Sprig Muslin (18 page)

"Yes, sir," he said, "There
was
a young lady come here this morning, with a stout gentleman, but she up and ran away, and more than that I can't tell your honour, not if I was to be hung for it!"

He found that the visitor's gray eyes were uncomfortably penetrating, but he met them squarely enough, if a trifle nervously. Sir Gareth said: "I think I should tell you that I am that young lady's guardian. I have been looking for her all day, with what anxiety you may guess! I haven't found her, but I did find the stout gentleman, and what I learned from him made me hope with all my heart that I should find Miss Smith here."

The landlord shook his head. "No, sir. I'm sure, if we'd known—but she never said nothing, and being as the stout gentleman said she was a relation of his—"

"What's all this?"

The voice came from behind Sir Gareth, and he turned quickly, to find himself confronting a buxom dame in a neat cap, tied under her plump chin in a starched bow, and with her hands folded over her ample stomach. She had a comely, good-humoured face, which yet held much determination, but there was a martial light in her eye, and she was regarding Sir Gareth, if not with hostility, certainly with suspicion.

"The gentleman was asking for that young lady, Mary," explained Mr. Sheet. "Him being her guardian, by what he tells me."

"That's as may be," said Mrs. Sheet cryptically.

"I beg you will tell me, ma'am, did you, as I suspect, come to her rescue?" asked Sir Gareth. "Have you got her here, in safety?"

By this time, she had taken him in thoroughly, from his booted heels to his ordered brown locks. Her gaze came to rest on his face; and after a thoughtful moment her own face relaxed a little. "No, sir, I have not—which isn't to say that I don't wish I had, for dear knows there was no call for her to run off like she did, if she'd only told me the trouble she was in! And who might you be, if I might make so bold, sir?"

Sir Gareth gave her his card. "That is my name, and my direction, ma'am."

She studied the card, and then favoured him with another long stare. "And by what you was saying to Sheet, sir, you're the young lady's guardian?"

"I am," replied Sir Gareth, reflecting that this at least was true, even though he was self-appointed. A sudden and rueful smile flashed in his eyes. "For my sins! I will be perfectly frank with you, ma'am, and tell you that Miss Smith is the most wilful little monkey it has ever been my ill-fortune to have to do with. Her latest exploit is to run away from the seminary, where she was a parlour-boarder. I imagine I need not tell you that I am in considerable anxiety about her. If you can assist me to find her, I shall be very much in your debt."

Mr. Sheet, watching his wife with some misgiving, was relieved to see that she had apparently decided in the gentleman's favour. The belligerent expression had vanished, and it was with cordiality that she replied: " 'Deed, and I wish I could, sir, for such a sweet, pretty young creature I never did see! But it's true, what Sheet was saying to you: she never said a word to either of us, but slipped off unbeknown'st. Run away from school, had she? But however did she come to take up with that dressed-up old fidget? Sheet got the notion into his head he was her uncle, but that I'll be bound he's not!"

"No—the dancing-master!" said Sir Gareth, with a certain vicious satisfaction.

Her jaw dropped. "What, and run off with one of the young ladies at the school? Well, I never did in all my life!"

"Miss Smith," said Sir Gareth, rivalling Amanda in inventiveness, "is a considerable heiress. By what means that fellow inserted himself into her good graces, I know not, but there can be little doubt that his object was to possess himself of her fortune. She is not yet seventeen, but had he succeeded in reaching Gretna Green with her, and making her his wife, what could I have done?"

Her eyes were as round as crown-pieces, but she nodded her head understandingly. "Ay, a pretty kettle of fish that would have been, sir! Well, I never liked him, not from the start, and what has me in a puzzle is what made her take a fancy to him! Why, he's old enough to be her grandpa, and as fat as a flawn besides!"

"I am very sure she had no fancy for him at all," said Sir Gareth. "If I know her, she encouraged his pretensions only to win his aid in escaping from the school! Once she believed herself to be beyond the reach of—er—Miss Hitchin, she wouldn't hesitate to give him the bag. For that at least I may be thankful! But where is she?"

"Ah, that's the question!" said Mr. Sheet profoundly.

