30
All’s Well That Ends Well
Jack turned as white as his shirt. “WHAT?” he shouted.
“Yessir,” said the old butler miserably. “’E come a-calling: said he met them on the road, what it ain’t like the mistress to spring ’er ’orses, Master Jack, only she was in a temper about zoomthing or another, and they puts up at this inn what usual she would never have patronoised, sir, only Miss Peg did say it was clean enough; and this feller turns up there and Miss Peg, she greets ’im like a long-lost brother—”
“Where is your mistress?” interrupted Jack grimly.
Recalled to himself, the old servant bowed stiffly and said: “In the small salon, sir. Pray step this way.”
Mrs Portwinkle was sitting bolt upright on a small sofa, staring grimly in front of her. In an armchair to her right was a small, wizened, elderly gentleman in a tie-wig, breeches and gaiters, wearing what appeared to be a black frock coat. Yes, it was, Jack saw, as he got up and gave a creaky bow.
“My great-nephew, Mr Beresford,” said Mrs Portwinkle on an annoyed note. “Mr Fogarty. –May one enquire why my house is being thus favoured, sir?”
Jack bowed to the old man—whose name he seemed to have heard before, actually, though he could not, in his disturbed state of mind, place him—and replied grimly: “I am looking for Peg. I collect you’ve let her run off, ma’am?”
Her colour rose alarmingly. “There is no need to be impertinent!”
“But—but perhaps he can help, Mrs Portwinkle,” quavered Mr Fogarty.
“How, pray?”
The old man was silent, looking at Jack with a mixture of hope and doubt on his wrinkled face.
Jack opened his mouth but before he could speak his great-aunt snapped: “Perhaps you would kindly inform us why you are hovering, Denby?”
The old butler was still standing by the door. Jack’s nostrils flared. “He is apparently concerned about Peg’s fate, ma’am, which would appear to make two of us!”
“Three!” gulped Mr Fogarty.
“Kindly remove yourself, Denby,” ordered Mrs Portwinkle grimly.
Bowing, the unfortunate old butler tottered out.
“She has run off with that fat cit, and that is an end of it,” said Mrs Portwinkle grimly to the ambient air about six inches above and beyond Jack’s right shoulder.
“No, it is not! Why has she gone with him, when, and where?”
Silence. Mr Fogarty licked his lips, looked uneasily at his hostess, and did not dare to speak.
“Believe me, ma’am, it would be the greatest pleasure in the world to me to choke it out of you,” said Jack affably.
“How DARE you!” she shouted.
“I dare because Peg is an innocent child who was momentarily in your house and under your protection! When did she GO?”
This time Mr Fogarty drew a trembling breath and said: “It was less than two hours since, sir. Um, well, I had not positively arrived meself just yet, you see. I mean, I was on my way.” He swallowed. “I came up the drive—I was driving the trap, out of course, sir, for Grey Shadow is a good old horse, reliable, if slow—and though I can tell you for certain-sure we left home at two of the clock, I cannot swear to the time we arrived, but it would have been around three. Though the hall clock was not striking, that’s right. I dare say Denby will know. Well, I was in good time for dinner, for as I dare say you know, Mrs Portwinkle keeps early hours and does not care for one to keep her waiting.”
Jack looked dazedly at his breeches and black frock coat, registering belatedly that the breeches were of black satin. Very well, the old fellow was in what passed for his dress clothes, though as to why the gaiters—
“And I beg you will not regard the gaiters, sir, for poor Denby was in such a state, you see, that I came straight in without stopping to remove them—which of course I should have done, in the normal course. And though it may appear odd to a young gentleman such as yourself,” he added, eyeing Jack’s Corinthian outfit uncertainly, “to be wearing gaiters with dress clothes, there was once a most unfortunate incident when I was similarly on my way to dine here, in which my evening stockings were irretrievably splashed, for poor old Black Molly—a good old mare, and I bred her meself, putting my brother-in-law’s Black Martin to my old Floss of Fogarty Huh—”
“Get on with it, man!” interrupted Mrs Portwinkle, clearly unable to stop herself.
“—Hall!” gulped Mr Fogarty. “This was to improve the line, as you will readily grasp, sir, but faithful beast though she was, in fact Black Molly’s foals have never lived up to— Um, no,” he muttered, inadvertently catching Mrs Portwinkle’s eye. “But it was not the horse’s fault, for the back road was extremely muddy that day; I should have taken the longer route, you see, though it adds a good half-hour to the drive.”
As he had paused for breath, Jack said quickly: “So you arrived here around three, then?”
“No, no, we were shockingly luh— Oh! Today! Yes, that’s quite correct, sir: around three of the clock, indeed. And as I say, poor old Denby showed me straight in, where I fear,”—he coughed slightly—“I could offer Mrs Portwinkle but poor comfort.”
“I see. So you did not in fact see Miss Peg Buffitt?”
“Oh, most certainly I did, sir, as I was telling you!” replied Mr Fogarty pleasedly. “As I say, I came up the drive, and just as I turned the last bend before the house, there she was, a-coming down the steps in her bonnet. With a person whom I did not, of course, recognise at the time, but who, I have since learned, was a tradesperson of the name of Chegwidden; one gathers, sir, a most unfortunate acquaintance of little Miss Peg’s from London. And I did venture to say at the time, when Mrs Portwinkle was so gracious as to explain her young relative’s circumstances—though one must sympathise with a mother’s wish to see her daughter eligibly established—as I say, I did venture to mention that every doubt must obtain as to the advisability of a young girl’s living in a bachelor household with only a spinster aunt to protect her.”
“Thank you on behalf of myself and my Aunt Sissy,” replied Jack through his teeth.
“This is the fool in question,” said Mrs Portwinkle grimly.
“Oh? Oh!” said Mr Fogarty, jumping and going very red. “Er, well, a youthful gentleman such as yourself sir,”—again eyeing Jack’s outfit—“is perhaps not aware—nay, can scarce be expected to be aware—of the care which must be taken to protect the young and innocent from what I shall not scruple to call the predators of London town.”
“Quite. But I shall thank you, Fogarty, not to lay the responsibility for that at my door,” said Mrs Portwinkle icily.
“Oh, no, of course not, ma’am! Most certainly not!” he gasped.
“Be that as it may,” said Jack loudly, very annoyed with himself at having let the old fellow’s garrulity distract him from the point at issue: “you seem to have witnessed Miss Peg’s fugue. Did you recognise the coach?”
“Yes, of course, sir! –At the least, I could not absolutely swear to have put my finger on the coach!” he explained with what was perilously near a smirk. “But it was one of the vehicles from the Rose & Crown, of that I am certain-sure, for Jem Ferris was on the box, with Tom Barton’s Galloping Godfrey and Galloping Garry poled up—the both out of his good old Galloping Gertrude—and never were a pair of twin foals so inappropriately named, sir!” He shook all over his thin little frame. “Though mark, Galloping Gamboge was a fine mare, and I named her meself, for the good fellow could not think of another female name in G: as she was a most unusual yellowish shade, one felt it could not be inapposite!”
“Where is the Rose & Crown?” demanded Mr Beresford tightly.
“Why, in the village sir!” replied Mr Fogarty in astonishment.
“WHICH village?” he shouted.
