Simon's Waif Page 13

  “Harriet!” he said softly. “My dar – my dear child! What brings you here at such an hour?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Explanations were impossible until Simon had found the key and let out the excited dogs. Only when Mandy’s hysterical greeting had calmed was it possible for the two to hear each other’s voices. Simon, watching Harriet cuddle the small wriggling body against her breast, saw the tears drip on the soft fur. Something was desperately wrong to bring the girl here, alone, at this hour of the day. He had left her safe, cherished, with a woman who had seemed genuinely attached to her. What had happened to send her running to him? And thanks be to God that she had run to him.

  He took Mandy from her, tucking the protesting little animal under his arm, taking Harriet’s elbow in his other hand and steering her towards the familiar small door that gave access to the book-room.

  At the sight of the room where she had spent so many happy hours, the tears flowed again, but Harriet had reached her longed-for haven and was soon scrubbing her cheeks vigorously and apologising in shamefaced fashion for her foolish weakness.

  “It is just because I have been so frightened,” she explained simply, “and now that I know I am safe the silly tears will come. There wasn’t time before.”

  Simon studied her silently, taking good note of the marks of strain in the pale little face, a long rent in the cloak where she had torn it climbing over the wall, and the soaked and muddy shoes.

  “Are you hungry?” he said pleasantly.

  Harriet looked startled. She had expected him to enquire immediately into the reason for her unexpected arrival and had been trying to arrange her thoughts to answer him. But now that he mentioned it, she realised that she was very hungry indeed, having eaten little at dinner the previous night.

  “Yes,” she said baldly.

  “Then I’ll raid the larder and see what I can find. Meanwhile,” he poured wine into a glass and set it on a small table by the chair in which he had installed her, “drink this. Every drop. And keep that wretched animal quiet or she’ll raise the house.” For Mandy was still voicing her rapture in a series of crooning whimpers punctuated by an occasional sharp ‘yip’.

  For the moment it was enough to be here, hugging Mandy, sipping her wine, Simon bringing her something to eat. Simon would know what she should do, she thought contentedly.

  Simon certainly knew how to feed a hungry girl. He brought ham sandwiches which he shared with her, thick slices of plum cake and a dish of new season’s apples, apologising for the lack of coffee because it would take too long to light the kitchen fire but proffering instead a glass of rich, creamy milk which had stood overnight in the cool dairy.

  It was just as well that she felt much stronger and steadier after she had partaken of these delicious viands, for Simon, when she poured out her tale to him, was frankly horrified.

  It took some time to convince him that her own relatives had actually conceived such a disgusting scheme. In fact, it was the active assistance of Benworthy in such conduct as must cause any well-trained lady’s maid to hold up her hands in horror, that finally persuaded him that Harriet had not permitted imagination to get the better of her. If Benworthy had considered that flight was essential, this was no girlish green-sickness.

  Slightly ashamed because he had actually doubted his love, Simon said crisply, “Knowing the circumstances under which you fled, this is the first place where he will seek you.”

  Unaware of his temporary disloyalty, Harriet said cheerfully, “But not just yet. There is plenty of time for you to devise a hiding place. It is not for so very long. In two weeks’ time I shall be of age, and he will no longer have any control over my actions.”

  Simon could not help delighting in her trust, but the business was not as simple as she seemed to think. She was young, female and pretty. Sooner or later she would be missed, and people would want to know where she had been. Unless a credible tale could be devised her reputation would be sadly blown upon.

  That would have to be thought about, he decided, but not now. It was already five o’clock. In another hour the servants would be about. Soon after that Harriet would be missed. He must have her away to a place of safety before the hunt was up. All other considerations must wait upon that prime necessity.

  As though her thoughts had chimed with his, Harriet said, “Could you not smuggle me away as you did Jem Coburn? I don’t want to bring trouble upon you so I don’t want to be found here. But if we could get away now, before people are astir, I could hide in the woods until you have time to make arrangements for me like you did for Jem.”

  “My dear girl, if I were to drag you all over the countryside as I did young Jem, I might succeed in putting your grandfather off the scent but I should be equally successful in arousing the curiosity of a great many other people. Charming young ladies do not drive about the countryside with gentlemen unchaperoned. Nor do they ride in carrier’s carts or stage coaches, while the respectable yeomen who sheltered the reprobate Jem would be shocked to the core by such hoyden behaviour.”

  This was a severe setback. The thought of the way in which Jem had been spirited away from his enemies had done much to keep Harriet’s courage high during the anxious hours of the night.

  She said slowly, “Why should I not cut my hair and wear boy’s clothes? I daresay Mrs Bedford still has Horace Cushing’s suit tucked away somewhere, and I have some money left so you could buy me a shirt once we have put a distance between ourselves and the pursuit.”

  He stared at her thoughtfully. It was a possibility. For himself he did not see how anyone could possibly mistake the bewitching little face and charming figure for anything but feminine, but people were surprisingly unobservant. A little judicious padding on the shoulders and no opportunity allowed for close inspection, and the trick might hold. No cutting of that pretty hair though, just as it was regaining its natural beauty. It could be dressed in horizontal curls over the ears and a neat little queue at the back, with a tricorne to make the wearer look more masculine. Boots might help, too, and all these items could be purchased without difficulty once they were away from the immediate neighbourhood with its danger of recognition. He began to think quite kindly of Harriet’s suggestion and to work out the essential details.

