Charity Girl

Chapter 14

Henrietta found that Grimshaw was hovering in the wide corridor which led from the hall to the drawing-room, and at once gave him the necessary directions for an organized search for Miss Steane. He received these in a manner which showed her that the cumulative effects of having received a rating from herself and of being rattled off, probably in a most intemperate language, by his raging young master, had been so salutary as to render him, temporarily at least, all eagerness to oblige. He tried to detain her by excusing his own share in the day’s evil happenings, but as he very meanly cast all the blame on to Cardle she had little compunction in cutting short his protestations. She then went quickly to the Green saloon, where she found Simon pacing round the room in a fret of impatience.

“Good God, Hetta, I thought you was never coming!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been feeling like a cat on a hot bakestone!”

“You look like one!” she told him. “I came as soon as I could, but my mother was in such a taking—”

“What, has Charlie indeed eloped with Miss Steane?” he demanded incredulously. “What a hare-brained thing to do!”

“No, of course he hasn’t! He came in a few minutes ago. He went off to watch a prize-fight, and stole out of the house so that my mother should know nothing about it. That’s no matter! But what is more serious is that Cherry has been missing for several hours, and since my mother, egged on by her woman, and by Grimshaw, had it firmly fixed in her head that she had run off with Charlie no one has made the least push to find her. I’ve told Grimshaw to send the men out immediately to search for her, and can only trust that they do find her before her father arrives.”

He blinked at her. “Yes, but—Did she steal out of the house too? What I mean is, queer sort of thing to do, isn’t it? Not telling anyone she was going out. Come to think of it, it ain’t the thing for a girl of her age to jaunter off without leave! I know Griselda never did so—in fact, I’m pretty sure my mother never allowed her to go out walking beyond the grounds without someone to bear her company, even if it was only her abigail.”

“Oh, no, nor did mine! But the case is a little different, Simon! You won’t repeat this, but it seems that there was a—a slight rumpus this morning, owing to my mother’s having found Charlie trying to flirt with Cherry, and—and refining a great deal too much upon it! And I am afraid that what she said to Cherry upset the child so much that she ran out of the house, to—to walk off her agitation, and may have lost her way, or—or met with some accident!”

“Dash it, Hetta, this ain’t the wilds of Yorkshire!” objected Simon. “If she lost her way, anyone could have set her right! And I can’t for the life of me see what sort of an accident she could have met with! Sounds to me as though she’s run away. Seems to make a habit of it!”

“Oh, Simon, surely she could not be so idiotish?” Henrietta said.

“Well, I don’t know,” he said dubiously. “Of course, I wasn’t talking to her above twenty minutes, but she didn’t seem to me a needle-witted girl by any means.”

“No,” she sighed. “She is a dear little creature, but sadly gooseish.”

“Good thing if you were rid of her,” he said. “Good thing for Des too! If it weren’t for this curst father of hers, I’d say let her go! But we shall find ourselves in the briars if he sails in expecting to clasp her to his fat bosom—yes, that’s the way he talks! At least, he didn’t say ‘fat’: that’s a what-do-you-call-it by me!—and you are obliged to tell him she’s run away, and can’t be found!”

“I shall certainly be in the briars, but why you should be I can’t conceive!” she replied, with some asperity. “And it would not be a good thing if she ran away from us under any circumstances whatever! Des entrusted her to my care, and if you think it would be a good thing if I betrayed his confidence so dismally you must be all about in your head!”

“No, no!” he said hastily. “What I meant to say was, not quite such a bad thing! The fact of the matter is, Hetta, that this ramshackle fellow is a pretty ugly customer, and it’s as plain as a pack-saddle that what he means to do is to force Des to marry the girl—or, if that fails, to bleed him for the damage done to her reputation!”

“Des didn’t damage her reputation!” she cried.

“No, I know he didn’t, and so I told the old shagbag! But the thing is I can’t prove he didn’t, because all I know is what Des told me. And that ain’t evidence, as Mr Lickpenny Steane took care to inform me! Confound Des, going off the lord only knows where, and leaving me to cope with this case of pickles! Ten to one I shall make a rare mess of it! The devil of it is, Hetta, that no one knows where he is, so I can’t—”

“He is in Bath,” she interrupted. “He came here on his way back from Harrowgate, and had formed the intention of visiting the lady who owns a school in Bath, where Cherry was educated, you know, to beg her help in finding a genteel situation for Cherry—Nettlecombe not having come up to scratch.”