“Good gracious, sir, this is but a small neighbourhood, and there is but the one vill— Um, Puddington,” he muttered, having met the visitor’s glacial grey eye.
“Thank you, Mr Fogarty.” Jack turned on his heel and left them.
In the front hall the poor old butler was mopping his eyes. “Sir, I cannot think— I mean, we—we were assured that Miss Peg— I mean, she is Miss Alice’s little sister, Master Jack! I cannot believe she—she meant to run off, but the thing is, this Chegwidden person arrived, and the—the mistress said zoomthing to ’er, I know not what, Master Jack, and then she—she just ruh-run straight out to the hall and grabbed her bonnet and was orf!”
“I see,” he said, patting the poor old man on the shoulder. “I came on the Bath road, Denby. Can you point me in the direction of Puddington village? I do not know it.”
“No, you wouldn’t, Master Jack, for ’tis the other direction entoirely,” he replied, blowing his nose. “Just turn to your left when you get to the gate. It’s about ten minutes’ drive that a-way.”
Jack’s jaw sagged. “Ten minutes? Why in Hell didn't old Fogarty have the nous to chase straight after them, then?”
“Uh—have they gorn there, though, Master Jack?” he gasped.
“Well, weren’t they the horses from the Rose & Crown at Puddington?” said Jack sharply, as the awful suspicion crossed his mind that the doddering Fogarty had had it wrong.
“That’s roight, Master Jack, those bone-shakers Goddy and Garry that belong to Ted Hoskins at the Rose & Crown. He does zoomtoimes get the custom, sir, because we’re so out of the way and there’s no other change atween here and Bath.”
“Uh-huh. And was it the Rose & Crown’s coach?”
“Lor’ bless you, no, Master Jack!” he said with a startled laugh. “Whatever give you that oidea? No, it must ’ave been the gent’s own coach, a very nice town coach.”
Jack stared. “A town coach?”
“Only a pair poled up, Master Jack,” the old man reminded him. “But the equipage itself smart as paint.”
“Right,” he said, very puzzled.
“They’ll be able to tell you at the Rose & Crown where they’re headed, sir, acos there’s no way Hoskins would let ’is ’orses out without a-knowing where they was bound!” the butler urged.
Quite. Ten times the nous of Fogarty and damned Mrs Portwinkle combined, if he was at least as old as the pair of ’em.
“Aye. In that case,” he said kindly, “I think we can say that Miss Peg is not irretrievably lost, after all. And as I do have some slight acquaintance with Chegwidden, I very much doubt that her virtue is in danger. He may bore her to death, true, but not t’other,” he ended drily. “Thank you, Denby, you’ve been most helpful. Uh—any new tenants of substantial properties hereabouts? Say, within a half-day’s drive of the village?”
“Well, only a very rich gent that’s said to have taken Wilton House, sir,” he said dubiously. “But the Vicar told us he’s a most gentlemanly man, with six carriages standing in the stables, Master Jack.”
Mm, well, by all accounts Chegwidden was as rich as a nabob. And if he had taken a house in the neighbourhood it would explain why he was tooling round the place in a mere town carriage rather than his travelling coach, wouldn’t it?
Jack went over to the front door. “And where is Wilton House in relation to the village?”
“About a half hour’s drive—well, perhaps twenty minutes, to you, sir,” he amended, hurrying to open the door and eyeing the curricle and four in some awe—“to the east of it.”
“Thanks, Denby. I think now is the time for a glass of brandy,” said Jack with a twinkle in his eye. “Can you manage that?”
“Of course, Master Jack!” He bowed, though looking rather puzzled, and said: “Shall I bring it out to you, sir?”
“Do that. And be sure and pour it into a glass before you bring it!” said Jack with a laugh, running down the steps.
“Yes, sir,” said the butler uncertainly.
Jack got into the curricle. “Quick—the brandy, Denby! In a glass!” he called.
“Gov’nor,” began Jenks from the horses’ heads in indignation, as the old butler bowed again and vanished, “if you’re after ahr Miss Peg, we ain’t got time to—”
“No, y’fool! It’s for him, poor old devil! Get up!”
The tiger let ’em go and scrambled hastily up behind as the team sprang forward and the curricle was off with a scattering of gravel.
“You ’aven’t ’alf ruinated the old lady’s raked drive,” Jenks announced with some satisfaction.
“Good.”
“So what’s she been an’ gorn an’ done?” the tiger inquired after the curricle had flown down to the gates, far too fast, and been turned, far too fast, and was off to the left on the dusty, rutted country road, far too fast.
“Said something damned unacceptable to the poor little soul—one gathers, in front of that fat cit Chegwidden, to boot!” replied Jack angrily, his eyes on the road. “I don’t know what, but I can hazard a damn’ good guess!”
Behind him his tiger grinned. He hadn’t meant the old dame, but Miss Peg.
The Rose & Crown in Puddington most certainly lived up to its name. Well, there were no crowns in evidence, true. But the old half-timbered structure was smothered in climbing roses. Pale yellow, rather like the rose on that bonnet of Peg’s which so much became her, her second cousin reflected involuntarily. The colours in the inn’s huge swags ranged from almost a bright shade on the red-tipped tightest buds, shading out to palest cream in the full-blown blooms: a glorious sight. Though the two be-smocked ancients sitting outside on a bench ’neath a kind of bower of the blooms were not so glorious.
“Tell yer wot,” said Mr Jenks on a sour note as they drew up, “there’ll be—”
“No ostler worth the name and certainly none fit to lay a finger on our nags, I know,” groaned Mr Beresford. “Just shut it, Jenks, and get on with it!”
“Nah, wot I was a-gonna say, there’ll be bees in them blamed flahs, Mr Beresford, sir.”
Jack turned in his seat and goggled at him. “Eh?”
“Bees,” said the Cockney glumly.
Mr Beresford was driven to roll his eyes. “Almost undoubtedly, I should say. If you’re afraid of getting stung, don’t go near the roses.”
“Me? I ain’t afraid of nuffink, gov’nor! Nah, ain’t you never seen a ’orse what was stung by a bleedink bee?”
“Uh—oh. Very well, don’t let the horses get anywhere near them.”
“They flies, see,” said the tiger gloomily.
“Jenks, I shall not blame you if the horses are stung!” said his master loudly. “Get to their heads!”
“Right you are, sir. Sorry, sir,” he said glumly, hopping down.
Jack strode into the ancient inn to the accompaniment of a mutter of “Bleedink bees. Bleedink country. Huh!”
A very wide, very red-faced man was behind the shining bar counter and greeted him with a polite: “Good-day, zir. If you was a-wanting a change of ’orses, we can do it, only not for a bit, they just come back from a trip and gotta be rested, zir, zo if you’d care for zoom refreshment in the meantoime—”
“N— Well, yes, I’ll have a tankard of your best ale, thanks. You Hoskins?”
“That Oi be, zir!” he rumbled, highly gratified.
“Good. Then can you tell me where your pair—oh, and your coachman, think the name was Ferris—have just been, and where they left the man who hired them?”
