Sprig Muslin

Hildebrand was in full agreement with her on this point, having the greatest reluctance to spread further than was strictly necessary the story of the day’s dreadful events, but an unwelcome consideration had occurred to him, and he said uneasily: ‘Will it not make Mrs Chicklade even more unamiable, if we bring Lady Hester here to stay? You know, I don’t like to mention it to you, but she has been saying such things! I don’t think Chicklade will attend to her, because he seems to be a good sort of a fellow, but she wants him to tell Dr Chantry he won’t have Sir Gareth here, or any of us, because nothing will persuade her we are respectable persons – which, when one comes to think of it, we are not,’ he added gloomily. ‘Depend upon it, she doesn’t believe the hum you told her, about Sir Gareth’s being our uncle.’

‘We must remember always to say “my uncle” when we have occasion to mention him,’ nodded Amanda. ‘In fact, we had better call him Uncle Gareth even between ourselves, so that we get into the habit of it.’

‘Yes, but she is so horridly suspicious that I daresay that won’t answer. And, in any event, it wouldn’t explain Lady Hester. I don’t think we ought to say that she is betrothed to Sir – to Uncle Gareth – if you are not perfectly sure of it. Ten to one, it would make her feel very awkward, if it turned out to be no such thing.’

‘Yes, very true,’ she replied, frowning over this difficulty. ‘I don’t at all wish to put her in an uncomfortable situation, so we must think of some tale which that disagreeable woman will believe.’

He watched her doubtfully, but after a moment her brow cleared, and she said: ‘Of course I know the very thing to make all right! Lady Hester must be my aunt! Because it is the circumstance of my having no chaperon that makes Mrs Chicklade so disobliging. While I was putting off my stained gown, she kept on asking me the most impertinent questions, and saying that she wondered that my mother should let me travel in such a way, just as if she was sure I had no mother, which, indeed, I haven’t, as I told her. And also I told her that I had an aunt instead, and I could see that she didn’t believe me, though it is quite true. So, I think, Hildebrand, that the thing for you to do is to inform Chicklade that you feel it to be your duty to fetch my aunt, and that will convince Mrs Chicklade that I was speaking the truth!’

Thus it was arranged, Chicklade greeting the suggestion with instant approval, and a good deal of relief. Hildebrand saddled Prince, and rode off, leaving Amanda preparing to banish Mrs Bardfield irrevocably from the sickroom. It seemed likely that she would enjoy this task very much more than he expected to enjoy his.

He managed to reach Huntingdon in good time, by riding whenever possible across country. He learned there that his goal was situated very much nearer to St Ives, and so rode on to that town. At the Crown, he was able to hire a post-chaise and pair, and to stable Prince; and midway through the afternoon he arrived at Brancaster Park.

Amanda, having strictly enjoined him to disclose his errand to none but Lady Hester, had seemed to think there could be no difficulty about doing this, but when he was admitted into the house by a servant, who civilly enquired what his name was, he saw that it was only too probable that Lady Hester would refuse to receive a gentleman quite unknown to her. He explained, stammering a little, that his name would not be familiar to her ladyship; and then, as he thought the servant was looking suspiciously at him, he added that he was the bearer of an urgent message. The man bowed, and went away, leaving him in a large saloon, where he instantly fell a prey to all sorts of forebodings. Perhaps the Earl would come in, and demand to know his business; perhaps Lady Widmore would intercept the message to her sister-in-law; or, worse than all, perhaps Lady Hester was not at home.

The minutes ticked by, and he became more and more apprehensive. He hoped that his neckcloth was straight, and his hair tidy, and, seeing that a mirror hung at one end of the room, he went to it, to reassure himself on these points. He was engaged in smoothing his rather creased coat when he heard the door open behind him, and turned quickly to find that he was being regarded by a lady in a pomona green half-dress and a lace cap tied over her softly waving brown hair. Much discomposed to have been surprised preening himself in front of a mirror, he blushed scarlet, and became tongue-tied.

After thoughtfully observing these signs of embarrassment, the lady smiled, and stepped forward, saying: ‘Pray do not mind! I know exactly how one is always quite positive that one’s hat is crooked, or that there is a smut on one’s face. How do you do? I am Hester Theale, you

know.’

‘How do you do?’ he returned, still much flushed. ‘My name is Ross – Hildebrand Ross, but – but you don’t know me, ma’am!’

‘No,’ she agreed, sitting down on the sofa. ‘But Cliffe said that you have a message for me. Won’t you be seated?’

He thanked her, and sat down on the edge of a chair, and swallowed once or twice, trying to think how best to explain himself to her. She waited patiently, her hands folded in her lap, and smiled encouragingly at him.

‘It is Amanda!’ he blurted out. ‘I mean, it was she who made me come, because she said she knew you would help her, but I didn’t above half like to do it, ma’am, only – only the case is so desperate, you see!’

She looked startled, and exclaimed: ‘Oh, dear! Didn’t Sir Gareth find her, then? Of course I will do anything I can to help her, and if my uncle is the cause of her sending you to me, it is quite too dreadfully mortifying – though only to be expected, I am ashamed to say.’

‘No, no! I mean, Sir Gareth did find her, but – well, it isn’t for herself that Amanda wishes you to go to her, but for him!’

She blinked at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said, bewildered.

He got up jerkily, squaring his shoulders. ‘The thing is – I don’t know how to tell you – but I – but he is very ill, ma’am!’

‘Sir Gareth very ill?’ she repeated, still looking bewildered. ‘Surely you must be mistaken? He was perfectly stout when I saw him yesterday!’

‘Yes, but the thing is that I have shot him!’ said Hildebrand, rushing his fence.

He hoped very much that she would not swoon away, or fall into hysterics, and was at first relieved that she neither moved nor spoke. Then he saw that not only was she alarmingly pale, but her eyes were staring at him blindly, and he had a horrid fear that perhaps she was about to have a spasm. But when she spoke, it was in a strangely calm voice that seemed to come from a long way away. ‘You said – very ill. Did you mean – dead?’

‘No, upon my honour!’ he answered eagerly. ‘And the doctor assured us that the bullet didn’t touch a vital spot, but he lost so much blood, in spite of Amanda’s doing all she could to stanch it – which, I must say, she did – and it was in so deep, that he may become feverish, and there is only Amanda to nurse him – though I am ready to do anything in my power – because she won’t let the midwife touch him. She says she is dirty and rough, and for my part I think she’s an elbow-crooker, because she reeks of spirits.’

She listened to this not very lucid speech intently, but it was apparently beyond her comprehension, for when he stopped she got up, and went to him, laying her hand on his sleeve, and saying: ‘I beg your pardon, but I don’t understand what you are trying to tell me. I think there has been an accident, has there not? And Sir Gareth was hurt, but not fatally?’

‘Yes – that is, I never meant to shoot him, I swear!’

‘Oh, no, I am sure you could not have meant to!’

These soothing words and the smile that went with them, made him say impulsively: ‘I was afraid you would be very angry. But Amanda said you would not, ma’am – though when you learn the whole –’

‘I don’t think I shall be angry. But I should be very much obliged to you if you would sit down beside me here, on the sofa, and tell me just how it happened, because at present it does seem very odd to me that Sir Gareth should have been shot. Unless, of course, you had taken your gun out after wood-pigeons, and shot him by accident?’

‘Worse!’ uttered Hildebrand, with a groan. ‘I held up his chaise!’

‘But he wasn’t travelling in a chaise,’ said Lady Hester.