"Well, surely to goodness, sir, she wouldn't run away without she had some place to go!" exclaimed Mrs. Sheet. "Hasn't she got any relations, or maybe some friend that would be glad to have her?"

"She's an orphan. She would certainly not seek refuge with any relation, for she knows very well that they would instantly tell me where she was. Nor do I know of any of her acquaintances who would do anything so improper as to conceal her whereabouts from me. What I suspect is that she means to hire herself out as an abigail, or something equally foolish."

"Whatever for, sir?" gasped Mrs. Sheet. "A young lady like her? Good gracious, she must be fair desperate to think of such a thing! Seems to me, begging your pardon, sir, that this school you've sent her to must be a very bad sort of a place!"

"Oh, no, on the contrary!" he replied. "Pray don't imagine, ma'am, that Miss Smith has been unkindly treated there, or, in fact, anywhere! The mischief is that she has been far too much indulged. No one but myself has ever thwarted her, and, since she is extremely highspirited, she will go to any lengths to get her own way. This exploit, I have no doubt at all, is an attempt to force me to take her away from school, and to allow her to be brought out into the world before she is seventeen."

"Oh, what a naughty girl!" Mrs. Sheet said, shocked. "Why, she might run into all sorts of trouble, sir!"

"Exactly so! You know that, and so do I know it, but she has no more notion of it than a kitten. It's imperative I should find her before she discovers it."

She nodded. "Yes, indeed! Oh, dear, if I'd had only an inkling how it was—! The idea of a lovely young thing like she is, wandering about by herself, and nothing but them two bandboxes to call her own! But where she can have got to I know no more than you sir. She didn't hide herself in the village, that's certain, for there's not a soul has seen her, and I don't see how she could have walked down the street without
someone
must have caught sight of her. We did wonder if she got taken up in someone's carriage, but I disremember that we had
so
much as a gig pull up here while she was in the house. And as for the stage, Mrs. Bude, which keeps the chandler's shop, put a parcel on to it when it came through Bythorne at noon, and she's certain sure there was no young lady got into it."

Sir Gareth spread open his map, and laid it on the table. "I doubt very much whether she would have tried to escape by way of the post-road. She must have known she would be pursued, and the first thing she would do would be to get as far away from it as possible. Could she have slipped out of this house by a back way?"

"She
could,"
Mrs. Sheet replied doubtfully. "There's a door leading into the yard, but there was the coachman, and a lad, that brought some chickens and potatoes, and I should have thought they'd have been bound to see her."

"The coachman come into the tap, soon as he'd stabled the horses," interposed Mr. Sheet.

"Yes, but Joe didn't!" she objected.

"Happen Joe did see her. He wouldn't think anything of it, not Joe! Likely he wouldn't hardly have noticed her."

"I daresay she may have waited until his back was turned," said Sir Gareth. "Can the lane that crosses the post-road be reached by way of the fields behind this house?"

"Well, you could get to it that way, sir, but it's rough walking, and how would the young lady have known there was a lane?"

"She might not, but if she was on the look-out for a way of escape she would have seen that lane, just before the carriage reached Bythorne. As I remember, there is a signpost, pointing to Catworth and Kimbolton." He laid his finger on the map. "Catworth, I take it, is no more than a small village. Has it an inn?— No, too near the post-road: she wouldn't try to establish herself there. Kimbolton, then. Yes, I think that must be my first goal." He folded up the map again, and straightened himself. He saw that Mrs. Sheet was regarding him wonderingly, and smiled. "I can only go by guess, you know, and this seems to me the likeliest chance."

"But it's all of seven miles to Kimbolton, sir!" expostulated Mrs. Sheet. "Surely she wouldn't trudge all that way, carrying them bandboxes?"

He thrust the map into his pocket, and picked up his hat. "Very likely not. From my knowledge of her, I should imagine that if she saw any kind of vehicle on the road she coaxed its driver into taking her up. And I hope to God she fell into honest hands!"