“In Bath? But that’s where Steane went to! And then came up to London—no, I rather think he said he went first to the Bugles’ place! He must have missed running into Des, for he certainly hadn’t seen him when he came to call on me. In fact, he came to discover from me where Des was. Yes, and that puts me in mind of something that went clean out of my head in the hurry I was in! Dashed if I didn’t forget to ask Aldham what the dickens he meant by sending Steane round to me! Because it must have been Aldham, when Steane was badgering him to say where Des was! Fobbing the fellow off on to me! Jupiter, if I don’t give him a tongue-banger when I get back to London!” He paused, and then said, in a milder tone: “Oh, well! I daresay it was all for the best! At least I was able to head him! Now, you listen to me, Hetta! I wouldn’t have sent him here if I could have avoided it!”

“But, Simon, surely you must have done so?” she protested. “He may be a disreputable person, but he is Cherry’s father, and none of us has any right to hide her from him!”

“Well, I wouldn’t do it,” he said frankly. “But, then, she don’t hit my fancy. But I’ve a strong notion Des will do everything in his power to keep her out of Steane’s hands—once he’s taken the fellow’s measure, which he will do, in a pig’s whisper! Trouble with Des is that he’s too chivalrous by half! Not but what I daresay if I’d been such a sapskull as to have picked the girl up and promised to take care of her I might feel a trifle queasy at handing her over to Steane.”

“You know, Simon,” she said, “for some reason or other, the suspicion that you don’t like Mr Steane has taken strong possession of my mind! But apart from his ambitious scheme to win a rich and titled husband for her—which, I own, gives one no very good idea of his character, but which might, after all, spring from a wish to do his utmost to ensure for her the sort of life any father must wish for his daughter, and which, from anything I have heard of him, he is not himself in the position to provide for her—apart from this, is there any reason why he shouldn’t be allowed to take her into his own care? I can’t but feel that in coming to find her he does show that he holds her in considerable affection.” She stopped, wrinkling her brow. “Though it does seem odd of him to have left her for such a long time without a word, or a sign. However, there may be some reason for that!”

“He was probably in gaol,” said Simon. “For anything I know, he may practise all kinds of roguery, but I fancy his chief business is fuzzing, cogging, and sleeving. And I should think,” he added, “that he’d be pretty good at drinking young ‘uns into a proper state for plucking! A Captain Sharp, Hetta!” he said, seeing that she was looking bewildered. “Sort of fellow who carries a bale of flat-size aces in his pocket, and knows how to fuzz the cards!”

“Good God! Do you mean he is a cheating gamester?” she gasped. “You cannot possibly know that, Simon!”

“Oh, can’t I just?” he retorted. “You must think I’m a slow-top! What else could I think of a fellow that carries half-a-dozen visiting-cards in his pocket-book, all of ‘em with different names, and says that places like Bath and Harrowgate offer no scope for a man of his genius? Of course they don’t! There’s no deep play in the watering-places where people go for their health! And if you think Des will be ready to give her up to a rascal that will drag her all over Europe with him, rubbing shoulders with all the rags and tags of society, you can’t know Des as well as I thought you did!”

“No, no, indeed he wouldn’t be!” she said, very much shocked. “But, surely, if that is the kind of life Mr Steane leads, he cannot wish to be saddled with Cherry? Why should he?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t mean to waste my time trying to hit upon the reason. What I want you to understand, Hetta, is that he means mischief, and dangerous mischief, what’s more! When I saw what his game was, and realized what a deuced unpleasant scandal he could start, if he accused Des of seducing that tiresome girl, promising to marry her, and then tipping her the double, I told him that so far from doing any of those things Des had placed her in the care of some old friends of ours, and had himself posted off to find her grandfather. He pretended that he didn’t believe it. He even had the curst insolence to say—Well, never mind that! So I was forced to tell him that the girl was residing with Lady Silverdale, who was a widow, moving in the first circles, and as starched-up as my father! I meant it for the best, Hetta, but it gave him the chance to land me a heavy facer. He asked me how it came about that such a lady had consented to receive into her house a girl brought to her by a man of Desford’s reputation—oh, yes! I was forgetting that piece of lying insolence! Des, you’ll be interested learn, is a rake and a libertine!—without her maid, or any other attendant!” He broke off suddenly, and jerked up his head, listening to the sound of an approaching carriage. “Oh, my God, here he is!” he said. Two strides took him to the window, and while Henrietta waited in some anxiety, he stood watching the chaise-and-pair until it drew up below the terrace. He then uttered a groan, and said: “Ay, it’s Steane all right and tight!”

