen you-no, not when you was in the heyday of blood, and kicking up all kinds of confiabberation!-so bedoozled as what you are now! And if you don't end up in the basket-and me with you!-you can call me a Jack Adams, my lord!"

"I'm much obliged to you! I will!" retorted the Viscount.

CHAPTER 5.

The Viscount drew up his sweating team two-and-a-half hours later in Albermarle Street, having driven his horses in a spanking style that in anyone but a top-sawyer, which he was, would have been extremely dangerous. Even Stebbing, who had good reason to know that he could drive to an inch, clutched the edge of his seat three times: twice when, on a narrow stretch of the road, he sprang his horses to give the go-by to a slower vehicle, and once when he feather-edged a blind corner without checking; but it was only when they reached the outskirts of London that he allowed himself to utter a gruff warning, saying: "Easy over the pimples, my lord, I do beg of you!"

"What do you take me for?" the Viscount tossed over his shoulder. "A spoon?"

Stebbing returned no answer to this, for while he secretly considered his master to be a first-rate fiddler nothing would have induced him to say so, except when boasting of the Viscount's excellence amongst certain of his cronies at the Horse and Groom. He rarely praised the Viscount's skill to his face; and never when Desford stood in his black books.

Miss Steane, whose spirits had soared from the instant Desford had said that he would convey her to London, enjoyed the journey hugely.

She confided to him, with what he thought engaging ingenuousness, that she had never before been driven in a curricle. A gig had hitherto been her only experience of open carriages, and although her cousin Stonor possessed a curricle it was a very shabby affair compared with the Viscount's lightly built and graceful carriage. She thought well of his horses too, and told him so, for which commendation he thanked her with a gravity only very slightly impaired by the quiver of laughter in his voice. They were, in fact, perfectly matched grays, and he had paid so long a price for them as would have confirmed his father (if he had known it) in his belief that his heir was a scattergood.

"You can't think what a high treat this is for me, sir!" she said gaily.

"Everything is new! You see, I have never travelled at all since my Papa carried me to Bath, and I don't remember very much about that journey.

Besides, we went in a closed coach, and that is not the way to see the countryside. This is beyond anything great!"

She chatted away in this artless style, interested in all that met her wondering gaze, continually craning her neck to obtain a better view of a particularly bright garden, or a picturesque cottage, fleetingly seen down a side lane. Such of her conversation as was not concerned with the pa.s.sing scene was devoted to an earnest discussion with Desford on what ought to be her approach to her grandfather. But when they reached London she became rather silent, a circ.u.mstance which made Desford say quizzingly: "Tired, little bagpipe? Not far to go now!"

She smiled, and shook her head: "No, not tired. Has my tongue been running on like a fiddlestick? I beg your pardon! Why didn't you tell me to b.u.t.ton my lip? I must have been a sad bore to you."

"On the contrary! I found your conversation most refreshing. Why have you shut up shop? Are you in a worry about your grandfather?"

"A little," she confessed. "I didn't know that London is so big, and- and so noisy, and I cannot help wondering what to do if my grandfather refuses to see me. I wish I had some acquaintance here!"

"Don't fret!" he said rea.s.suringly. "It is in the highest degree unlikely that he will. And if he does I promise I won't desert you! Depend upon it, we shall hit upon some scheme for your relief!"

He spoke lightly, for the more he considered the matter the more convinced did he become that however eccentric Lord Nettlecombe might be he could scarcely be so lost to all sense of propriety as to cast upon the world a granddaughter whose childlike innocence must be obvious to anyone but an incurable lobc.o.c.k. But when he drew up his weary team outside Lord Nettlecombe's town residence in Albemarle Street such optimistic reflections suffered a severe set-back. Every window of the house was shuttered and the knocker was off the door: his lordship's eccentricity had not led him to remain in London during the summer months.

"Would your lordship wish me to ring the bell?" enquired Stebbing, in Ca.s.sandra-like accents.

"Yes: do so!" the Viscount said curtly.

By this time Miss Steane had had time to a.s.similate the significance of the closed shutters, and panic seized her. She gripped her hands tightly together in her lap, in a brave attempt to remain calm; and after a few minutes, during which Stebbing vigorously pulled the bell, said, in a voice of would-be carelessness: "It seems that the house has been shut up, d-doesn't it, sir?"

"It does indeed! But I daresay there may be someone left in charge from whom we can discover your grandfather's direction. Try the bas.e.m.e.nt, Stebbing!"

