Prudence (2 page)

Miraculously, the horses were turned aside. And then voices were in her ears, and hands were dragging her away.

‘Mad she is, and no mistake!’

‘Was it this you was after, missie?’

Prue stood trembling and bewildered, as a ball of warm fur was thrust into her hands. She took it automatically, and the plaintive mew jerked her back to her senses.

The kitten! Someone had saved it for her. Then she bethought her of the horses. Oh, what had she done?

Turning, she saw that the carriage had been brought to a standstill a little way down the road. The horses were fidgety and protesting, but a man, supposedly a groom by his livery, was at their heads, soothing. There was no sign of the gentleman driver.

‘What in Hades were you playing at, you idiotic wench?’

The irate tone made her jump violently. Jerking round, she found herself confronted by a man in a drab great-coat, its several capes making him appear huge. The driver! Prue’s throat dried. She had to look up to see into his face, and the fury there made her knees go weak with fright.

‘I—I am most d-dreadfully sorry, sir,’ she stammered.

‘So you should be! A more lunatic performance I have never witnessed! What in heaven’s name possessed you, girl?’

Here a fellow behind Prue intervened. ‘It were that there kitten, guv’nor.’

‘A
kitten
?’

The gentleman’s eyes fell to Prue’s hands where the multi-coloured bundle was still struggling.

‘Ran across in front of your carriage, it did,’ volunteered another.

‘The missie here went after it.’

Glancing round, Prue became horribly aware that a number of interested spectators were rapidly gathering. A fellow in homespuns and another in a smock seemed to be taking the lead. One of them must have saved the kitten for her. Consciousness deepening, she discovered a couple of boys with trays and an elderly man with a cane standing close, and caught sight of one or two figures moving towards them from across the road. Prue felt her cheeks grow warm.

‘Oh, dear. I n-never meant to cause such a stir!’

‘A stir? The wonder is I did not run you down! And all for a kitten.’

‘I didn’t think,’ pleaded Prue, turning back to the unwitting victim of her mad action.

‘That, my girl, is obvious. Dear God, don’t you know better than to chase a cat? It was in far less danger than you. Are you all right? Not that you deserve to be!’

This unkindness served to waken Prue’s indignation. She threw up a defiant head. ‘That is most unfair! I
was in the wrong, I admit, but so were you, sir. You were driving at a shocking pace! And in a town, too.’

Muttered comments of agreement reached her ears, but the gentleman seemed wholly unaffected. Prue received an impression of lean strength, with a jutting nose and eyes of ice and steel.

‘Never mind my driving,’ said the gentleman shortly. ‘I am the more concerned that you have taken no sort of hurt. Have you?’

‘I have not,’ responded Prue, adding huffily, ‘though that is small thanks to you!’

‘On the contrary. You may attribute the fact that you are still alive to my skill with the ribbons.’

A general assent from the bystanders made Prue the more resentful, but she felt herself grow hot with embarrassment.

‘However,’ pursued the gentleman, ‘if you are sure you are none the worse for wear, I shall look instead to my horses. And if they have taken any sort of hurt, you had better pray that you never run into me again!’

It was on the tip of Prue’s tongue to respond that the last thing in the world she desired was to run into him again, but her conscience intervened. Penitent, she looked up into the strong features above her.

‘I am truly sorry, sir. I do hope your horses are unharmed. I know it was wrong of me, but you see, one moment this poor little kitten had been happily purring in my arms. And the very next instant, it jumped out and ran across the road! I am afraid I acted out of sheer instinct, but I see that it was excessively foolish of me.’

A slight quirk of the lips disturbed the severity of the gentleman’s expression. But he made no reference to her explanatory speech.

‘And what do you propose to do with the animal?’

‘Nothing! I mean, it is not mine, you know.’

‘Yet you risked your life to save it. I see. I was going to suggest you drown it, but perhaps that advice had better be applied to yourself!’

With which, the gentleman turned on his heel and walked away towards his carriage. Indignant again, Prue watched him confer with his groom, and then jump up into his seat.

In the event she did not see him drive away, for she felt a tap at her shoulder. Turning, she found that those who had remained for the little drama were drifting off about their business. It was the chambermaid from the inn who stood there.

