Cousin Prudence (27 page)

“No!  I mean, he is perfectly amiable but I have not the least tendre for him, nor yet for anyone!” declared Kitty.  “But he was good enough to offer his aid when he saw me crying.”

“Then Mr Penrose, who does not in the least wish to be stuck in the country, shall return to London when his horses are rested… or you shall borrow Arthur’s…. And will go to Aunt Mouser with a letter I shall write to her explaining that you are safe at Hartfield and shall remain here until you get over your megrims.”

“Will Alver let me borrow his team?” asked Mr Penrose doubtfully.

“To get rid of one more extraneous person I shall so long as you take them to Aunt Mouser and leave them in the care of her chief groom!” said Arthur “Abel knows what he is about!  And if that driver of yours IS throwing out a splint, no way you can work the poor creature!  Ask Abel to have someone bring them down to me; there’s a likely boy who can stay and help in the stables here. 

You'll just have to hire job horses until yours are healed; and that’s a long business. Whoever sold them to you saw you coming!”

“I wondered if they were a little young for heavy work,” admitted Mr Penrose. 

“Well come and see Alison; she’s an obliging sort of girl, will rustle you up something to eat before you leave” said Arthur “leave the ladies in peace.  Tactful you know.”

“I had no idea you knew what tact was,” Mr Penrose was saying as they withdrew.

“Very well Kitty; what is so bad about this suitor that throws you into a pother?” demanded Prudence. Emma came tripping in and sat down on the other side of the weeping girl.

“His name is Mr Letheridge,” said Kitty “And he’s
old
!  Why he must be as old as Cousin Gervase!”

“Gervase is not old!” said Prudence “He is two-and-thirty; a most excellent age in a man!”

“A little too young even,” said Emma, smugly contemplating the thought of her George.

“Well I think it old!” said Kitty “And he is- is not in the least bit dashing or romantic; h
e is interested in
steam engines,
and he took me as a day out to some foundry with Diana and Helen – Helen is eight – and they enjoyed it well enough, well Diana asked enough questions, and I did not.”

“Why how civil of him to include your little cousins in a day out and find something that they enjoyed!” said Prudence “Did you not suggest Astley’s Amphitheatre or a balloon ascension at Vauxhall?”

“We did go to Astley’s a previous time, and that was vastly diverting,” admitted Kitty, “oh but Pru!  His first name is
Meleager
!”

“That is a distinct fault in any man
,” agreed Prudence, “but scarcely one that is his fault; not one that he can remedy.  Do not his most intimate friends have a shortening or a nickname?”

“I do not know
,” said Kitty crossly, “but Aunt Mouser seems to think it a frivolous reason for making any complaint about him; she laughed at me, so how could I tell her that I did not wish to receive him to make me an offer?”

“Good grief you dear but silly little pea-goose!” said Prudence
, “just because she has agreed to permit him to make you an offer does not mean that she necessarily expects you to accept it!  When was he to come?”

“This afternoon!” cried Kitty.

“Then he will have found you absent; did you leave a note?”

“Oh yes!” said Kitty.

“So Aunt Mouser knows where you were bound?” asked Prudence and groaned as Kitty shook her head.

“I said I was going to One who would protect me!” she said.

“You silly girl!” said Emma, “that sounds as though you have eloped with someone you foolish child!”

Kitty gasped and fainted.

Emma and Prudence caught each other’s eyes and sighed.  Prudence arranged Kitty comfortably on the day bed while Emma went for a vinaigrette to arouse Kitty with its pungent scent.

Kitty coughed, moaned and sat up.

“I shall write to Aunt Mouser straight away,” said Prudence, “
what
a to do; well I doubt that Mr Letheridge will offer for you now, Kitty; such hoydenish behaviour will surely give him a distaste for you…bless the girl she’s off again!”

Mr Penrose left in short order bearing a note for Aunt Mouser couched in Prudence’s forthright style to the effect that Kitty was safe, chaperoned, wishful to wed nobody, and now she had stopped fainting as sensible as she ever was which was not saying a great deal.  Prudence explained that the child had developed the idea that Aunt

Mouser would force her into marriage and suggested that if Aunt Mouser had the chance to do an ill turn to the girl’s father it would be a good idea, since his seeming treatment of  her as goods to be sold must surely have induced this foolish maggot in her head.

Arthur went over to Donwell to tell Gervase.

Both Gervase and Prudence were much more sanguine about Kate at least by this time since the fever had broken in the night – Gervase was exhausted and Marsh wa
s with the now sleeping girl – and she seemed likely to live.  Once the fever broke there was no likelihood that she was in the least infectious; and Prudence had stripped and changed her sweat-sodden nightdress and she was to sleep from now on indoors under the care of Mrs Hodges overnight.  Which being so, Gervase was more inclined to sardonic amusement over Kitty’s latest flight and called it ‘another flight of fancy’. 

Arthur moved in, and declared himself willing to bear a part of checking up on a girl that was no longer infectious, and by jove even if she was, it was less dangerous than the toils of one of Kitty’s embroglios.

Gervase was inclined to agree.

Kate should need nothing more than aid with her physical requirements – which Mrs Hodges was more than equal to deal with – and feeding up; and Gervase was ready to step aside from her care and interest himself in the limited social life of Highbury.

“There’s a whist club at the ‘Crown’,” volunteered Arthur on hearing his uncle’s resolve, “I joined it.  Mind, I did say that it was as well that my uncle was too busy to come along or there’d be no point anyone else turning up except that Captain Lord Hornblower fellow.”

