‘But you did not come from London today, in this weather!’
‘You see,’ he said apologetically, ‘someone laid me odds I would not venture on it.’
‘And you set out, in an open carriage, for such a reason as that! I beg your pardon, but it seems quite nonsensical!’
He appeared to be much struck by this view of the matter. ‘Do you know, ma’am, I believe you are right?’
‘I think,’ said Miss Trent severely, ‘that you are quizzing me. Is your destination Newbury?’
‘My present destination, yes. We shall forget my original one. I daresay I should have been very much bored there.’
‘But your friends will wonder what has become of you!’
‘It need not concern us, however.’
This indifferent answer made her blink, but she forbore to press the matter, and chatted away on a number of unexceptionable topics. She held Sarah in one arm, and appeared to be more concerned for the maid’s comfort than her own, assuring Sir Julian that she thought the whole episode a famous adventure.
‘You see, my home is quite in the country,’ she explained, ‘and nothing exciting ever seems to happen, except when Bertram broke his leg, and Ned was thrown over the donkey’s head into the horse-pond. Thieves did once steal three of my stepfather’s best hens, but we knew nothing about it until the next day, so it was not precisely exciting.’
Entranced by this artless confidence, Sir Julian at once enquired into the identities of Bertram and Ned. He discovered that they were two of Miss Trent’s three half-brothers, and that her stepfather was the incumbent of a parish in Norfolk. She had two young half-sisters as well, and very little prompting was needed to induce her to expatiate on their many engaging qualities. In this way the journey to Newbury was largely beguiled, and when Sir Julian turned his horses in under the archway of the great Pelican Inn, a mile short of the town, Miss Trent exclaimed that she had not thought it possible they could have arrived so soon.
A number of ostlers and waiters came hurrying to serve the newcomer, and in a very short while Sarah had been carried up to a bedchamber, a groom sent off to summon the nearest surgeon to her aid, and a private parlour bespoken for Miss Trent.
She came down to it presently, and found her protector warming himself before a leaping fire. He had shed his hat, and his many-caped greatcoat, and Miss Trent, who had already formed a very good opinion of his person, now perceived that he was decidedly handsome. He was dressed in a coat of blue superfine, which more experienced eyes than Miss Trent’s would have recognized as coming from the hands of a master; his buckskins were of impeccable cut; and his cravat was tied in the intricate style that had long baffled all imitators.
Sir Julian was also pleased with what he saw. Now that she had removed her bonnet, and he beheld her in the full candlelight, he perceived that Miss Trent’s hair grew in profuse ringlets, and that her eyes were even bigger than he had supposed them to be. He liked the frank way they lifted to his, and found it refreshing, to say the least of it, to encounter a lady who was neither arch nor simpering, and who had obviously not the smallest notion of enslaving him.
She let him lead her to a chair by the fire, and said: ‘I have made up my mind to it that the most important thing is for me to reach Bath, sir. I did think at first that I ought not to spend the money I have put by for my fare back to Norwich, but I now feel this would be foolish. So I shall hire a chaise to take me on. Do you think I shall be able to go tonight? I know the coaches travel by night, and the mails too.’
‘Nothing travels at night in such weather as this, ma’am. It has been snowing here, I discover, for three days. However, local opinion seems to be that a change is coming, so we must hope that the snow may have ceased to fall by tomorrow.’
‘Oh!’ said Miss Trent, dashed. She hesitated, and then asked shyly: ‘How much will it cost me, do you think, sir, to stay here tonight?’
‘As to that,’ he replied, ‘I have informed the landlord that you are a young relative of mine, travelling in my charge. I think he will expect me to pay your shot, don’t you?’
‘No!’ said Miss Trent, with decision.
‘I meant, I need hardly say, a loan!’ explained Sir Julian.
Miss Trent, her mind relieved, thanked him, and adjured him to keep a strict account of any sums he might incur on her behalf. He promised most gravely to do so, and an understanding being thus reached Miss Trent was able to relax, and to sip the Madeira he had given her. ‘Then all that remains to be done,’ she said, ‘is to hire a chaise in the morning, for the landlady says she will take care of Sarah for me, so I may be easy on that head.’