‘Miss, I come to tell you that the stage goes in two minutes. The guard is fretting already.’

‘Oh, dear, I must run! I cannot afford to miss the coach.’ She became aware of the squirming bundle in her grasp. ‘Oh, what shall I do with this kitten? Do you know who it belongs to?’

‘It’s one left from a litter born to our cat, miss. Missus tried to chase it away, but it won’t go.’

Dismayed, Prue held the kitten close to her chest. ‘What will happen to it?’

‘Likely the missus will have it drownded.’

‘Oh, no!’

‘You’d better hurry, miss. The coach won’t wait on you. You’d best come round the short way.’

Prue followed her around the side of the house towards the yard. But her mind was on the kitten, clasped strongly to her chest. She could not leave it to be drowned! That horrid man might do so, but not she. But how in the world was she to take it with her?

A sudden bright notion jumped into her head. Why
should she not bestow it as a gift upon her two charges? All children loved kittens. There could be no difficulty.

They had reached the yard. The stage was ready, the horses put to, and the guard impatiently beckoning.

‘I am coming,’ she called. And to the maid, ‘Do you think your mistress would mind if I took the kitten?’

‘In the coach, miss?’

‘I have only a short way to go now. Quickly, tell me if I may take it.’

The chambermaid grinned. ‘Suit yourself, miss. I’d like fine to see how you manage with it in the coach.’

But Prue was already at the coach door. Her entry with the kitten was not to go undisputed, however. The guard barred her way.

‘Was you meaning to take that there animal inside, miss?’

‘Have you any objection?’ asked Prue anxiously.

The guard nodded dourly. ‘Against regulations, that is, taking livestock inside.’

‘But it is only for a little way. I am getting down in three miles. And besides, a kitten is scarcely livestock.’

The man’s mouth turned down at the corners, and he shook his head. ‘Can’t see my way to it, miss.’

‘Oh,
pray
.’

But the fellow appeared adamant. In desperation, Prue dived a hand into the pocket of her petticoat, feeling for a coin. She brought out the first one she found. It was a crown piece. Wholly forgetting her straitened circumstances, Prue held it up.

‘Will this help?’

A sniff and a toss of his head, and the coin was in the guard’s fingers. He bit it scientifically, winked at Prue, and pocketed it.

‘All aboard!’

Prue clambered up into the coach as best she could for the wriggling animal tucked under one arm. Fortunately, one of the inside passengers took pity on her and held the kitten while she settled back into her corner. She retrieved it on to her lap, where it mewed for a while, and then curled up and went to sleep under Prue’s stroking hand.

It was only then that it came home to Prue what she had done. Five shillings! The poor little creature was not worth a tithe of that. Added to which, she could not be sure of its reception when she came to Rookham Hall.

But this aspect of the matter was less disturbing than the recollection of the spectacle she had made of herself. How angry had been that man. And so sarcastic in his speech. Thank heaven she would never see him again!

At the roadside, Prue juggled with the problem of transporting one mongrel kitten whilst clutching her cloak about her and carrying her portmanteau—an aged item of worn leather that had seen good use and better days—which had been placed by the guard beside her on the ground.

Her acquisition had woken upon her lifting it from her lap when she had to get out of the coach. Its protests were vociferous, and it continued to emit outraged mewls as she tried to comfort it.

‘What in the world am I to do? I do wish you will stop crying!’

It then occurred to her that the kitten was very likely hungry. She put a finger to its mouth, and it sniffed and licked, but, finding no sustenance there, resumed its complaints.

‘Poor little thing! I am afraid you must wait until we have got to Rookham Hall. And still I do not know how to transport you. I do wish Nell were here!’

But Nell was a world away, and Prue must fend for herself. Clutching the kitten in one hand, she seized up the portmanteau and walked a small way down the lane that led to Little Bookham. The signpost told her it was but a half mile to the village. But even so short a distance presented difficulties in this predicament.

It would not do. She must find a better solution. Halting, she set the portmanteau down again. As she did so, the kitten succeeded in extracting itself from her grasp and leaped to the ground.