  “They are bound to send here to enquire for you,” he planned swiftly, “and I must be here to answer them. Everything must be open and straightforward and I shall invite them to search where they wish. I’ll have you away to the Coburn’s farm within the hour. You can stay there until the coast is clear. As you know, the Coburns have no cause to love your grandfather, so you will be safe with them. I will come for you as soon as I have allayed suspicion, and will bring such articles of disguise as I can lay hands on. But where I am to take you then poses something of a problem, since the places that spring most readily to mind will be the first to be searched. However, that is a matter that will keep for the time being.”

  Harriet spent a long and anxious morning in Mrs Coburn’s apple room, where the broad shelves were all scrubbed and fresh ready for the new crop and the scent of former harvests still hung on the air. Only her hostess knew she was there, Simon having planned their arrival for a time when the maids were busy in the dairy and poultry yard and the men in the fields. She had nothing to do but pace up and down the little room, peeping occasionally out of the dormer window that overlooked the farm-yard and growing more and more sleepy. In the middle of the morning Mrs Coburn panted up the narrow stairway with a glass of milk and a plate of ginger biscuits and the reassuring news that no one had come enquiring for her. Eventually she drifted off into cramped, uneasy slumber, curled up on the floor, her head uncomfortably pillowed on the window sill.

  Simon pursued his normal morning avocations, save that he told Mrs Bedford that he would be away from home for a few days and asked her to have a bag packed for him. For all his calm and idle seeming there was tense expectation within him. Until he had dealt with the expected inte
rview he could not plan ahead and it was close on eleven o’clock before ‘Cousin Vernon’ put in an appearance. One of the maids came to the book-room to inform him that a Lord Halford had called and asked to see him on a matter of urgent business.

  Mr Warhurst was polite but distant, a busy man interrupted in the midst of his preparations for a journey, identifying his caller as ‘Colonel Pendeniston’s grandson’ whom he had not previously met, and enquiring how he could be of service.

  Cousin Vernon displayed no particular embarrassment in disclosing his predicament, saying that he and his cousin had had what he described as a lover’s tiff. The girl had refined too much upon their difference – Mr Warhurst would know the exaggerated notions that females could take into their heads – and had run off. He and his grandfather were much concerned for her safety. Had she, by any chance, sought shelter at Furzedown?

  It was beautifully, gracefully done, the ‘concern’ permitted to show through the easy mask, the rueful acceptance of a girl’s whim. If Simon had not already heard Harriet’s account he might have been deceived. As it was he had no objection to telling one or two thumping lies if it seemed desirable, and certainly none to making the fellow squirm a bit if it could be done.

  “You amaze me,” he said tranquilly. “The last time I was in Town Miss Pendeniston seemed to be settled with Lady Preston and enjoying a considerable success. I was not even aware that she had taken up residence with her grandfather. Not that it is any affair of mine, of course, but it must have been a very sudden decision. While as for a match being arranged between the pair of you, I find that even more surprising. Lady Preston and my sister listed an impressive array of suitors for your cousin’s hand, but yours was certainly not included among them, and that is no more than a month past. If already you are so far at outs that your betrothed is driven to flight, one wonders if you would not be well advised to think again. First cousins, too. But so it always is with such confirmed bachelors as myself,” he added sweetly, before Cousin Vernon could enter a protest. “We are always ready with advice. You must forgive my cynical approach.”

  Eventually he managed to dispose of the caller by suggesting that he should search the place as thoroughly as he wished in case the runaway had sought shelter unbeknownst to any one, offering the services of his household and bidding Mrs Bedford enquire most strictly among the servants as to whether any of them had seen Miss Pendeniston, but excusing himself from taking part in the search on the grounds that he was just making ready to leave. The only thing he regretted was the deep distress evinced by Mrs Bedford on hearing that Harriet had disappeared. He comforted himself in the knowledge that it would be short-lived, and that in her ignorance she had done Harriet invaluable service. None of his careless evasions would be by one half so convincing as poor Mrs Bedford’s woe-begone face.

  It was Mrs Bedford, in fact, once Cousin Vernon had taken himself off and her anxiety had been allayed, who suggested a possible refuge for Harriet. A friend of hers lived just outside Chippenham, where the Bath road turned off. The two met rarely but had corresponded for years. Mrs Bedford was sure that Miss Wilsher, a retired governess and the pink of respectability, would agree to shelter Harriet for as long as was necessary. In fact she would write her a note which Mr Warhurst could deliver in person. No one would think to look for the fugitive there. Only it might be better if Harriet was to change back into her own proper clothes before presenting herself, since Miss Wilsher was a trifle stiff in her notions and might not take kindly to a young lady gallivanting abroad in boy’s dress.

  All these instructions Simon presently delivered to his charge, together with a bundle that contained Mr Horace Cushing’s suit and a neat plain shirt, together with a pair of boots, a tricorne hat and a driving coat which would at least serve to make it more difficult to identify the wearer as female.