‘You may be easy on both heads,’ Sir Julian said. ‘I propose to escort you to Bath tomorrow myself, whatever the weather.’
Miss Trent was too unsophisticated to conceal her pleasure at this prospect. ‘Will you indeed?’ she cried, warm gratitude in her eyes. ‘I do think you are the kindest person I have ever met, sir! But ought you not rather to join your friends?’
‘Certainly not,’ he replied. ‘A very dull set of people! My whole desire is to revisit Bath.’
At this moment the waiter came in to announce the arrival of a surgeon, and Miss Trent went off to lead this practitioner up to the sufferer. When she returned to the parlour, the table had been laid, and dinner awaited her. She made an excellent repast. She said that Sarah must not travel for a few days, but that she was much easier now the limb had been set. ‘So there is nothing for it but to leave her here, poor thing!’ she said. ‘She says she will do very well, but I feel the veriest brute! But if my cousin were to get to Bath before me there is no saying what might happen! He would serve me a back-handed turn if he could!’
‘But what has engendered this violent antipathy between you, ma’am?’ asked Sir Julian, a good deal amused.
‘We both want the same thing,’ said Miss Trent darkly, ‘and he is afraid that I shall get it! But I have detested him all my life.’
She did not stay in the parlour for long after the covers had been removed, but retired early to bed, leaving her protector still ignorant of what her business in Bath could be.
Local prophecy turned out to be exact. It stopped snowing during the night, and although the landscape was thickly shrouded next morning, the sky had lost its leaden hue, and the sun showed some faint signs of breaking through the clouds. Miss Trent came down to breakfast in a mood of high hope. ‘I believe it will turn out to be a beautiful day, sir!’ she announced. ‘And if you will really be so obliging as to escort me to Bath, we may go in your curricle!’
‘It would be far too cold for you,’ he said.
‘No, indeed, I should like it of all things,’ she insisted. ‘And only think what a deal of expense you may save!’
Sir Julian, who had never in his life considered such a sordid matter, agreed to it meekly, and went out into the yard after breakfast to give orders to his groom.
It was while he was engaged in the stables that Mr Joseph Selsey arrived at the Pelican, having plodded all the way on foot from Woolhampton, carrying his valise. It was perhaps not surprising that he should be in an evil humour, but the head groom made no allowance for this circumstance. Peremptory persons looking suspiciously like provincial merchants would get no extraordinary attention from the Pelican’s supercilious servants. No post-chaise, stated the groom, would leave the inn that day. It was not until Mr Selsey had dragged the landlord into the dispute that he was able to hire, not a chaise, but a saddle-horse.
He was obliged to be satisfied, and to trust that he might be able to exchange the horse for a chaise in Hungerford. He then called for hot coffee to be brought him whilst the horse was being saddled, and in crossing the hall of the inn came upon Miss Trent, issuing from the parlour.
He stopped short, staring at her. ‘So this is where I find you?’ he ejaculated. ‘Fine doings, miss! Very pretty behaviour, upon my word!’
‘Why, what is wrong?’ she demanded.
‘Of course you would not know!’ he said, with one of his jeering laughs. ‘But it is all of a piece! By anything I ever heard, your mother was just such another, always ready to run off with any man who offered!’
‘How dare you?’ cried Miss Trent, her eyes blazing.
Sir Julian, who had come in from the yard in time to overhear this passage of arms, here interposed, saying in his languid way: ‘Ah, so this is your cousin Joseph, is it? Dear me, yes! Come with me, sir!’
‘Why should I?’ demanded Mr Selsey, taken aback.
‘That you shall see,’ said Sir Julian, leading the way out into the yard.
Mr Selsey followed him in some bewilderment, and Miss Trent, running back into the parlour to peep above the blind, had the felicity of seeing her objectionable relative dropped sprawling in the snow by a blow from Sir Julian’s famous right.
Mr Selsey picked himself up and bored in furiously. Sir Julian side-stepped neatly and dropped him again. This time Mr Selsey remained on the ground, nursing his jaw.