“I was never nearer in my life to playing least-in-sight!” confessed Henrietta. “What am I to say to him, Simon? I promise you I am in a perfect quake!”

“No need for you to be in a quake!” answered Simon, in a heartening tone. “But there’s just one thing I must mention!”

“Yes, there is need! I’ve lost Cherry! And if she isn’t found—Oh, I do wish Desford were here!”

“For the lord’s sake, Hetta, don’t you get in a stew!” begged Simon, alarmed. “And as for Des—You know, I’ve been thinking about him, and it’s my belief he will be here! If he went to Bath, we know he reached the place behind Steane, don’t we?”

“Do we?” she said distractedly.

“Of course we do! Steane didn’t meet him there, and the schooldame, whatever her name may be, didn’t tell him she had seen him. All she told him was that Lady Bugle had fetched Cherry away, and had taken her to live with her. I wish you will take a damper, Hetta! If you mean to fly into the twitters we shall be bowled out!”

This severity had its effect. She said: “No, no, I promise you I won’t! But I find my mind is less strong than I believed it to be—in fact, it is all chaos! Oh, heavens, that is Grimshaw’s step! In another moment Mr Steane will be upon us!”

“No, he won’t. Grimshaw will show him into the library, and it won’t hurt him to kick his heels there for a while. Never mind him, just mind me! If Des visited Miss Thingummy after she’d seen Steane, what would he do? Drive back to London as fast as he could, of course!”

“Unless he followed Steane to Maplewood,” she said doubtfully.

“No,” said Simon, shaking his head. “I own I did think of that myself, but the more I consider the matter the more I feel he wouldn’t have done any such thing. Well, do but put yourself in his shoes, Hetta! He knew that Cherry wasn’t living with her aunt, and he must have known that the Bugles wouldn’t have encouraged that old court-card to linger in their house! I daresay he didn’t know that Lady Bugle had told Steane that he had ‘ravished’ her away, but he must have thought the chances were that Steane would have left that place before he could reach it.”

She had been regarding him intently, trying to get her thoughts into order, but at this she said quickly: “He did know that! Lady Emborough wrote to your mama, telling her that she had received a visit from Lady Bugle, demanding to know what Des had done with her niece, and I informed Des of it!”

“That settles it, then!” said Simon. “Des would have returned to London immediately! And when he reached Arlington Street Aldham gave him the letter I scribbled—there can be no doubt about that!—and as soon as he had read it it’s Carlton House to a Charley’s shelter that he set out instantly to join me here. I shouldn’t wonder at it if he were to arrive at any minute!”

He was interrupted by Grimshaw, who came in to announce Mr Steane’s arrival, but when Grimshaw had withdrawn, he said: “There’s just one more thing I must warn you about, Hetta! Well, as a matter of fact, it’s why I rode out here as fast as I could! Steane thinks you’re betrothed to Des.”

Henrietta had been tidying her ruffled hair in front of the mirror, but at this she turned, showing Simon a startled face. “Thinks I’m betrothed to Des? Why should he think anything of the sort?”

“Well,” said Simon, a trifle conscience-stricken, “I told him you were!”

“Simon!” she uttered “wrathfully. “How could you have told him so when you must know there isn’t a word of truth in it?”

“It was the only thing I could hit upon to account for Lady Silverdale’s having received Cherry, under such dashed havey-cavey circumstances,” he explained. “And also it seemed to me the surest way of sending him to grass, if it came to an action for breach of promise. Well, it stands to reason that if Des was betrothed to you he wouldn’t have offered another female marriage, or brought her to visit you!”

“I think it was an infamous thing to have done!” she said, those expressive eyes of hers flaming with anger.