Mr Hoskins did not seem to think this was an odd enquiry, for he replied promptly: “Well, as to left, they done bring ’im roight ba-ack, zir, but they been up to Wilton ’Ouse, acos the gent, ’e zent a message, zir, to zay as ’e needed them, acos ’is own pair, they’re being rested, zeeing as ’ow they just been out-along, come back yesterday, done two ’ole stages for ’im, or zo ’e zaid. And ’e ain’t bought no others, yet, though I did just mention as ole Mr Fogarty, ’e breeds the best ’orses in these ’ere parts, and if ’e can't fix im a-ap, dessay as Tom Barton can ’elp ’im, though ’e don’t need to believe a word ’e says about that Galloping Glorious, acos it do be the zlowest zlug in ’is ztables, and been a-troying to sell it arf this four year pa-ast!”
Jack took a deep breath. Presumably uncontrolled garrulity was a local characteristic, not confined to any particular class. “So where is he?”
“Where’s ’oo, zir?” the man replied blankly, handing him a frothing tankard.
He seized it and drank thirstily—more to prevent himself shouting at the fellow than anything, though he was certainly thirsty after dashing all the way out to Mrs Portwinkle’s place from Bath on a very warm day. “Where is the man who hired your horses, Hoskins!”
“Whoy, ’e be in the best proivate parlour, zir,” replied the innkeeper, astonished that this had not been immediately apparent.
“Where is it?”
“Uh—through ’ere, zir. Was you wantin’ to be announced, loike?”
Jack was about to refuse—through gritted teeth, indeed—but reflected in time that, pace damned Mrs Portwinkle, there was very little doubt that Chegwidden’s conduct was entirely blameless. “Thank you. My name is Beresford.”
“Roight you are, Mr Beresford, zir!” Forthwith he led the way—Jack blinking, rather, as he came out from behind his counter to reveal that he was even broader in the beam than he had supposed.
“There’s a Mr Beresford a-come to zee you, zir!” he announced in pleased tones, opening a darkly panelled door.
Jack had to stoop to enter.
“I say, mind the lintel, Cousin Jack!” said a hoarse young voice—a male voice—as he did so.
“George?” said Jack numbly, staring. “What the Devil— My God, is the family all right?”
“Quite all right, no need to worry about them. Well, Lilibet’s still unbearable, but they’re well, aye.”
“Then what, precisely, are you doing here, George?”
His young cousin cleared his throat. “Um, well, could not stand it, Jack, to tell you the truth, and actually, though ’tis terribly good of Jeremy to offer to send me to school with Bertie next term, I don’t fancy it—well, I’ll be miles behind all the boys, y’see, never was bright like Bertie. And he don’t mind going alone, I swear! So, um—came to find Peg,” he admitted, flushing, and shuffling his feet.
Jack removed his hat and passed his hand through his curls. “What—oh, thank you, landlord,” he said feebly as Hoskins made to relieve him of the hat. “Hang on: you may take my driving coat, and—er—trot in a jug of ale and couple of tankards, would you? And take a tankard out to my man, he's looking to the horses.”
George’s eyes lit up, “I say, have you got Goodwin, sir?”
“No, he’s in Cumberland, with, I sincerely trust, Aunt Mary, Uncle George, and your older brother!” replied Mr Beresford somewhat loudly.
“Um, well, they got off all right, sir,” said the boy, looking puzzled. “Saw them off yourself,” he reminded him kindly. “Don’t think Uncle George goes much on family weddings!” he added with a chuckle.
“No, but Aunt Mary would have made his life Hell if he’d insisted on staying at home. Even though, don’t say it, she might have come over with Paul and Maria,” he sighed.
George laughed. “You don’t need to explain, Cousin Jack, got sisters meself!”
“Quite.” Jack sat down, smiling. There was evidently more Laidlaw in George than he had hitherto supposed. “Sit down and explain in words of one syllable exactly why you have come in quest of Peg and what you imagine she can do for you.”
“Um...” George sat down with a wary look on his wide, naïve face. “Well, no point in staying on at Medways, sir, Alice would never take my part against him, y’see. And Val had said, if I ever needed help, to come straight to him, only I don’t know how to get there. So I thought, best find Peg, she’d know,” he ended happily.
“It is not very far, I suppose,” said Jack limply. “In northern Hampshire, not far from Andover. You will merely have to cross the entirety of Wiltshire to get there,” he added on a dry note.
“That right? Not much of hand at geography, meself.”
“No. Er—look, dear boy, Val would take you in, no question, but the thing is, his father’s place is not all that large, and there are him and Rollo, and a couple of younger boys still at school, you see. I dare say they will not all wish to help out round the place, but, uh—”
“I see. They don’t need any extra help,” said George glumly.
“I am afraid not. You had best come home with me—I am headed for Cumberland next.”
“But do you need me, sir?” he asked in a small voice.
“Out of course we do! Listen, I haven’t yet broached this with either Lance or Uncle George, so don’t breathe a word, will you?”—George looked puzzled, but shook his head obediently.—“Good lad. Uncle George ain’t getting any younger and is noticeably slowing down—well, drops off in his chair after his midday meal, never used to do that. Lance is learning up his ways and will be able to fill in for him for several years to come, but I have it in mind for him to take over one of the farms when he’s a few years older—farm it for himself, you see? By that time I dare say he will be looking about for a nice little wife, and it is a very pleasant little house.”
George grinned suddenly. “Aye! And if he don’t have the nous to look for himself, you many be sure Maria will do it for him!”
“Exact! So we shall need to replace him, you see? If you came now, we could ease you into it, and that would mean that Uncle George would be able to accept it as the natural course of things.”
“I get you...” said George slowly. “Aye. ’Cos if you suddenly said, ‘Right, that’s it, Lance is going to have his own place now,’ the old boy would insist on taking back the whole running of the place into his own hands.”
“Quite. And though I hope to spend a lot more time up there myself, I don’t pretend to any expertise, or feel myself capable of running the place alone. So by that time, George, you will be very much needed!”
“By Jove, Cousin Beresford! I should like it of all things!” he cried.
“Good. Uh—not still got a hankering for the forces, dear boy?”
George made a face. “Well, no. Tell you the truth, meeting Jeremy’s cousin, Major Trent, sort of—well,” he said with an awkward smile, “made me see that Pa was in the right of it all along, actually, and war ain’t nothing but a bloody mess and a waste of decent men!”
Jack was very surprised but also very pleased to hear it. Very few lads of that age would have been capable of that sort of thinking. Though it was undeniable that John Trent, a terribly decent man, was horribly cut about: he had lost an arm, and no longer had the use of his legs. He was not yet forty, poor fellow, and to be confined to a Bath chair, at that age—!
“Exactly,” he murmured. “That’s settled, then. I think you had best write your parents without delay. And write to Geddings also, George, thanking him for his kind offer and explaining that you feel you are too old for school and, er, wish to take up a worthwhile career.”
George grinned. “Don’t think he thinks, saving your presence, that being an agent is a worthwhile career, but of course I shall, never fret!”
“Good. Where is Peg?” demanded Mr Beresford baldly.
“Oh, just upstairs, sir, looking to Mrs Watt—Mr Chegwidden’s daughter, she is, Cousin Jack,” he explained helpfully.
“Oh—yes, we’ve met,” he said limply. “Mrs Watt is here? So it isn’t Chegwidden that’s bought Wilton House?”