‘And let that be a lesson to you not, in future, to insult a lady!’ said Sir Julian calmly.
Mr Selsey, uneasily measuring the size and style of his opponent, said sulkily: ‘I didn’t mean – that is, I didn’t know –’
‘You know now,’ said Sir Julian, and turned, and went back into the inn.
He was met by Miss Trent, her face aglow with admiration. ‘Thank you!’ she said. ‘I have been wanting to do that all my life!’
‘What, did you see it, then?’ he asked, startled.
‘Yes, through the window. I clapped my hands! I wonder you did not hear me!’
He flung back his head and laughed. ‘You incorrigible child, you should be in a swoon, or indulging in a fit of the vapours!’
‘Pooh, as though I had not seen Bertram and Ned at fisticuffs a score of times! When do we set forward?’
‘In about half an hour, if you can be ready then.’
‘Should we not go at once? I am sure Joseph will be off now without waiting for his coffee!’
‘Very likely, but you have no need to be uneasy: we shall overtake him soon enough.’
They overtook him even sooner than Sir Julian had expected. Only fifteen miles from Newbury, where the road passed between the great trees of Savernake Forest, a solitary figure came into view, leading a very lame nag.
‘It’s Joseph!’ exclaimed Miss Trent. ‘Poor Joseph!’ she added piously.
‘Humbug!’ retorted Sir Julian, a note in his voice no other lady had as yet been privileged to hear.
She laughed. Mr Selsey, upon hearing the muffled beat of horses’ hooves, wheeled about, and, although he must have perceived who was driving the curricle, placed himself in its way, and waved his arms. Sir Julian drew up, and sat looking down at him with a sardonic lift to his brows.
‘Sir,’ said Mr Selsey in a voice of deep chagrin, ‘I find myself forced to request you to take me up as far as to the next town!’
‘But you cannot leave the poor horse!’ said Miss Trent. ‘Besides, it belongs to the Pelican!’
‘No, it does not!’ said her cousin angrily. ‘It belongs to a rascally thief! He took my horse and my purse, and left me with this jade!’
‘A highwayman? Oh, what an adventure!’ cried Miss Trent.
Mr Selsey ground his teeth.
‘You have only three or four miles to walk before you reach Marlborough,’ said Sir Julian helpfully. ‘Stand away from my horses’ heads!’
‘But I have no money!’ shouted Mr Selsey.
Sir Julian’s pair began to move forward. Miss Trent said quickly: ‘No, no, we can’t leave him in such a case! It would be too shabby!’
Sir Julian glanced curiously down at her earnest little face. ‘Do you wish him to reach Bath?’
‘Yes!’ said Miss Trent resolutely.
‘Very well. I will leave word with the landlord of the Castle Inn, sir, and he will provide you with a conveyance,’ said Sir Julian, and drove on.
Mr Selsey, by no means content, bawled after the curricle: ‘And you stole my rug, you hussy!’
‘Oh, dear!’ said Miss Trent, dismayed. ‘It is quite true, I did! We ought to have taken him up, perhaps!’
‘Nonsense! A walk will do him good.’
‘Yes, but if his purse has been taken he won’t be able to hire a chaise, even if you do bespeak one!’ objected Miss Trent.
‘Have no fear! I will arrange the whole, since you wish it.’
‘I think you have the most extravagant notions!’ said Miss Trent severely. ‘And, pray, how am I ever to repay you?’
‘Very easily.’
‘No, how?’
‘By satisfying my curiosity and telling me why we are racing Joseph to Bath!’
‘Did I not do so?’ she cried, astonished. ‘I quite thought I had explained it to you! I have the greatest hope that I may win a fortune!’
‘Then in that case you will be able to pay your debts, and you have nothing to worry about,’ said Sir Julian, only the merest quiver in his voice betraying him.
‘Yes, but I shan’t win it quite immediately,’ she said. ‘Not until my grandfather dies, and although he seems to think that will be soon, there is no telling, after all!’
‘Very true. Are we going to call upon your grandfather?’
‘Yes, and I fear he will prove to be very disagreeable.’
‘Are all your relatives disagreeable persons, Miss Trent?’ he enquired.
