Snowdrift and Other Stories

‘If we do it must only be for a few minutes,’ he warned her.

She agreed readily to this; and as they were approaching Marlborough he drove to the Castle Inn, and commanded the waiter to bring some cold meat and fruit as speedily as possible. Miss Massingham and her puppy, whom she had christened Duke, in doubtful compliment to his Grace of Wellington, both made hearty meals, after which Miss Massingham, while Sir Charles settled the reckoning, took her pet for a run on the end of a blind-cord, which she abstracted from the coffee-room, and for which Sir Charles was called upon to pay. She said that she would walk along the broad village street, and that he might pick her up in the curricle. Ten minutes later he ran her to earth outside a bird-fancier’s shop, the centre of a small crowd of partisans and critics. Upon demand, he learned that Miss Massingham, discovering a number of songbirds cooped inside small wicker-cages, which were piled up outside the shop, had not only released the wretched prisoners, but had hotly harangued the fancier on the cruelty of his trade. It cost Sir Charles a sum grossly in excess of the birds’ worth, and the exercise of his prestige as an obvious member of the Quality, to extricate his charge from this imbroglio, and she was not in the least grateful to him for having done it. She censured his conduct in having given the man money instead of knocking him down. ‘Which I am persuaded you might have done, because Priscilla’s brother told us that you are a Pink of the Fancy,’ she said severely.

‘I shall be obliged to you,’ said Sir Charles, with asperity, ‘if you will refrain from repeating the extremely improper remarks made to you by Priscilla’s cub of a brother!’

‘Now you are vexed with me!’ said Nan.

‘Yes, for your conduct is disgraceful!’ said Sir Charles sternly.

‘I did not mean to do what you would not like,’ said Miss Massingham, in a small voice.

Sir Charles preserved an unbending silence for several minutes. It was then borne in upon him that Nan, having apparently lost her handkerchief, was wiping away large teardrops with a gloved finger. The result was not happy. Sir Charles, pulling up, produced his own handkerchief, took Nan’s chin in one hand, and with the other removed the disfiguring smudges. ‘There! Don’t cry, my child! Come, smile at me!’

She managed to obey this behest. He knew an impulse to kiss the face he had upturned, but he repressed it, released her chin, and drove on. By the time Froxfield was reached, he had succeeded in diverting her mind, and the rest of the way to Speenhamland might have been accomplished without incident had not Duke, who had been sleeping off his meal, awakened, and signified, in no uncert

ain manner, his wish to leave the curricle.

4

PULLING UP BESIDE a spinney, Sir Charles set down his passengers, adjuring Miss Massingham not to allow her disreputable pet to stray. Unfortunately, she had neglected to tie the cord round his neck again, and no sooner did he find himself on the ground than he dashed into the spinney, yapping joyfully. She ran after him, and was soon lost to sight. Sir Charles was left to study the sky, which was developing a leaden look which he did not like. When a quarter of an hour had passed, he alighted, patience at an end, led his horses into the spinney, tied the reins round a sapling, and strode off in search of the truants.

For several moments there was no response to his irate shouts, but suddenly he was checked by a hail. It came from quite near at hand, but it was disturbingly faint. Alarmed, he followed the direction of the cry, rounded a thicket, and came upon Miss Massingham, trying to raise herself from the ground. Beside her sat Duke, with his tongue lolling out.

‘Now what have you done?’ said Sir Charles, exasperated. Then he saw that Miss Massingham’s face was paper-white, and he went quickly up to her, and dropped on to one knee, saying in quite another voice: ‘My child! Are you hurt?’

Miss Massingham, leaning thankfully against his supporting arm, said: ‘I am so very sorry, sir! I didn’t perceive the rabbit-hole, and I tripped, and I think I must have d-done something to my ankle, because when I tried to stand up it hurt me so much that I f-fainted. Indeed, I did not mean to be troublesome again!’

‘No, of course you did not!’ he said soothingly. ‘Put your arm round my neck! I am going to carry you to the curricle, and then we’ll see what can be done.’

But although, when he had set her gently in her place, one glance at her ankle was enough to inform him that the first thing to be done was to remove her boot, a second glance, at her face, equally certainly informed him that to subject her to this added pain would cause her to faint again. He untethered the horses, and led them back on to the road, telling Nan curtly that he was going to drive her to Hungerford.

‘Duke!’ she uttered imploringly.

Sir Charles looked round impatiently, found Duke at his feet, and, grasping him by the scruff of his neck, handed him up to his mistress.

The short distance that separated them from Hungerford was covered in record time. Miss Massingham endured the anguish of the journey with a fortitude that touched her protector, even contriving to utter a small, gallant jest. Sir Charles, lifting her down, and carrying her into the Bear Inn, said: ‘There, my poor child! You will soon be easier, I promise! You are a good, brave girl!’

He then bore her in to the empty coffee-room, laid her on a settle, and, while the waiter hurried to summon the landlady, removed the boot from a fast-swelling foot. As he had feared, Nan fainted. By the time she had recovered from this swoon, she had been established in a private parlour. She came round to find herself lying on a sofa, with a stout woman holding burnt feathers under her nose, and two chambermaids applying wet cloths to her ankle.

‘Ah!’ said Sir Charles bracingly. ‘That’s better! Come now, my child!’

Miss Massingham then felt herself raised, was commanded to open her mouth, and underwent the unpleasant experience of having a measure of neat brandy tilted down her throat. She choked, and burst into tears.

‘There, there!’ said Sir Charles, patting her in a comforting way. ‘Don’t cry! You will soon feel very much more the thing!’

Miss Massingham, a resilient girl, began to revive. The visit of the local surgeon, fetched by one of the ostlers after prolonged search, tried her endurance high, but as he pronounced that, although she had badly sprained her ankle, she had broken no bones, she soon took a more hopeful view of her situation, and was even able to think that she might very well be driven on to Speenhamland.

But this was now impossible. Not only was she in no state to be conveyed thirteen miles in an open curricle, but the short winter’s day had ended, and the snow had begun to fall. Sir Charles was obliged to disclose to his charge that she must remain at the Bear until the following morning.

‘To own the truth,’ confided Nan, ‘I am excessively glad of it. I am a great deal better, I assure you, but I would as lief not drive any farther for a little while.’

‘Just so,’ agreed Sir Charles, with a wry smile. ‘But as I can place not the slightest dependence upon Mrs Fitton’s feeling alarm until it will be too late for her to return in quest of you, I have thought it advisable to inform them here that you are my young sister.’

‘Now, that,’ said Miss Massingham, betraying at once her innocence and her sophistication, ‘is a truly splendid thing, sir, for it shows that at last I am a grown-up lady!’

‘Let me tell you,’ said Sir Charles severely, ‘that if you had refrained from buying that outrageous hat I should have had no need to employ this subterfuge! Never in my life have I encountered such an abominably behaved brat as you are, Nan!’

‘I have been very troublesome to you, sir,’ said Nan penitently. ‘Are you very much vexed with me?’