“No, no!” he assured her. “Only thing I could do! I promise you Desford won’t care a straw!”

“Desford!” she said chokingly. “And what about me, pray?”

“Hang it all!” he protested. “Why should you care either? Ten to one it won’t leak out, because unless I’m much mistaken Steane don’t mean to stay in England a day longer than he need. Besides, I told him the engagement hadn’t been announced yet—I said that was on account of my father’s health, by the by: not stout enough yet for dress-parties—so if he does blab it abroad you have only to deny it, or cry off, if you prefer.”

“Oh, how abominable you are! I’ll never forgive you for this!” she told him, an indignant flush reddening her cheeks.

“Well, never mind that!” he said, in a consolatory tone. “If I’d guessed you might object to it, I wouldn’t have done it, but I did do it, and there’s nothing for it but to stick to it. You must see that, Hetta!”

“I don’t!” she snapped.

“Do you mean to say that you’re going to tell Steane you ain’t engaged to Des?” he gasped. “Of all the shabby things to do! I wouldn’t have believed it of you! I thought you was too much of a right one to run away just when poor old Des most needs your help! Turning missish at such a moment! Dashed well stabbing him in the back!”

“Oh, be quiet!” she said crossly. “If this horrible creature is rag-mannered enough to ask me, I shan’t deny it. But what I shall do, Mr Simon Carrington, is to give you your own again!”

“That’s the hammer!” he said encouragingly. “I knew I could depend on you! Always said you were as sound as a trout! Now, you go and hold up your nose at that oily old rascal—and take care you don’t let him guess I’m here, for it won’t do if he realizes I came to warn you!”

With these kindly words, he patted her on the shoulder, and held open the door for her, meeting the scathing glance she threw at him with eyes brimming with laughter.

He then shut the door again, and retired to the broad window-seat to await the arrival of his brother. He had no doubt that Desford would arrive; the only doubt it was possible for one of his sanguine temperament to entertain was whether Desford would reach Inglehurst in time to deal with Mr Wilfred Steane before poor Hetta had been driven into the last ditch. But the longer he pondered over the question the more convinced did he become that Desford would arrive in time to take the management of what (damn it all!) were his affairs, not his brother’s, or Hetta’s, into his own hands. It wouldn’t be like Des not to make all haste to their rescue, he decided.

And his confidence was justified. Twenty minutes after Henrietta had joined Mr Steane in the library a postchaise-and-four swept round the bend in the avenue, and brought young Mr Carrington to his feet. So sure was he that its passenger was Desford that he did not wait to watch the steps being let down, but went hastily out into the hall, and intercepted Grimshaw, who was treading majestically across it towards the door. “No need for you to trouble yourself!” he said. “It’s only my brother! I’ll let him in!”

Grimshaw looked at once surprised and disapproving, but he bowed, and went back to his own quarters, reflecting that Mr Simon always was a regrettably harum-scarum young man, much too prone to brush aside the ordinary conventions of Polite Society.

Simon went bounding down the steps just as Desford alighted from the chaise, and called out: “Lord, am I glad to see you, Des! You old slip-gibbet!”

“I’ll be bound you are,” said the Viscount, receiving this unflattering appellation, and the playful punch to his ribs which accompanied it, as marks of affection, which, indeed, they were. “I’m much obliged to you, bantling: no reason why you should be called upon to enter into this imbroglio!”

“Oh, gammon!” said Simon. “A pretty fellow I should be to have given you the bag! And a rare hank you’d be in if I had, let me tell you!” He lowered his voice, and said seriously: “It’s worse than you know, Des.”

“Good God, is it?” He nodded to his head postilion, saying briefly: “I don’t know how long I shall be: probably an hour or two. We shall spend the night at Wolversham.” He turned back to Simon, as the chaise moved on towards the stables, and asked: “Has Steane arrived yet?”

“Yes, about half-an-hour ago. He’s with Hetta, in the library.”

“Then I had best lose no time in joining them.”

“Oh, yes, you had, dear boy!” said Simon, acquiring a firm grip on his arm. “What you had best do is to listen to what I have to tell you, if you don’t wish to make mice feet of the business! We’ll take a little stroll along the terrace, as far as that damned uncomfortable stone seat, where we shan’t be overheard.”