"Begging your lordship's pardon, I don't hardly know how I can do so, being as the area-gate is chained and padlocked." He observed, not without a certain satisfaction, that the Viscount, momentarily at least, was at a non-plus, and relented sufficiently to say that he would enquire at the neighbouring houses. But as one of these had been hired for the summer months by a family whom Stebbing disdainfully described as Proper Mushrooms, and who had no knowledge of Lord Nettlecombe; and the other by an elderly couple whose porter said, with a sniff, that he had seen the old hunks drive off about a week ago, but had no notion where he was going. "My master and mistress don't have nothing to do with him, nor don't any of us in this house have nothing to do with his servants," he stated loftily.

When Stebbing returned to the curricle to report these discouraging tidings, Miss Steane uttered in an anguished whisper: "Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do?"

"Shall I ask at any of the other houses, my lord?"

But the Viscount had had time to think, and he replied: "No. We have wasted enough time, and wherever his lordship may be we can scarcely hope to reach him today. Up with you!" He then turned his attention to his agitated pa.s.senger, and said with a cheerfulness he was far from feeling: "Now, why are you shaking like a blancmanger, little pea-goose?

To be sure, this mischance has cast a slight rub in our way, but the case isn't desperate, you know!" He set his horses in motion as he spoke, turning them round, and added, with a rueful laugh: "Of course, if we discover that he is drinking the waters in Bath we shall be made to look blank, shan't we?"

She paid no heed to this, but repeated: "What shall I do? What can I do? Sir, I-I haven't very much money!"

This disclosure was blurted out, and ended in a sob. He replied matter-of-factly: "What you can do, Cherry, is to stop fretting and fuming, and to leave it to me to find a way out of this b.u.mble-bath. I promise you I will, so pluck up!"

"I can't pluck up!" she uttered. "You don't understand! It doesn't curl your liver to find yourself alone in this dreadful city, with only a few shillings in your purse, and not knowing where to go, or-oh, how can you be so unfeeling as to laugh?"

"My dear, I can't help but laugh! Where did you pick up that expression?"

"Oh, I don't know, and what does it signify?" she exclaimed. "Where are you taking me? Do you know where there is a Registry Office? I must set about finding a situation immediately! But I shall be obliged to put up for the night-oh, dear, perhaps for several nights, because even if I found a situation at once it can't be supposed that I should be wanted instantly! Unless someone was wanted in a bang, because of some accident, or illness, perhaps, and then-"

"You are forgetting that you would be obliged to provide yourself with, a recommendation," he interpolated dampingly.

"Well, I am persuaded Miss Fletching would give me one!"

"No doubt she would, but may I remind you that it will take time to procure one from her?"

She was daunted, but made a quick recover. "Very true! But you could recommend me, couldn't you, sir?"

"No," he replied unequivocally.

Her bosom swelled. "I never thought you would be so disobliging!"

He smiled. "I'm not being disobliging. Believe me, nothing could more certainly prejudice your chances of obtaining an eligible situation than a recommendation from me-or any other single man of my age!"

"Oh!" she said, digesting this. A blast on a coach-horn made her flinch, and she said fervently: "How can you bear to live in this odious place, where everything is noise, and bustle, and the streets so full of coaches and carriages and carts that-Oh, pray take care, sir! I know we shall collide with something-Oh, look at that carriage, coming out of that street over there!"

"Shut your eyes!" he advised her, amused by her evident want of faith in his ability to avoid accident.

"No!" she said resolutely. "I must learn to accustom myself! Is it always so crowded in London, sir?"

"I am afraid it is often very much more crowded," he said apologetically. "In fact, it is at the moment very empty!"

"And people choose to live here!" she shuddered.

He had turned back into Piccadilly some few minutes earlier, and now checked his horses for the turn into Arlington Street. "Yes. I am one of those very odd people, and I am taking you now to my house, so that you can rest and refresh before we continue our journey."

She said uneasily: "I think I ought not to go to your house, sir. I may be a pea-goose but I do know that it is not the thing for females to visit gentlemen's houses, and-and-"

"No, it is a trifle irregular," he agreed, "but before we go any further there are certain arrangements I must make, and you would scarcely wish to wait in the street, would you? So the best thing I can do is to hand you over to my housekeeper for half-an-hour. I shall tell her that my Aunt Emborough placed you in my charge, and that I am taking you to your home, in Hertfordshire."

She asked nervously: "Where-where are you taking me, if you please, sir?"

"Into Hertfordshire. I am going to ask an old and dear friend of mine to take care of you until I've found your grandfather. Her name is Miss Henrietta Silverdale, and she lives with her mother at a place called Inglehurst. Don't look so scared! I am pretty sure you will like her, and entirely sure that she will be very kind to you."