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Authors: Georgette Heyer
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into Stebbing's hands, saying briefly: 'Hold 'em! I know that lady!' He then jumped lightly down on to the road, and strode back to meet Miss Steane.
She greeted him with frank delight, and said, in a voice of passionate thanksgiving: 'I thought it was you, sir! Oh, I am s o glad! If you are going to London, would you – would you be so very kind as to take me up in your carriage?'
He took the portmanteau from her, and set it down. 'What, to London? Why?'
'I've run away,' she explained, with a confiding smile.
'That, my child, is obvious!' he said. 'But it won't do, you know! How could I possibly aid and abet you to leave the protection of your aunt?'
Her face fell ludicrously; it seemed for a moment that she was going to burst into tears, but she overcame the impulse, swal lowing resolutely, and saying in a prim, forlorn little voice: 'C-couldn't you, sir? I beg your pardon! I thought – I thought – But it's of no consequence!'
'Will you tell me why you have run away?' he suggested gently.
'I couldn't bear it! You don't know !' she said, in a stifled tone.
'No, but I wish you will tell me. I think something must have happened since we talked together last night. Did someone hear you, and tell your aunt?' She nodded, biting her lips. 'And she perhaps gave you a scold?'
'Oh, yes! But that's not it! I don't care for mere scolds, but she said such things – and Lucasta too – and all in front of Corinna – and Corinna told the others – ' Her voice failed on a sob, and she was quite unable to continue.
He waited until she had in some degree recovered her com posure. He thought he had seldom seen a more pathetic picture. Not only was her countenance woebegone, but her shoes and the hem of the duffle cloak which she wore were sadly muddied; several strands of her unruly hair had escaped from the confinement of the round, schoolgirl's bonnet, and strayed across her flushed features; and beads of sweat glistened on her forehead. She looked to be hot, tired, and despairing. For the first of these three ills the duffle cloak was certainly responsible; for the second it was no wonder that she should be tired if she had trudged all the way from her home, carrying a cumbrous portmanteau; but the despair was not to be accounted for so easily: nothing she had said to him on the previous evening had prepared him to find her flying from the security of the only home she seemed to have.
She succeeded in mastering her agitation, and even managed to summon up a gallant, if unconvincing, smile. 'I beg your pardon!' she uttered. 'It was only because you look so kind, sir, and – and talked to me last night – But it was wrong of me to ask you to take me up in your carriage. Pray don't regard it! My – my affairs are not your concern, and I shall do very well by myself !'
He ignored the hand she was resolutely holding out to him, but picked up her portmanteau, and said: 'We cannot stand talking in the road! I don't promise to take you to London, but at least I'll take you to Farnborough! As I remember, there is a tolerable inn there, where I can procure some refreshment for you, and where we can continue this conversation at our ease. Come along!'
She hung back, searching his face with her wide, scared eyes. 'You won't compel me to return to Maplewood, will you?'
'No, I won't do that. What right have I to compel you to do anything? Though it is undoubtedly what I ought to do!'
She seemed to be satisfied with this reply, for she said no more, but went obediently beside him to where his curricle stood. The expression on Stebbing's face when he realized that his master was going to hand into the curricle a Young Person whose unattended state and dowdy raiment clearly denoted that she was not a female of consequence spoke volumes; but he relinquished the reins to the Viscount, without a word, and climbed up into the groom's seat between
She greeted him with frank delight, and said, in a voice of passionate thanksgiving: 'I thought it was you, sir! Oh, I am s o glad! If you are going to London, would you – would you be so very kind as to take me up in your carriage?'
He took the portmanteau from her, and set it down. 'What, to London? Why?'
'I've run away,' she explained, with a confiding smile.
'That, my child, is obvious!' he said. 'But it won't do, you know! How could I possibly aid and abet you to leave the protection of your aunt?'
Her face fell ludicrously; it seemed for a moment that she was going to burst into tears, but she overcame the impulse, swal lowing resolutely, and saying in a prim, forlorn little voice: 'C-couldn't you, sir? I beg your pardon! I thought – I thought – But it's of no consequence!'
'Will you tell me why you have run away?' he suggested gently.
'I couldn't bear it! You don't know !' she said, in a stifled tone.
'No, but I wish you will tell me. I think something must have happened since we talked together last night. Did someone hear you, and tell your aunt?' She nodded, biting her lips. 'And she perhaps gave you a scold?'
'Oh, yes! But that's not it! I don't care for mere scolds, but she said such things – and Lucasta too – and all in front of Corinna – and Corinna told the others – ' Her voice failed on a sob, and she was quite unable to continue.
He waited until she had in some degree recovered her com posure. He thought he had seldom seen a more pathetic picture. Not only was her countenance woebegone, but her shoes and the hem of the duffle cloak which she wore were sadly muddied; several strands of her unruly hair had escaped from the confinement of the round, schoolgirl's bonnet, and strayed across her flushed features; and beads of sweat glistened on her forehead. She looked to be hot, tired, and despairing. For the first of these three ills the duffle cloak was certainly responsible; for the second it was no wonder that she should be tired if she had trudged all the way from her home, carrying a cumbrous portmanteau; but the despair was not to be accounted for so easily: nothing she had said to him on the previous evening had prepared him to find her flying from the security of the only home she seemed to have.
She succeeded in mastering her agitation, and even managed to summon up a gallant, if unconvincing, smile. 'I beg your pardon!' she uttered. 'It was only because you look so kind, sir, and – and talked to me last night – But it was wrong of me to ask you to take me up in your carriage. Pray don't regard it! My – my affairs are not your concern, and I shall do very well by myself !'
He ignored the hand she was resolutely holding out to him, but picked up her portmanteau, and said: 'We cannot stand talking in the road! I don't promise to take you to London, but at least I'll take you to Farnborough! As I remember, there is a tolerable inn there, where I can procure some refreshment for you, and where we can continue this conversation at our ease. Come along!'
She hung back, searching his face with her wide, scared eyes. 'You won't compel me to return to Maplewood, will you?'
'No, I won't do that. What right have I to compel you to do anything? Though it is undoubtedly what I ought to do!'
She seemed to be satisfied with this reply, for she said no more, but went obediently beside him to where his curricle stood. The expression on Stebbing's face when he realized that his master was going to hand into the curricle a Young Person whose unattended state and dowdy raiment clearly denoted that she was not a female of consequence spoke volumes; but he relinquished the reins to the Viscount, without a word, and climbed up into the groom's seat between
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