Sprig Muslin

‘No, why? I shall say that I want them for you, because you are laid by the heels here, and have nothing to read.’

‘I wonder why I shouldn’t have guessed that you would drag me into it?’ observed Sir Gareth, in a musing tone.

Hildebrand grinned, but assured him that he need have no fear.

‘I must own, Gareth,’ said Hester thoughtfully, after Hildebrand had departed, ‘that I can’t help hoping you may be wrong about Bow Street. What shall we do, if we have Runners after us?’

‘Emigrate!’ he replied promptly.

She smiled, but said: ‘You know, it would be very exciting, but not, I think, quite comfortable, because, although we have done nothing wrong, the Runners might not perfectly understand just how it all came about. Unless, of course, Amanda is able to think of another splendid story.’

‘Any story of Amanda’s will infallibly land us all in Newgate. I see nothing for it but emigration.’

‘Not all of us, Gareth: only you!’ she said, with a gleam of humour. ‘She will certainly tell them that you abducted her, because nothing will persuade her that an abduction is something quite different. Oh, well, we must just hope that there may be a notice in one of the papers! And I should think that there would be, for the grandfather must wish to get Amanda back as soon as ever he may.’

But when Hildebrand returned, later in the day, from his errand, she was found to have been wrong. Hildebrand came into Sir Gareth’s room, laden with periodicals, which he dumped on the floor, saying breathlessly: ‘All for you, Uncle Gary! He would have me bring them, because he says he knows you! Lord, I thought we were in a fix then, but I don’t fancy any harm will come of it.’

‘Oh, my God!’ exclaimed Sir Gareth. ‘I suppose you had to tell him my name? Who is he?’

‘Well, I never thought it would signify. And, in any event, everyone knows who you are, because the post-boy told Chicklade what your name was, when you were carried in, that day.’

Amanda, who was seated on the floor, scanning, and discarding, copy after copy of the Morning Post, looked up to say, ‘I told you you would only make a muff of it! If I had gone myself, I should have made up a very good name for Uncle Gary, only you have no ingenuity, and can think of nothing!’

‘Yes!’ retorted Hildebrand. ‘You would have said he was Lancelot du Lake, or something so silly that no one would have believed it!’

‘Don’t imagine you are going to quarrel over me!’ interposed Sir Gareth. ‘What I want to know is not what name of unequalled splendour Amanda would have bestowed on me, but what is the name of this recluse, who says he knows me?’

Amanda, uninterested, retired again into the advertisement columns of the Morning Post. Hildebrand said: ‘Vinehall, sir: Barnabas Vinehall.’

‘Well, I should never have made up as silly a name as that!’ interpolated Amanda scornfully.

‘Good God!’ ejaculated Sir Gareth. ‘I thought he was dead! You don’t mean to say he lives here?’

‘Yes, but there’s no need for any of us to be in a quake, because he never goes out now: he told me so!’ said Hildebrand reassuringly. ‘He is the fattest man I ever laid eyes on!’

‘I fail to see –’

‘No, but only listen, Uncle Gary! It’s dropsy!’

‘Poor man!’ said Hester sympathetically. ‘Who is he, Gareth?’

‘He was a crony of my father’s. I haven’t seen him for years. Dropsy, eh? Poor old Vinehall! What did you tell him, Hildebrand?’

‘Well, only that you had had an accident, and were laid up here. The mischief was that I had previously said I was your nephew, because as soon as he knew your name he said I must be Trixie’s eldest son. I didn’t know who Trixie was –’

‘– so, of course, you said you were not!’ put in Amanda.

‘No, I did not! You are not the only person who can tell untruths!’ retorted Hildebrand. ‘I said I was!’

‘Who did you say I was?’ demanded Amanda.

‘Nobody. You were not mentioned,’ replied Hildebrand, depressing pretension. ‘The only thing that put me in a fright, sir, was Mr Vinehall’s supposing that Aunt Hester must be this Trixie. Because I had said that your sister was nursing you, and I collect that Trixie is your sister.’

‘My only sister!’ said Sir Gareth, covering his eyes with his hand. ‘What I have ever done to deserve being saddled with such a nephew as you – ! Go on! Let me know the worst!’

‘There is no worst! He did say that he hoped Trixie – your sister, I mean, sir – would visit him, but I made that right immediately, by saying that she might not leave you while you were ill, and that as soon as you were better she would be obliged to hurry back to her own home. Then I said that I was sure you would wait on him, as soon as you were able, which seemed to please him very much. Then he talked about your father, and at last he made his butler tie up a great bundle of papers and periodicals for you to read, and so I made my escape. Now tell me if I did wrong, sir?’

‘Well!’ The word burst from Amanda, sitting back on her heels in a welter of newspapers, her eyes flashing. ‘Would you have believed it? He has not done it! Why – why – one would almost think he did not wish to have me back!’