Prue made a grab for it, but it eluded her and ran off a little way. She sighed frustratedly.

‘Wretch!’

Then she perceived that the kitten had a need more pressing than hunger. How foolish she had been not to think of it! Indeed, it was stupid of her not to have realised that she needed some kind of receptacle to transport the kitten. Only it had all happened so fast that—

Her thoughts died as she was abruptly taken with the cleverest notion. And she had been so ungrateful as to despise the woollen cloak that had formed part of her Seminary uniform! It was excessively old, and beginning to be threadbare. But it had one distinct advantage—capacious pockets.

A few moments later, Prue set out again with a lighter heart, her portmanteau in one hand, while the other cradled a lumpy portion of her cloak that shifted about in vain.

‘You will not get out of there very easily, my dear,’
Prue informed it triumphantly. ‘I only hope you may not be smothered to death!’

When the kitten presently settled, she was half afraid that it might indeed have run out of air. But when she paused to investigate, pulling a fold of the heavy cloth aside, two green eyes peeped up at her from the secure haven of her cloak pocket. Prue was able to resume her journey with a quiet mind.

It did not take long to reach Little Bookham village, which looked to be, indeed,
little
, with a spired church and a clutch of dwellings around a green. Here she was directed by a sleepy yokel to continue along the lane for a quarter of a mile to a turn-off which would lead her to the ‘great house’. Prue trusted that this appellation would prove to be the Rookham Hall for which she had asked.

She was tiring by the time she arrived at a pair of wrought-iron gates that let on to a wide avenue of trees, and her arm was aching from having to remain in the same position to support the now-sleeping kitten.

Prue could not see the house. There was no lodge and the gates were open. Her stomach went a trifle hollow and she was conscious of an uncomfortable activity in her pulses as she ventured through the gateway into her new life.

‘It may be a little alarming at first,’ the Duck had warned, ‘but remember that you are a graduate of the Paddington Seminary. Such is our record and reputation that many applications come to us through recommendation. You have been well taught, and you must have pride in your achievements.’

If only her own achievements had been worthy of the reputation of the Seminary! Well, the Duck would not have sent her out if she had not thought she could
fill the post. Prue took heart, taking a firmer hold of her portmanteau and stepping out more boldly.

The house came into sight around the first bend in the drive. Prue’s spirits immediately rose. It was a good-sized establishment, but by no means a mansion. The building, of a creamy yellow appearance, was low—two storeys only—and long. There must have been a dozen windows at least, neatly spaced on either side of a central pillared entrance, which was accessed by a short stairway.

The avenue gave on to open lawns that led away, as far as she could see, into banks of trees, bare of leaves for the most part this early in the year. As Prue gained upon the entrance, it became evident that the building was larger than she had at first supposed, stretching away behind. The surroundings were woody rather than cultivated, and a gleam of silver between the trees gave promise of water—perhaps a pond or a small river.

It was a picturesque scene, and there was a pleasant air about it. A far cry from the red-brick world of regimentation that Prue had left behind. She was going to like living here! A tide of gratitude for her good fortune rose within her. If only the girls came to like her, she would have nothing more to wish for.

An elderly butler opened the door. A spare man, he seemed a trifle frail in Prue’s eyes. She was instantly smitten with a warm glow of sympathy.

‘I am so sorry to have dragged you to the door. Have you not a footman to do it for you?’

A pair of silver eyebrows wrinkled. ‘I beg your pardon?’

The hauteur of his tone was not lost on Prue. Recollecting herself, she smiled a trifle nervously.

‘I did not mean to say that. Only you seemed so—’
She broke off, realising that her intended words might be taken in an infelicitous spirit.

‘May I enquire your name?’

‘Oh, dear, how silly of me! I am Miss Hursley. The new governess, you know.’

The butler looked her over in a way that made Prue feel distinctly uncomfortable. Then he bowed.

‘You are expected.’

He held the door wide, and Prue lifted her portmanteau again and stepped into a spacious hall with a central winding stair that led to an upper gallery. She found herself in surroundings as pleasant as the exterior, with mellow painted walls adorned with two portraits and a landscape. A couple of long tables on to which a plethora of items had been untidily tossed stood on either side of the door.