“Yes, of course it is, only Mrs Watt’s a very bad traveller, y’see. They got this far and she took to her bed. Well, dare say there’s another brat on the way, it’s the usual case, hey?” he said wisely. “But it was only the motion of the coach that upset her, there ain’t no cause for alarm. The landlady’s with her, she’s sure it’s only that. I recall when Tommy was on the way, Sir Horace ill-advisedly took Ma for a ride in his dog-cart—used to use it before he had the trap, y’see. That dashed Jack o’Lantern used to pull it—now, he was a stubborn brute, if y’like!” He shook his head. “She was sick as a dog, the old man wasn’t best pleased.”
“Er—these things happen,” said Mr Beresford very limply indeed.
“Aye. Didn’t help that Pa said the very thing to his face, though,” replied the boy very wryly indeed.
Their eyes met. Regrettably, they both broke down in howls of laughter.
“Ssh!” hissed a cross voice. “What are you at, George, poor Mrs Watts needs her res— Oh! It’s you!” gasped Peg, standing stock still.
Jack got up quickly. “Good afternoon, Peg. I apologise for the noise. How is Mrs Watt?”
“Much better; I think she will be quite recovered after she has had a sleep. Mrs Hoskins has given her a soothing cordial and she has managed to keep it down.”
“Good sign,” approved George, nodding. “I say, Peg! Only guess! Cousin Jack will take me! And he really needs me, because, you see— Oh.” His face fell. “May I tell Peg, sir?”
“Of course,” replied his cousin with a strange little smile. “I am quite sure she will not betray us.”
“No, absolutely, sir! Much the best of ’em, y’know! Well, Anne’s a complete blabbermouth, and Maria’s nigh as bad! The thing is, Peg, Cousin Jack has decided—”
At the end of his story Peg tottered over to a chair at the battered old table which adorned the Rose & Crown’s dim private parlour, grasped its back very tightly, and lowered herself onto it shakily. “You—you wish to give Lance a farm, Cousin Beresford?”
“Yes,” he said succinctly.
“Then I can help him manage Beresford Hall, y’see, Peg, and by that time Uncle George will accept it as the natural order of things!” urged George eagerly.
“Yes, I—I did get that, George. I am very glad for you, of course.” Tears sparkled on the ends of Peg’s long lashes. “Cuh-Cousin Beresford, you are too good to us.”
“No, I’m not. I like George, and in the years to come I shall really need him,” he replied calmly.
“There you are, you see!” said George on a triumphant note.
“But—you do know he has run off, do you, sir? I mean, he is here without—without anybody’s permission,” said Peg in a trembling voice. “And—and it is a complete mercy that he encountered dear Mr Chegwidden on the road, and what he was even doing on that road, I’m sure I don’t know—”
“He said!” objected George in amaze. “Been up Cheltenham way visiting relatives, headed back down to Bath by the easiest route!”
“Medways,” said Mr Beresford with a certain tremor in his voice, “is certainly in Gloucestershire.”
“Um, yes,” agreed George uncertainly.
“Further south, though,” he added neutrally.
“Um, yes, is it? Um, yes. Well, I got a lift with a very decent fellow, taking a waggon to market, y’see, and he put me on to his second cousin. A carrier by trade, goes all over five counties, I dare say—”
“Yes!” cried Peg. “You told us, George, and I reiterate, it is a mercy that you encountered Mr Chegwidden and not some kidnapper or press-ganger or murderer!”
“I second those sentiments,” said Jack solemnly, endeavouring to give the boy a warning look.
“But— Oh, aye,” acknowledged George. “One of his horses had a stone in his shoe, you see, Cousin Jack—and actually, you know, if you had not given me that jolly fine pocket knife I dare say I should not be here now! Though I would have made it in time,” he added quickly, glancing at his sister and away again.
“Um, yes,” said Peg, avoiding Cousin Beresford’s eye. “Apparently they had stopped, you see, so George was able to take the stone out of the horse’s shoe with the—the attachment in his knife. And naturally Mr Chegwidden offered him a ride, and in fact got out and sat on the box with you, didn’t he, George? And when he found out he was my brother, of course he said he would bring him to see me. Only then, um,”—she gave George a desperate look—“we came across them at an inn, in any case.”
“Uh—so why did you not simply join Peg then?” he groped. “Or did damned Mrs Portwinkle simply forget to mention your existence?”
George cleared his throat desperately. “Never let on it was me,” he mumbled.
“What?”
“Mr Beresford, she cannot abide boys!” burst out Peg. “She would have been furious, and sent him straight back home! And—and she was in a bad mood anyway, because it was getting so late that we had to rack up at an unfamiliar inn. And she was sure the beds would be damp.”
“They weren’t,” said George cheerfully.
“No, of course not: it was quite clean and respectable! But we decided that it would be best if—if we said that Mr Chegwidden’s daughter had kindly invited me to join them, and I could just go quietly over to Wilton House and—and she need never know he was even in the county!”
“That’s it,” said George pleasedly.
“And Chegwidden agreed to this?” said Jack dazedly.
“Of course: he has a very logical mind, and he said that if George could not face the thought of the life that G—um, Jeremy had mapped out for him, then it was pointless to force him into it, for he would revolt sooner or later. And very, very kindly offered him a place in his counting house.”
“Only I ain't no good at sums, sir,” explained George cheerfully.
“No, he ain’t,” said a deep voice from the doorway. “For I set him to a page of ’em, and he added up all wrong!”
“Good afternoon, Mr Chegwidden,” said Jack hastily, rising to his feet—he had somehow sat down again, he could not have said precisely when. He held out his hand. “I collect the family owes you considerable thanks, sir.”
“That’s all right, Mr Beresford, it were a right treat to be bawled out by that cantankerous old dame, would not have missed it for the world!” replied Mr Chegwidden, shaking the hand heartily. “Ordered up some ale, have you? Dessay we could have a mite more! Fancy something, Miss Peg, me dear?”
“I don’t think they’d have anything she likes,” said Jack quickly.
“No, no: the landlady makes her own cordials—not just of the restorative variety. Had a rhubarb-flavoured one, before, did you not, me dear? Tasted it meself, could not believe it could be drinkable, but it was surprisingly refreshing!” he owned with a laugh. “Tart but not over-tart, and she had not over-sweetened it.”
“Yes,” said Peg in a small voice. “She makes a redcurrant one, too.”
“Excellent!” said Jack with a grin.
Mr Chegwidden had not waited: he had rung the bell. “Dunno if that worked,” he noted as nothing happened. He strode over to the door and opening it, bellowed: “LANDLORD!”
“That may work,” said Peg with a weak smile.
“Aye, these small country places are all the same!”
“Er—how is Mrs Watt, sir?” asked Jack as he sat down in a large, battered armchair, beaming.
“Oh, much better, thank you, Mr Beresford! They come up from London, you see, and she don’t travel well. Got this far and declared she could not go on. Well, the road between here and the house I’ve took is shocking, that’s true, but it ain’t but a step, really.”
“But if one is travel-sick, sir, it would feel like an eternity!” cried Peg.
“Aye, well, dessay that’s so.”
“Er—so Mr and Mrs Watt were not with you, when you encountered George on the road?” groped Jack. His mental picture had been of Mr Chegwidden mounting onto the box with George in order to get away from his travel-sick daughter.