He moved towards the door, but before he reached it the aperture was filled by a burly figure, in gaiters and a frieze coat, at sight of whom Mrs. Sheet uttered a pleased exclamation. "Ned! The very person I was wishful to see! Do you wait a moment, sir, if you please! Come you in, Ned, and answer me this! When he got home, did Joe say anything to you, or Jane, about a young lady which we've got a notion he maybe saw in our yard when he was unloading the potatoes from the cart?"

The burly individual, rather bashfully pulling his forelock to Sir Gareth, replied, in a deep, slow voice: "Ay, he did that. Leastways, in a manner of speaking, he did. Which is what brings me here, because Jane ain't by no means easy in her mind, and what she says is, if anyone knows the rights of it, it'll be Mary."

"Sir Gareth, sir, this is Ned Ninfield, which is Joe's father, Joe being the lad I told you about," said Mrs. Sheet, performing a rapid introduction. "And this gentleman, Ned, is the young lady's guardian, and he's looking for her all over, she having run away from school."

Mr. Ninfield's ruminative gaze travelled to Sir Gareth's face, and became fixed there, while he apparently revolved a thought in his mind.

"Did your son see the way she went?" asked Sir Gareth.

This question seemed to strike Mr. Ninfield as being exquisitely humorous. A grin spread over his face, and he gave a chuckle. "Ay! In a manner of speaking, he did. She never said nothing about any school, though."

"Lor', Ned!" cried Mrs. Sheet, in sharp suspicion. "You're never going to tell me you've seen her too? Where is she?"

Her jerked his thumb over his shoulder, saying laconically: "Whitethorn."

"Whitethorn?"
she gasped. "However did she come to get there?"

He began to chuckle again. "In my cart! Joe brought her. Proper moonstruck, he was."

"Ned Ninfield!" she exploded. "You mean to tell me Joe didn't know no better than to offer a young lady like she is a ride in that dirty cart of yours?"

"Seems it was her as was set on it, not him. Told him to pick her up, and pop her into the cart where no one wouldn't see her. Which he done. And I don't know as I blame him," added Mr. Ninfield thoughtfully. "Not altogether, I don't."

"I don't believe it!" Mrs. Sheet declared.

"Oh, yes!" Sir Gareth interposed, a good deal amused. "Nothing, in fact, is more likely! Not so long ago, she hid herself in a carrier's cart. I expect she enjoyed the ride."

"She did that, your honour," corroborated Mr. Ninfield. "She and my Joe ate up the better part of a jar of pickled cherries between 'em, what's more. Sticky! Lor', you ought to have seen 'em!"

"The cherries I sent Jane special!" ejaculated Mrs. Sheet.

Sir Gareth laughed. "I offer you my apologies, ma'am: I told you she was a little monkey!" He turned, stretching out his hand to the farmer. "Mr. Ninfield, I'm very much in your debt—and more thankful than I can describe to you that my ward had the good fortune to fall in with your son. By the way, I do hope to God you didn't tell her you were coming here to make enquiries about her? If you did, she will certainly have fled from the house before I can reach it."

"No, sir, she don't know nothing about it," Mr. Ninfield replied, rather coyly wiping his hand on his breeches before grasping Sir Gareth's. "But the thing is—well, it's like this, sir! I'm sure I'm not wishful to give offence, but—you wouldn't be the gentleman as is father to the young lady as had Miss Amanda to wait on her, would you?"

"I would not!" said Sir Gareth, recognizing Amanda's favourite story. "I collect you mean the gentleman who made such improper advances to her that his sister—most unjustly, one feels—turned her out of the house without a moment's warning. I haven't a daughter, and I am not even married, much less a widower. Nor has Miss Amanda ever been a waiting-woman. She got the notion out of an old novel."

"Well, I'm bound to say you didn't look to me like you could be him," said Mr. Ninfield. "Downright wicked, that's what I thought, but my good lady, she wouldn't have it. She says to me private that she'd go bail Miss was telling us a lot of faradiddles, because nothing wouldn't make her credit that Miss was an abigail, nor ever had been. So it was a school she run away from, was it, sir? Well,
that
won't surprise the wife, though she did think it was p'raps her home she run away from: likely, because someone had crossed her. Powerful hot at hand, I'd say-meaning no disrespect!"