“If you’re going to tell me that Steane is a fat rascal, I know it already. I visited Miss Fletching the day after Steane had been there, bullocking her until the poor lady succumbed to an attack of the vapours. I don’t know what upset her most: the thundering scolds she got from him, or the discovery that he had grown very fat. From what she said to me, I’d no difficulty in gathering that he hasn’t altered since the days when he was obliged to fly the country. What’s his lay? Card-sharping?”

“Undoubtedly, I should think, though I daresay he ain’t particular. Any form of flat-catching, from the looks of him! His present lay, my boy, is to compel you to marry his precious daughter!”

The Viscount burst out laughing. “Well, he’ll be queered on that suit!”

“If I were you, Des, I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” said Simon.

“My dear lad, I am quite certain of it! I met her for the first time at a ball the Bugles gave, and had a conversation with her; on the following day I encountered her on my way to London, took her up into my curricle, and conveyed her first to London, and then brought her here, since when I haven’t laid eyes on her. So if Steane has any notion of accusing me of having seduced her the sooner he rids himself of it the better it will be for him.” He saw that Simon was looking unusually grave, and said, in a little amusement: “I’m not shamming it, you know!”

“Well, of course I know it! But this fellow could make nasty mischief. What if he set it about that you stole Cherry away from her aunt’s house, under a promise to marry her?”

“Good God, is he as bad as that?”

Simon nodded. “I daresay you could disprove a charge of having made off with her, and kept her until you was tired of her—”

“What, in one day? Doing it too brown, Simon!”

“The point is can you prove it was only one day? I shouldn’t think that Bugle woman would support you: she’s already told Steane you ravished Cherry out of the house. Seems one of her daughters overheard what you and Cherry were saying, on the night of that ball.”

“Well, she didn’t overhear me trying to persuade Cherry to run off with me. And considering upwards of half-a-dozen people saw me leave Hazelfield some time after breakfast on the following morning, and the Silverdales took charge of Cherry that same evening, I don’t think that cock will fight!”

“No, very likely not, but you wouldn’t want such an on-dit to be running round the town, would you? You know what all the tattlemongers would say: No smoke without fire! and the lord knows there are enough of them on the town!” He grinned, watching the kindling of the Viscount’s eyes, and the hardening of the lines about his mouth. “Never mind looking like bull-beef, Des! Would you want that?”

The Viscount did not answer for a moment, but sat frowning down at his own finger-nails. He had turned his closed hand over, and seemed to find the row of well-kept nails interesting. But presently he straightened his fingers, and looked up, meeting Simon’s eyes. “No, I wouldn’t,” he replied. He smiled faintly. “But I hardly think he will attempt anything of that sort. For one thing, it would be to lay himself open to reprisal; and for another, he must surely know that he is in extremely ill-odour here. No one for whose opinion I care a button would believe a word he said.”

“What about your enemies?”

“I haven’t any!”

“Why, you old windy-wallets!” exclaimed Simon indignantly. “Talk of ringing one’s own bell—!”

The Viscount laughed. “No, no, how can you say so?”

“Let me tell you, Des, that this is no laughing matter!” said Simon severely. “I don’t say you couldn’t beat him all to sticks if he accuses you of having seduced Cherry, for very likely you could—though I don’t think you’d enjoy it. But you wouldn’t find it as easy to fight an action for breach of promise!”

“Why not? For that to succeed Cherry’s testimony would be needed, and he won’t get that.”

“Anyone would take you for a mooncalf!” said Simon, quite exasperated. “Next you’ll say he’s welcome to try it! Well, if you’ve no objection to setting yourself up as a subject for steward’s room gossip, what do you imagine the parents would feel about it?”

“But, Simon, how could he possibly bring such an action without support from Cherry?”

“He could start one, couldn’t he? What do they call it? File a suit? Because he knows you’d pay through the nose to stop him!”

“I’m damned if I would!”

“And what about my father? Ay, that’s another pair of sleeves, ain’t it? He would! I sent that old hedgebird here because he threatened to go to Wolversham, and hoax my father with his lying story! And the next thing was that he had the infernal brass to ask me how it came about that Lady Silverdale had been persuaded to receive Cherry at the hands of such a libertine as you are, brother! So I said that you were betrothed to Hetta!”