“No, that were me older daughter, sir, Belindy, what is married to a fellow called Craven, up Cheltenham way. Know it, do you?”
“I know the Cheltenham races, certainly,” he owned with a little smile.
“Aye, thought you might, Percy Craven says they get lots of Corinthians up thataway when the races is on. What I said to ’im, ‘You just mind you lives up to yer name, Percy Craven, and don’t get so emboldened as to put any actual cash money on a blamed horse, for if you can tell one end of ’em from t’other it’s more than I would’ve wagered!’”
“And was Mr Craven so daring as to make a reply?” returned Jack dulcetly.
Mr Chegwidden’s clever brown eyes twinkled very much, the sad-spaniel look diminishing considerably. “Well, yes, acos ’e’s got more guts than that Watt, that’s for sure—he’s pushed orf to the house, I don’t mind telling you, sir: she cast up ’er accounts once too often for ’im.”
“That is a little unfair, Mr Chegwidden, he did have to support it all the way from London,” murmured Peg.
“Not all the way, for by his account she did not cast ’em up till Reading!” choked George.
“You hold yer gab, boy, you can’t cast up even a page of accounts!” retorted Mr Chegwidden like lightning.
Forthwith Master George Buffitt and Miss Peg Buffitt both collapsed in delighted splutters, though Peg did clap her hand over her mouth as she did so.
Jack grinned at the stout merchant. “Your hand, I think, sir.”
Mr Chegwidden looked very solemn, but winked at him. “No, well,” he said, relenting, “Percy Craven has got sense, for he said his old dad had taught ’im very young as only a fool puts money on a horse or pays for a wo— Uh, never mind. But sense, as I say. –I say, Mr Beresford, they talk funny hereabouts, don’t they?” he added out of the blue.
“Well, er, it is the Somerset accent, Mr Chegwidden,” said Jack limply.
“Aye. One would doubt if it be even English, at times. What this fellow certainly don’t seem to understand plain English,” he noted grimly, going over to the door again. “LANDL— Oh, there you are, man. Don’t you want no custom from the gentry, that it?”
“Yezzir!” panted the stout landlord, puffing. “Beg pardon, zir, I’m zhure! Only Granfer Shaw, ’e fell over, you zee, and that liddle iddy-biddy feller what come with this gennelman, ’e couldn’t ’aul ’im up again, and Nunky Ned, ’e were worse than useless. Well, I did zay as ’twere a miztake to give the pair of ole fules ’alf a guinea, zir, acos it’s all a-gonna go on the rum!” He panted.
“My mistake,” owned Mr Chegwidden, grinning. “Thing is, it were them smocks. Ain’t never seen such fine broidery in me life, outside the christening gown what the late wife ordered up for our Mirandy. Right sight for sore eyes, them two are.”
Jack here cleared his throat desperately.
“Thing is, we’re nigh to dying of thirst in here,” explained Mr Chegwidden plaintively.
“Beg pardon, zir! Will it be ale, then, zir? And zoom of Mother’s best cordial for the young lady? Now, she do ’ave a ginger one, Mizzy, what zoom ladies loikes, only when she zent zoom up to the lady at the big ’ouse, it come ztraight back again.”
“At—at Clearview House?” faltered Peg.
“Aye, that be it, Mizzy.”
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry. That is my great-aunt, Mrs Portwinkle, and—and she takes strong dislikes to—well, to anything, sir, for no reason. I am sure there is absolutely nothing wrong with the ginger cordial and,” said Peg bravely, “I should very much like to try it.”
“Roight you are, Mizzy!” he agreed, beaming. “Ale, then, gents? And maybe a boite of zoomthing? There’s a noice cold raised poie, ham and pigeon.”
“Let’s have that, then!” said Mr Chegwidden genially, rubbing his hands. “And a nice local cheese, if you have one, hey? With a loaf, or some bread rolls if there be any, and I dessay some good country butter would not come amiss, neither.”
“Aye, we can manage that, zir, for Tom Barton zends zoom down reg’lar as cla-ackwark, and Mother’s found that iffen she keeps it down cellar till wanted, it do ztay good and zweet in even the ha-attest weather. Loikewoise the milk and cream, zir, and if so be as the young lady was fancying loike a troifle or a silly-bub or a noice fruit fule to ’er zupper—”
“We’ll think about it,” said Jack briskly, as it became apparent that Chegwidden, far from becoming impatient with the fellow, was positively wallowing in the Somerset garrulity. Not to say the accent: his lips had moved silently in the wake of some of the choicer examples of the local dialect.—“Off you trot!”
“Roight you are, zir!” he agreed, mercifully disappearing.
“Roll their R’s, too, don’t they?” concluded Mr Chegwidden with some relish. “So, you’ve been up to the old lady’s house, have you, Mr Beresford?”
And the company all looked expectantly at Mr Beresford.
“Well, yes,” he owned on a weak note.
Mr Chegwidden scratched his bald spot. “And naturally she kindly told you as we were down here at the Rose & Crown,” he concluded ironically.
Peg at this point was seen to gulp, and give him a plaintive look.
“No, Mr Chegwidden,” said Jack steadily, “she did no such thing, as I am sure you are very well aware. A certain amount of shouting took place, not only on my part, and a certain amount of garrulous information, not all of it pertinent or, it was subsequently revealed, correct, was imparted by an elderly gentleman in a frock coat and gaiters—”
“Mr Fogarty, I think that must have been,” said Peg weakly.
“Indeed,” he agreed courteously. “After which I walked out, gathered some further and, it appears, more correct information from old Denby—Mrs Portwinkle's butler, sir,” he added courteously to Mr Chegwidden—“and concluding that the Rose & Crown would know the destination of its horses and driver, came straight along here.”
“Like the wind, blamed silly on that bleedink ’orrible road,” said a new voice disapprovingly from the doorway.
“Jenks!” cried Peg, jumping up. “How lovely to see you again! How are you?”
Mr Jenks touched his forelock, looking highly gratified. “All the better for seeink you, fanks, Miss Peg!”
“I was so disappointed not to see you at the wedding,” she explained.
“Nah, well, that was acos Someone, they fort it’d be best to go in the travellink coach, Miss, or at the least, acos I don’t fink ’e sat beside ’is pore ma all the way, to ride h’alongside it. So me an’ the team, we was left be’ind, and ’adda get ahrselves to Barf by easy stages.” He sniffed. “Dessay you knows the road, Miss Peg. All bleedink country.”
“And bees,” added Jack drily. “A rural reference, Peg,” he said as she looked in a bewildered way from him to the tiger. “Is there a problem, Jenks?”
“Nah. Them bees, they laid orf the nags—no fanks to Someone as I could mention,” he noted darkly. “I give ’em a rub-dahn wiv me own ’ands and made that dim lad corf up some h’oats and a bucket o’ water for ’em—not too much too fast, afore yer starts! Wot I fort yer might like to know, h’if so be,” he added with awful dignity, “yer Honour was a-finking of ’eading back to yer pore muvver’s ’ouse tonight!”
Solemnly his master withdrew his watch from his pocket, and consulted it. “This evening, I rather think you mean, Jenks. –Yes.”