  Refreshed by her nap and with all present care removed by Simon’s presence, Harriet was in tearing spirits, delighted by her own appearance in masculine guise as revealed in Mrs Coburn’s mirror, practising the dashing swing with which she would sweep the drab coat about her shoulders and fiddling with her hair in a way which Simon pointed out must inevitably betray her sex. That made her behave with more circumspection, and presently she had her revenge, for Simon turned automatically to hand her up into the carriage. Mrs Coburn shook her head over the frivolous pair. They did not seem to her to be giving the business of escape the serious attention that it deserved.

  On leaving the farmyard they must follow the lane that led to the Place for a good half mile. It was enough to sober them both. They drove in silence, alert and watchful, but though they saw one or two other travellers, no one paid them any particular heed. Presently they were able to relax a little. Harriet admired the new phaeton but expressed a fear that it was hardly the kind of vehicle in which one could escape notice. Simon rather meanly pointed out that with all eyes fixed on the phaeton no one would have any attention to spare for her. She chuckled, acknowledged a hit, and then wanted to know why he had brought so much baggage and which route they were to follow.

  This time there was silence for a moment. Then he said gently, “It was the best I could devise. I have counted on your trusting yourself entirely to me.”

  One small hand rested impulsively on his knee. “You know that I do. Have I not shown it?”

  “And done me too much honour in so doing,” he said soberly. Then went on swiftly, “To be blunt, disguised or not, the less you are seen in my society the better. We do not know when we may be glimpsed, recognised, remembered. The weather is fair and settled. I propose that we avoid inns and villages as much as possible. We can bivouac in barns, or copses if the night be clement. I have brought rugs and cushions and simple provisions – can purchase more as we need them. In this way we can travel unobtrusively if slowly. Carefully nursed my bays are good for thirty miles a day for we cannot risk changing horses. And as we must travel by quiet by-ways we may take up to six days in reaching our destination. However, so long as this dry weather holds you have nothing to fear but boredom.”

  She protested vigorously, saying with patent sincerity that she could think of no more idyllic method of passing the days of waiting. In fact, she was obviously of the mind that they need not trouble Miss Wilsher at all, but could just go gipsying along until her birthday arrived. Simon would dearly have liked to support this view, but he had already yielded far too readily to temptation. He should have escorted her to some rigidly proper hotel, hired a respectable abigail to wait on her and a sturdy groom and footman to protect her, and retired to keep watch and ward from a discreet distance so that the proprieties might be observed. He had seen this perfectly clearly and had refused to do it. Not to anyone would he surrender the privilege of guarding her himself; of pretending, for a few stolen days, that she was his. She should never guess how dearly he loved her, but he would have – perhaps – a week, that he could cherish in memory for the rest of his days.

  Chapter Fifteen

  They spent a week in Arcady. Even the weather conspired to favour them. Each day dawned dew-crisp; the quiet lanes were a beguiling maze of sun and shade; the nights were still and cool. Harriet acquired a powdering of freckles on her nose, and the six days that Simon had allowed for the journey stretched into an inexcusable seven, while the horses were allowed to dawdle along in a most undisciplined fashion.

  There was no word of lovemaking between them. Save for Simon’s delicate care to spare his lady any small hardship, he treated her like the boy she pretended to be. They made a foolish joke about it, she calling herself Harry Dennis and boasting of various imaginary exploits, he devising ingenious punishment for her supposed escapades. Conversation might range from a deep discussion of moral principles to a lively argument as to the best way to fry eggs over a wood fire without acquiring the flavour of smoke. Often they lapsed into easy silence, each savouring present happiness, refusing to acknowledge the approaching shadow of desolation. As for Simon’s care for he
r – well – she was his darling and his jewel and he would cherish her so, but his conduct seemed so natural, so simple that it oppressed her no more than a butterfly’s touch. She was utterly at ease, without embarrassment or shyness. In the homely domestic pattern of making camp at some carefully chosen spot, of arranging their belongings in order while Simon tended the horses, of cooking – and arguing over – their evening meal, she bloomed into a new loveliness. Utterly content herself, she exhaled sweetness and warmth and sympathy as naturally as a flower pours out its scent. Simon adored her more with every passing minute. He never dreamed that all her sweetness stemmed from love of him, or that she thought herself too lowly to be his match in love.

  During that week they came to a better understanding of each other’s needs and natures than could ever have been possible in less intimate circumstances. Harriet talked quite openly of her life with the Cushings. Simon had scarcely realised that such people existed. The conditions under which his beloved girl had lived and worked for five years quite appalled him. Yet gradually he came to see how the very harshness of the life had bred in her a philosophical elasticity of fibre, a toughness that guarded the tender heart. It won his deep respect. He understood that she had achieved for herself a freedom of spirit that many of her more fortunate contemporaries would never attain, and he wondered how he could ever have dismissed her tolerantly as a mere child. Once they talked of loneliness. Harriet described her feelings in her grandfather’s luxurious home. Far worse, she contended, than with the Cushings. There she had been too busy to be lonely; and there was usually someone worse off than herself to pity or to comfort.