“Hornblower plays a very sound game
,” said Gervase, “remarkably cautious though when one considers how reckless his actions often were in his younger days; some have compared him to Nelson.”

“He was a friend of Uncle Percy, wasn’t he?” asked Arthur.

“Yes; a good friend,” said Gervase, “took care of young Percy when he was a midshipman.  I don’t care what they say about the scandal; he has had plenty of trouble in his life but he’s a kindly man and his wife stands by him.  And he needs the whist for his pride because no man on half-pay wants to live on his wife.”

“I can see that
,” said Arthur, “I’m no end grateful that grandfather left enough for father that I have a comfortable competence; and that you invested it wisely for me and pay me a handsome allowance.”

“
Which
I shall cut off if you get rusticated again,” said Gervase, “and you may spend some of your leisure in George’s excellent library to make sure that your studies do not suffer.”

Arthur pulled a face; but did not bother to protest.  Uncle Gervase could be a capital fellow when he was being unbending but he was also not to be crossed in his strictures.  He gave a shy grin.

“I say, Uncle Gervase, when you gave me those driving lessons, it has helped me to appreciate you as a person not just a stern guardian; and though I’d not wish to disobey you, I’m no longer scared of you.”

“I am only sorry that you were afraid of me, Arthur
,” said Gervase, “I have been very stern with you; partly it was a nervousness about the responsibility of taking on a stripling; and partly because I feared you might be as sadly unsteady as your father.  I loved my big brother Laurence but he was the saddest trial to papa!”

“
That
was why you were in such boughs when Kitty persuaded me to run of with her – because papa eloped with mama, did he not?” said Arthur.

“He did
,” said Gervase, “and your papa left his legacy well entailed to pass to you for he was an inveterate gambler; which tendency I am glad to say you appear not to have inherited.”

“To be honest sir, I find it slow
,” said Arthur.  “I prefer to be doing something active.  I have enjoyed walking the Donwell estate with William Larkins; do you suppose I might train to take over from our own Clitheroe when he retires?”

“Well if you would like to do that I cannot think of anyone I had rather have to take care of my interests
,” said Gervase, “but you would not be able to gallivant off to town.”

Arthur laughed.

“Oh town is well enough; and it pleases me to show off how well you have taught me to drive; but I am most awfully contented here, and too I miss Alverston most dreadfully; I do too when I am up at Oxford.  I am not cut out to study history and law.  Should you mind if I withdrew?”

“Yes I should
,” said Gervase, “George has a good degree; education is never wasted.  If you truly love the land, you should concentrate more on the classics to be able to read old documents about land tenancy and changing use of the land; we have a huge amount of unsorted records in the muniment room that I have never got around to sorting.”

“Well if it is to be for a purpose I suppose it is worth working on
,” said Arthur. “Classics for the sake of the classics has always been dull.”

“Look in the library for the plays of Aristophanes
,” said Gervase, “or ,more particularly the works of Catullus; look where there are several dirty pages together which is where they have been most opened. That will be the most er interesting part to a juvenile male.”

“By J
ove sir, I believe I shall look!” said Arthur.

Chapter 34

Gervase woke to the orange glow that penetrated the mist. 

FIRE
!

He leaped out of bed, pulling on his buckskins over his nightshirt and forcing bare feet into his walking boots; and pulled on his dressing gown for greater warmth than a jacket.  Marsh roused in an instant at his master’s stirring; glanced at the window and whistled.

“Fellowes place if I’m not mistaken My Lord,” he said.

“As I too thought
,” said Gervase curtly, “if some misguided fools have tried to burn them out for fear of sickness….”

“It would scarcely be surprising
,” said Marsh, scrambling on clothes himself.

The usually immaculate Marquess of Alverston was joined at the scene of the fire by George and John Knightley who had also been roused by it; and  Gervase and Marsh had been followed in short order by Arthur.

There were other villagers, pulling the rush thatching from the blazing roof and forming a chain gang to bring water. 

There was movement at the door and Arthur ran forward first, almost driven back by the heat, snatching and carrying out a small figure.

Gervase pulled off his dressing gown to beat out the flames that had spontaneously erupted from Arthur’s coat; pushing him and his burden to the ground.  And then he was ripping the charred clothing from the child, a little girl of perhaps five summers.

No lice would have survived that; but by a miracle, and the thicknesses of the many layers of the missmatched clothing that the child had been wearing, her clothing had

burned leaving her skin untouched! Her hair was burned away, and there were burns on her hands and face, but they might
be dressed, and for now cooled in water. 

“Arthur! Are you all right?” Gervase demanded.

Arthur managed a rather scorched grin.

“Singed about the edges dear uncle
,” he said, “like a good rare steak that has just looked at the flame.”

“Fool
,” said Gervase, ascertaining that Arthur’s burns too were minor.

“Nobody could go in there
,” said Arthur, “it was a furnace; she was under something,  it fell with the flames but it had protected her.”

“I was under ve vash tub betause I vos naughty
,” said the infant. “It blowed away.”

“I have seen a fire where the flames suddenly flash overhead and then furniture may be bowled away in the blast from it
,” said Gervase, “it happened in Spain…. A stable block; a horse was blown quite clear out, unburned but dead of the shock. The washtub has saved this little one’s life.  What is your name, child?”

“If it please it is Becky
,” said the child.  “My hands do hurt!”

“Keep them in this water
,” said Gervase, hustling to help see if the house might be saved, if there were any other living occupants.

William Larkins shook his head.

“We are too late, My Lord,” he said.  “If you ask me it has been smouldering long and this sudden storm of fire caused by Fellowes opening the door and creating a draught,” he indicated a charred thing on the ground in front of the hovel.