“Good. Acos if they speaks the King’s h’English ’ereabahts, I’ve yet to ’ear it!” he noted viciously.
“Indeed? This gentleman has made the same discovery,” noted Jack courteously, nodding towards Mr Chegwidden.
“That I have!” agreed that worthy cheerfully. “This your famous tiger, then, Mr Beresford? Good-day to you, Jenks.”
“Gratified, I’m sure, sir!” he chirped, touching his forehead.
“So is it the blacks or the greys, Jenks?” asked Peg eagerly.
“The blacks, Miss Peg. Nursed ’em in h’easy stages to Barf, yer see. Done it wivaht ’ardly noticink it. Fresh as daisies when we got ’ere,” he added with a glare at his master. “An’ tooled ’em aht meself for h’exercise until ’e got back. Wot it was all for nuffink, acos ’e didn’t go nowheres until terday. Then ’e comes a-rushink aht yellink: ‘Get the team ready, Jenks! ’Op to it, damn yer eyes!’”—Strangely, it was only at this point that George Buffitt clapped his hand over his mouth and emitted strangled noises.—“So of course I finks, Good, we’re goink back to Lunnon, at last! Or maybe orf ’ome to Cumberland, wot it’s all country, Miss, only not so many bleedink bees.” A muffled howl escaped George, and the tiger added with dignity: “It ain’t funny, young shaver, you try ’andlink a feisty team what the leader, ’e’s been stung by a bleedink bee!”—More howls from George.—“Daft, they are at that age, Miss,” he said severely to Peg.
Peg had been envisaging with horror Mr Beresford’s extremely feisty blacks with the leader suffering from a bee sting. “You are very right, Jenks. –George! Stop laughing, you imbecile: if you knew anything about horses you’d realise it would be dreadful!”
“You said it, Miss! Drefful is wot!” agreed the tiger with feeling. “Only see, we ain’t goink ’ome nor not up to Beresford Hall neither, acos then ’e says: ‘We is a-goink to rescue poor Miss Peg from that old buh—um, rude word, Miss, of h’a great-h’aunt wot’s got ’er claws into ’er, and ’op to it or by God I’ll ’ave yer guts for garters!’ An’ put their bits in ’isself, Miss Peg. Wot I ain’t that short!” he ended, panting somewhat and glaring at his master.
Though she was now a glowing scarlet, Peg had to bite her lip. “No, of course you are not.”
“All now being abundantly clear,” said Jack, trying not to laugh—he had not realised, to say truth, that his impatiently helping to harness the team had insulted the little man—“you may ask the landlord for some refreshment for yourself, Jenks. We’ll just have a bite and then head back. Oh—this daft young shaver is Miss Peg’s brother, Master George Buffitt, by the way. Can we make room for him, do you think?”
“I could hop up behind with you!” offered George eagerly, ceasing to snigger.
“Over my dead body, yer could, yus, young shaver!” retorted the tiger smartly.
“That’ll do,” said Jack in an uninterested tone. “Cram him in—er, not between us, I feel. On the far side of Miss Peg, perhaps?”
The tiger eyed George without favour. “Maybe. Can ’e sit still, though?”
“Judging by family example, no.”
“I can sit still in a curricle!” cried Peg indignantly.
Jack’s eyes inadvertently met Jenks’s. He swallowed. “Mm. More or less.”
“Sir, I swear I won’t move a muscle!” said George anxiously.
“Look, I’ll bring him along,” said Mr Chegwidden kindly. “It’ll be something to do this evening—don’t fancy spending it listening to Watts and Craven after they’ve had a go at my port. You don’t want him playing gooseberry.” He eyed the tiger sardonically. “Think you already got one o’ those.”
Poor Mr Jenks had gone very red. “Woss ’e on abaht, sir?” he demanded of his master. “I ain’t no bleedink berry, and if them’s the ones wot I fink they are, nor I ain’t green, neither!”
Jack had to swallow hard. Kindly he avoided glancing at Peg’s puce face. “No, it’s a saying, Jenks. To be a gooseberry, or to play gooseberry, means to be an unwanted third person when the couple in question would rather be alone together.”
Mr Jenks gave a startled guffaw. “I gets yer drift! Lumme! Gooseberry, eh? An’ wot abaht a strawberry, sir?”
“No, one does not play strawberry, Jenks,” said Jack with only a slight tremor in his voice.
“Luv a duck! Never ’eard vat one before in all me puff!”
“Gooseberries are usually sold small, green and hairy, though they do turn red when very ripe. Normally eaten green, unlike most berries. Now, a gooseberry sauce with mackerel is delightful,” said Mr Chegwidden in a thoughtful voice which Jack Beresford for one was very sure was entirely assumed. “But they have a very short season, unfortunately.”
George had recovered. “Aye. But if you was more used to the country, Jenks, you would know that every cottage garden has its gooseberry bushes. Why, we even had ’em at home, didn't we, Peg?”
“Yes, for they are so very prickly that even you monsters did not manage to trample them into extinction!” she retorted swiftly.
“It wasn’t me that run all over that dashed strawberry bed of Lance’s!” he protested.
“That’ll do. And I’ll forebear to point out that that wasn’t the way we heard it,” drawled his big cousin.
Poor George was very flushed. “Well, a fellow couldn’t let his little brother bear the brunt, sir. But I swear, I never went on the dashed thing!”
“So is strawberry bushes prickly ones, too?” asked the tiger.
There was a short and somewhat appalled silence.
“No: it’s very interesting actually, Jenks,” said Peg valiantly, “for although they are also berries, strawberries grow on little low plants, scarce higher than one’s ankle!”
“I getcher, Miss.”
“Good. And perhaps you could get yourself out. And ask the buffer for some of the pigeon pie!” said his master clearly.
“Right you are, gov’nor!” he chirped.
“Ham and pigeon,” corrected Mr Chegwidden solemnly.
“’Am an’ pigeon, sir! Right!” Touching his forehead to the company, Jenks exited.
“He is a Londoner born and bred,” said Jack heavily to George.
He nodded hard. “I say! ’Tis a different world in the big cities, then!”
Jack took a deep breath. Of course, George had never seen a really big city. “Quite. And when you are older, I promise to take you up to London.”
“Astley’s Amphitheatre?” he gasped, his eyes lighting up.
“Certainly. And—er—the London Menagerie, if you like.”
“Ooh, thank you, Cousin Jack!”
“Not at all. Of course any attempt to—er—get there on your own, would result in my instantly returning you to your parents’ home,” he noted.
George reddened but said steadily: “I wouldn’t, sir.”
“Good lad.” Jack looked at the door but no trays of refreshment had yet eventuated. “Come along, Peg, it don’t seem as if we are to be fed yet awhile.” He held the door open for her.
“But— Aren't you hungry, sir?” she faltered. “It’s a long drive from Bath. And—and what about poor Jenks?”
“I dare say he’s taking the larger portion of our ham and pigeon pie as we speak. I do not intention heading back to Bath on the instant, merely taking a short walk.”
“Put your bonnet on, me dear!” put in Mr Chegwidden cheerily at this point. It was on a chair: he picked it up and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” said Peg in a small voice, not meeting anyone's eye.
“Ten minutes, sir,” added the stout merchant, looking hard at Jack. “Then I send the brother after you.”