‘Certainly not! Mama, and my stepfather, and the children are the dearest creatures!’ she replied. ‘In fact, it is for them that I am going to Bath. If only my grandfather likes me better than Joseph, the boys may go to Eton, and Clara have lessons upon the pianoforte, and Mama another servant, and Papa – But this cannot interest you, sir!’
‘On the contrary. And is Joseph also bent on winning this fortune?’
‘Yes, and he does not need it in the least! You see, the case is that my grandfather quarrelled with both his daughters – my mama, and Joseph’s mama – because they married men he did not like. Mama says he was determined they should make splendid matches, and they did not. Mama ran away with my papa to Gretna Green – only fancy! He died when I was a baby, and I believe that he was not a very steady person. He was related to Lord Cleveland, and in the 1st Foot, only his family cast him off. So, I think, did the 1st Foot,’ she added reflectively. ‘Mama says he was very wild.’
‘Most of that family are,’ interpolated Sir Julian.
‘Oh, are they? I have never known them. Papa left poor Mama in sad straits, and if it had not been for my stepfather I don’t know what would have become of her. He married her, you see, and they are most happy! But Papa has a very small stipend, and there are five children, besides me, so that when my grandfather suddenly wrote to say that he felt his end to be approaching, and since he must leave his fortune to someone, I might go to spend Christmas with him, and perhaps he would leave it to me, it seemed as though it was my duty to go! And then I found that he must have sent for Joseph too, but I do think that he may like me better than Joseph, don’t you, sir?’
‘Miss Trent,’ said Sir Julian, ‘unless your grandfather is mad, you need have no doubts on that head!’
‘Yes, but I think he is!’ said Miss Trent candidly.
‘Who is he? What is his name?’
‘Kennet, and he lives in Laura Place.’
‘Good God, not the Miser of Bath?’
‘Oh, are you acquainted with him, sir?’
‘Only by reputation! Bath used to be full of tales of his oddities. I fear it is you who will not like him!’
‘No, but in such a cause one must stifle one’s feelings!’ said Miss Trent.
He agreed to it with becoming gravity, and for some miles entered in the fullest manner into all her plans for the advancement of her family.
The journey was a long one, and the weather inclement enough to have daunted most females, but Miss Trent remained cheerful throughout. Sir Julian
, who had been sure, twenty-four hours earlier, that he had run through every emotion life could hold for him, realized by the time the outskirts of Bath were reached that he had fallen in love for the first time since his salad days.
It was dark when the curricle drew up before a house in Laura Place, and the street lamps had been lit. ‘Tired?’ Sir Julian said gently.
‘A very little,’ owned Miss Trent. ‘But you must be quite dead with fatigue, sir!’
‘I have never enjoyed a day more.’
Miss Trent said shyly: ‘I – I have not either!’
‘In that case,’ said Sir Julian, ‘let us go in and beard your grandfather!’
‘You too, sir?’ she asked doubtfully.
‘Certainly. I must ask his permission to pay my addresses to you.’
‘To – to –? Oh!’ said Miss Trent in a faint voice.
‘Yes, may I do so?’
Miss Trent swallowed. ‘I have the most lowering feeling that I ought to say it is too sudden, or – or something of that nature,’ she confided.
‘Say what is in your heart! Would it displease you to receive my addresses?’
‘Well, no, it – it wouldn’t displease me – precisely!’ confessed Miss Trent, blushing in the darkness.
‘Then let us instantly seek out your grandfather!’ he said gaily.
They were admitted into the house by an aged retainer who reluctantly showed them into a bleak parlour on the ground floor. He left them with a single candle. Miss Trent said: ‘It is not very – very welcoming, do you think?’
‘Most quelling!’ said Sir Julian.
In a few minutes the door opened again to admit a buxom lady of uncertain years and improbable golden ringlets. She said without preamble: ‘Are you Mr Kennet’s Sophia? He’s that forgetful he must have forgotten to write! However, if you want to see him you may! Step upstairs with me, dearie! Don’t tell me this is Joseph you have brought with you!’
‘Who – who are you?’ gasped Miss Trent, utterly taken aback.