“You said what?”Desford demanded, taken aback.

“Well, I thought there was nothing for it but to go the whole pile,” explained Simon. “It seemed to me to be the best thing I could say, because if he believed it he was bound to see that it turned his scheme to accuse you of having promised to marry Cherry into a case of crabs. Which he did see! Never saw a man look so blue in my life! But if you don’t like it I’m sorry, but considering you and Hetta have been as thick as inkle-weavers for the lord knows how many years, I didn’t think you’d care a straw for it!”

“I don’t,” said Desford, a queer little smile hovering round his mouth. “But my father already knows the true story! I told it him myself, on my way back from Harrowgate.”

“Told him—Des, you didn’t!” uttered Simon, turning pale with dismay. “How could you have done anything so blubber-headed?”

There was a good deal of amusement in the Viscount’s eyes, but he answered meekly: “Well, as he had already got wind of the business, and had driven over here with Mama to discover what sort of a girl I had apparently become entangled with, it seemed to be the only thing I could do.”

“Lord!” said Simon, with an eloquent shiver. “You’ve got more bottom than I have, Des! Did he come the ugly?”

“Not at all! You should know him better than to think he would, when any of us three were in the suds! Oh, he read me one of his scolds, but he told me to come to him if I found myself at the end of my rope! Mind you, he’d met Cherry by that time, and knew at a glance that she wasn’t a designing harpy!”

“So I might have spared myself the trouble of heading him away from Wolversham!” said Simon wrathfully. “Upon my word, Des—”

“Oh, no! I’m grateful to you for having done so! He wouldn’t have believed Steane’s story, but it’s more than likely that he would have paid him handsomely to keep his mouth shut, and I’m damned if I’ll allow Steane to put the screw on him! He told me himself that when he came here it was with the intention of buying Cherry off, if he found that she was a designing harpy. Never mind that! Did you come here to warn Hetta that she is engaged to me?”

“Yes, of course! I had to!”

“And how did she take it?”

“I’m bound to own that she flew up into the boughs, which surprised me. What I mean is, not like her to turn missish all at once! However, I pointed out to her that if the story were to leak out she could either deny it, or cry off, so she mended her temper, and promised she’d stand buff. No need to fear she may run shy! I’ll say this for Hetta: she may be a trifle freakish now and then, but she’s a right one at heart!”

“Yes, the pick of the basket!” Desford said, getting up. “And the sooner I go to her rescue—”

“Stay a moment, Des! They are all in an uproar, because that troublesome girl seems to have loped off!”

“Cherry? Good God, why?”

“Oh, Hetta thinks it was because Lady Silverdale found Charlie kissing her, and gave her a scold! She also thinks Cherry may have met with an accident, and she’s sent off most of the men to search for her. The devil of it is, of course, that if they don’t find her Steane will be sure to cut up rough. Very likely he’ll accuse the Silverdales of having ill-used her!”

“Oh, my God, as though we weren’t in bad enough loaf already!” groaned the Viscount, striding away towards the door into the house.

“Hi, wait!” Simon called, suddenly bethinking himself of something, and jumping up from the seat. He thrust a hand into his pocket, pulled out a package, and hurried after his brother. “Here you are, old chap!” he said, holding it out, with a shy smile. “Very much obliged to you!”

“But what is it?”

“A roll of soft, you gudgeon! The monkey you lent me!”

“Chuff it!” recommended the Viscount. “I told you at the time that I wasn’t going to let you break my shins! Did Mopsqueezer win?”

“I should rather think he did! What’s more, there was a horse entered for the last race, called Brother Benefactor, so I put all my winnings on him, and he came home at ten-to-one! Bound to, of course!”

The Viscount gave a shout of laughter. “Lord, what a cockle-headed thing to do! No, stop pushing that roll at me! I don’t want it! You may be said to have earned it, what’s more!” He laid a hand on Simon’s shoulder, and gave him a little shake. “You must have been having the devil of a time in the bumble-broth I brewed! Thank you, bantling!”

“Oh, fudge!” Simon said, deeply flushing. “I wish you would take it! I’m fairly swimming in lard, you know!”

“You won’t be, by the time you return from Brighton!” retorted the Viscount.