Jack replied with a laugh in his voice: “Have a heart, Mr Chegwidden! Twenty!”
“Fifteen,” conceded Mr Chegwidden without a tremor.
Trying very hard not to laugh, Jack took Peg’s arm gently and led her out.
Behind them he very clearly heard George saying excitedly: “I say! Do you think—?”
And Mr Chegwidden replying solemnly: “’Bout time, if you ask me, lad.”
“That man,” he said, steering Peg outside into the soft sunshine of early evening, “is a positive treasure, Peg. I congratulate you most sincerely on having found him.”
Very off-balance, she stuttered: “It—it was not I, but Luh-lady Stamforth! And I thought you hated him?” she added in a rush.
“No! Or only for a very little, when I was sure he meant to offer for you!” said Jack with a laugh.
“Oh,” she gulped.
“Come along, we shan’t go far. Beautiful evening, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Do not the roses smell glorious?” she ventured, sniffing.
“Indeed. Smothered in bees though one is sure they are,” he agreed solemnly,
“Oh! Good Heavens, is that why— Yes,” gulped Peg.
“Jenks hates the country, so I am sorry to have to inform you that I shall have to continue to spend at least a few months of the year in town every year,” he said, urging her gently towards the road.
“Yuh—um, what? Yes, of course!” she gasped. “Where are we going, sir?”
“Only down this pretty lane, just along here; I observed it earlier. Lined with wildflowers and more roses, and overhung with very pretty trees,” he explained. “Dare I ask, did you ever have a parasol and if so where it is?”
“At Clearview House,” replied Peg glumly. “It was a very pretty one, too.”
“I fear it will have to be abandoned forever, for nothing would induce me to set foot in the old cow’s house again!”
“No!” she gulped. “I mean, wuh-wouldn’t it? Was she rude to you, too?”
“Well, I suppose not specifically, though she did gratuitously explain that I was the fool who had you in his household, when Fogarty—er—animadverted on the inadvisability of leaving an innocent young girl to the tender mercies of a bachelor and a spinster aunt. –Silly old goat,” he added calmly.
“He—he is quite well-meaning, Cousin, but very old-fashioned. –Oh, dear! You mean she called you a fool?”
“Mm. Oh, that was nothing to what I said to her, so do not fret yourself over it!”
Peg was now looking at him in horror.
“I see,” he said gently, casing to tease her. “She said something very nasty to you, did she?”
She nodded convulsively, her eyes filling with tears.
Jack had to swallow hard. “I shall not embarrass you by asking what it was, my dear. But let me assure you that neither I nor my mother—nor, indeed Aunt Sissy or any of Jack and Charlotte’s family—will ever speak to the old harridan again.”
“No, um, you mustn’t,” she said faintly. “I mean, she is very upset because she is missing Alice, you see, and—and I did not measure up.”
“Thank God for that!” said Jack with feeling.
Peg just looked up at him in bewilderment.
They had reached the pretty lane: he drew her under a convenient shady tree. “Much though I admire your sister, I could never live with that coolness and control of hers. I prefer a bit of spark!” he added with a smile. “In short, the sort of girl who would tell the old cow what she thought of her—I do hope you did?—and run out of her house with an unacceptable London acquaintance!”
“Unacceptable?” cried Peg crossly.
“No, no, hush! It was not my expression!” he said hastily.
“Oh,” she said limply. “Well,” she noted, rallying slightly, “if she called him that, Cousin Beresford, I can only say I am thankful, for she said much worse to his face!”
“I’m sure she did. But talking of miscalling, please don’t call me Cousin Beresford any more.”
Peg flushed. “I’m sorry. Mr Beresford, then. And truly we can never repay you for all your kindness—”
“No! Good Lord, do you think I— Peg, I don’t wish to be thanked! I don’t want your gratitude and Lord knows I don’t wish to—to play Darcy to your Eliza Bennet!”
Peg merely looked bewildered.
“No, call me Jack,” he said, gnawing on his lip.
“Oh,” she gulped.
“I— Peg, it’s been a Hellish day, what with thinking Mrs Portwinkle had dragged you off to take Alice’s place, and then Denby and the damned hag herself doing their best to give me the impression you’d eloped with Chegwidden—”
“You can’t have thought that!” cried Peg loudly.
“No,” he said with a strange light in his eyes. “Only for an instant. –A very horrid, terrifying instant, Peg,” he said steadily, looking her in the face.
“Oh,” said Peg in a tiny voice.
Jack drew a deep breath. “Look, before we go back and face the amiable if gratuitous George and the cheery Chegwidden and the pigeon pie, not to mention the local cheese, can I ask— I mean, dammit, Peg! I’ve been in the worst possible position, having to play host to you for two damned years. And I haven’t been able to get near you for months, with all the fuss over Alice's damned engagement! –Don’t tell me families are like that: I know it only too well,” he groaned. “Sorry, I’m side-tracking myself—well, the whole day’s been one confounded side-track! I know it isn’t the right setting, and I never meant to out with it like this, but— Dammit! Will you marry me?” he ended loudly, very flushed.
Peg gulped.
“Well?” said Jack, his heart hammering painfully.
“I—I don’t think I can,” she whispered,
“What? Why not?” he cried.
“Well, like you said, I’m not like Alice; and—and I could never be a gruh-gracious hostess and—and I appruh-heciate the offer muh-more than I can suh-say, Mr Buh—um, sir, but I—I’m too inappropriate!” she gasped, bursting into choking sobs.
Jack sighed. He removed the bonnet, in fact tossing it away, and pulling her against his chest, leaned his chin on the ruffled guinea-gold curls. “Don’t cry,” he said after quite some time. “I love you, Peg.”
“Do-hon’t!” wailed Peg with a fresh burst.
Oddly enough Jack was not all that disturbed: he didn’t think this amount of bawling was an indicator that the lady of his choice did not wish to marry him after all.
After some time he said: “How can I convince you that I don’t want a gracious hostess, I just want you, darling Peg?”
“Don’t say that,” said Peg in a muffled voice into his chest. “I—I can never run a gentleman’s house correctly, for I don’t know all those things!”
“Paul assures me that you ran his house very efficiently. Even controlling a—er—Dingley, was it? And you get on very well with Mrs Best at the town house, don’t you? She may refer crucial decisions to you, but since she’s used to deciding everything herself, all you will need to do is ask her opinion. And you’ve seen how we live at Beresford Hall, it’s a pretty simple life, and Aunt Mary will be only too happy, I’m quite sure, to explain precisely how things ought to be done. And both she and Uncle George will remove to the dower house, so if you do make mistakes, no-one need ever know. And—uh—to make it quite clear, Peg, my dearest, Mamma, Aunt Mary and Uncle George are all fully aware of my intentions, and all looking forward tremendously to having you living permanently among us. Aunt Mary has refurbished most of the dower house already, I gather. Probably Mamma won’t approve of anything she’s chosen, but that’ll give the both of them something to occupy their minds until the grandchildren—or great-nieces and nephews, according—come along,” he ended affably.
“You’re turning it into a joke,” said Peg in a tiny voice.
He kissed her curls. “Not entirely, my darling, but I do think you're making mountains out of molehills.”
After a moment Peg said in trembling voice: “What about fuh-fancy London dinners?”
“Don’t need to give any,” replied Jack breezily.
“But people would invite us! We’d have to return their hospitality! It isn’t like being a bachelor!” she gasped. “And I can’t be a hostess to—to grand people!”
“Well,” said Jack kindly, “think of Lord and Lady Ferdy’s dinners, my dear. Does Gwennie play hostess to grand people?”
“Yuh—um, well, not very, they are only their own friends,” she admitted.
“Exact! Their generation, ain’t they? We could have, um, well, Ferdy and Gwennie themselves, and, um, Noël and Cherry Amory, I suppose—and of course,” he said with a faint laugh, “Wilf and his Nancy!”
“Yes. That doesn’t sound too... But we’d have to ask Geddings and Alice at some stage!” she gulped. There was a short silence. “Jeremy, I mean,” said his Lordship’s sister-in-law very glumly indeed.
“’Tis impossible to think of him by his Christian name,” he agreed. “No, well, make it a family dinner only. I don’t aspire to cut a dash in political circles—added to which, in case you’ve forgotten it, the fellow’s a damned Tory!”
“Yes, so he is. But Lord Stamforth is a Whig, of course.”
He wasn’t too sure what she was getting at, here. “Uh—ye-es. I’m sure the Stamforths would be only too delighted to be asked to a simple family dinner, Peg. They are quite sans façon at home at the castle, you know.”
“Mm. But Lady Stamforth holds very grand dinners in town.”
“Uh—yes. Well, she is that sort of lady, and then, Stamforth does have a position, y’see. Dare say she feels she owes it to him. But I, thank God, have no such position! I believe the poor fellow was very cut up when he inherited the title, y’know. Well, the face gives nothing away,” he admitted, “but Lady Stamforth once said as much to me and old Tobias Vane. It was a very warm day, rather like today: they had delayed in town, I forget why, and I was stuck because one of the blacks had pulled a muscle. Well, could have left ’em to Jenks and Goodwin, but didn’t care to. Went for ride in the Park, discovered her and old Tobias sitting under a shady tree, and since they beckoned to me, I joined them. The were eating, believe me or believe me not, small fried savoury parcels of an indescribable nature—something her Indian servants had cooked up. They were cold, but had been fried,” he explained as Peg looked up at him in surprise.
“Oh! How unusual.”
“Mm, they were, very. Much odder than any of the Portuguese stuff she sometimes serves at her parties—though I was once was honoured by an invitation to an Indian meal at her house, when she was living across the square from Jack and Charlotte in Bath. Now, those dishes were extraordinary! Spiced? Phew! –Anyway, she was in a chatty mood, very relaxed, but worrying because Stamforth was doing too much, as usual, and came out with that about him.”
“I see. She does worry about him,” agreed Peg, nodding seriously.
“Good. I hope in the years to come, you will care enough about me to worry if I overdo it, or am unhappy, Peg,” said Jack in a voice that shook.
“Of course I—” Peg broke off. “I do,” she said with difficulty, looking away .
“Good. It may not be easy for you, darling Peg. But—but I hope you don’t see me as a dragon. I mean, I will be there to consult. You may say anything to me, you know.”
Peg’s jaw shook. “I’m not suitable, though!”
Jack took a very deep breath. “Peg, I love you, and you’re making me damned unhappy,” he said steadily. “I think you are suitable, and the whole of damned Society has accepted you these past two years, not that I give fig for any of ’em! If you think you are not suitable, can you not promise to work at being suitable?”
Peg sniffled dolefully. “I—I suppose I could try... Have you got a handkerchief?”
He blinked, but made a quick recover. “Certainly.” He handed it to her.
“Thank you,” said Peg, blowing her nose hard.
“That’s better. Mop your eyes.”
Obediently Peg mopped her eyes.
“Hasn’t it dawned that I need your help, Peg?” he said gently.
“Mine?” she faltered, staring.
Jack put a hand under that determined chin. “Mm. I wasn’t making much of a fist at living like a decent human being—never mind that I might have been living like a damned gentleman, that ain’t my point!” he added loudly. “It’s only since you came to live in my house that I—well that I’ve learned to care for other people, Peg. –Ask Mamma!” he added desperately. “Ask Aunt Sissy!”
Peg smiled faintly. “I don’t think I need to, for actually Horrible said the very same thing to me.”
“There you are, then!”
“She, um, she did say you were very good with the children the time you and Aunt Sissy looked after them all when their parents were on holiday.”
Jack winced slightly “Glad to hear it.” He eyed her slyly. “That’s a recommendation, is it?”
“Of course,” said Peg simply.
“Oh, good. Then may I finally kiss you?” he asked wildly.
Peg looked up at him dubiously, so he gave up asking, took the chance, and kissed her thoroughly.
“All right?” he gasped at last.
“Of course it’s all right, Cous’, or she’d’ve slapped your face by now!” said an eager young voice.
They gasped and swung round.
“Come on, I'm starving, he won’t let us start without you, and it’s a great big pie!” George urged.
Mr Beresford took a very deep breath. “It’s been one of those days on which it is impossible to do anything properly,” he said grimly to his almost-fiancée.
“Yes!” gasped Peg, very flushed. “Go away, George! How could you?”
“Well, you didn’t slap his face, did you?” replied George logically. “Come on, I’m starving!”
Alas, his sophisticated big cousin began to lose control of his mouth. “Do congratulate us, Cousin George,” he drawled.
“Eh? Oh, of course! Congratulations, sir! Glad you’ve seen sense at last, Peg. Though we knew you would. That noddy, Watt, he was ready to bet me a sixpence it wouldn’t happen, would you believe? But Mr Chegwidden told him to keep his gab shut and his gelt in his pocket, acos only a fool bets against a sure thing. –Come on! It’s the best pie I ever laid eyes on! All shiny, and I dare say a full ten inches high!” he urged, jumping slightly in his excitement.
Peg had recovered her composure somewhat—though not to the point of seeing the idiocy of joining in this conservation, her almost-fiancé realised with a sort of mad, delirious delight.
‘It must have a whole pigeon in it, George!” she said in awe.
“Several, I should say! Acos if it ain’t two foot across, you may call me a Dutchman! –And a great wheel of cheese, sir!” he urged.
“The cheese,” said Mr Beresford on a mad note, “must settle it! Come along, Peg!”
“Huzza!” cried George, rushing off.
Dazedly Peg let herself be propelled in his wake.
“I suspect that that cheer was on account of the food, not our engagement,” said Jack slyly. He paused. “If it is an engagement?” he murmured. “He will be telling Chegwidden it is before we have even reached the forecourt, you know.”
Peg gulped.
He pulled her to a stop and swung her round to face him. “Is it?” he said baldly.
“Yuh—um—if you really want to?” she gasped, very red.
“Yes, I really want to, Peg.”
“Um, then yes.”
“That’s good,” said Jack sweetly. “For I really could not been seen in public walkin’ out with a young lady en cheveux to whom I was not officially affianced.”
“En chev— Help!” gasped Peg, putting her hand to her head. “Where’s my bonnet?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care!” said Jack with a loud laugh. “Come on, I’m starving, too!”
And with that he simply seized her hand and ran with her.
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