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Authors: R. F. Delderfield
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moment’s notice? Marriage…you and me, moving into a big house like The Clough…
living together, always …? It’s some thing that any girl would have to…to…think about a long time, even a millhand!”
He laughed outright at this, but there was relief in his laughter. He said, taking her hand again, “It isn’t anything you have to decide, Henrietta. It’s important, GodIsAnEnglishman.indd 32
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Fugitive in a Crinoline 3 3
of course, far too important for someone like you to decide. You wouldn’t know how, for that’s a man’s job and anyway, it hasn’t been decided in a moment. I’ve been consider ing it ever since the Victory Ball, and so has my father and your father. And now it’s arranged!” and his arm went round her waist with a firmness that surprised her.
The wave of panic touched her and broke over her so that she was too frightened and too breathless to find the strength to pull away from him a second time. She found herself groping for words as if they had been pieces of wreckage to keep her head above surface, but even in the tumult of the moment she had a horrid certainty that he assumed her to be overwhelmed by nothing more momentous than the majesty of the occasion, that and the vapourings that were reckoned obligatory on the part of an inexperienced girl receiving her first proposal of marriage. She said, despairingly, “When …?” but he seemed to take this as an invitation for both arms went round her and his face loomed over her, blotting out the light from the terrace. The scent of flowers in the half-moon beds were vanquished by the whiff of his breath, heavy with claret and a sourness that made her want to retch. She would have fought back with her knees if the arc of the crinoline had not made this impossible, and her right arm had not been pinioned by his left. There were only two avenues of resis tance available, a left-handed downsweep of her fingernails across his cheek, or a simulated faint. She chose the latter as the easier to accomplish, buckling her knees so that she slipped below the level of his waistcoat. Then, before he could reach out and support her, she heard the steady drumming of hooves and the spatter of loose gravel, and suddenly he was gone and she was on her knees on the grass, cocooned in yards of silk and muslin. Voices called distractedly from the drive and the terrace, and she smelled the sharp whiff of a sweat ing horse. Behind her, as she rose, was a glow in the sky, yellowish white and extraordinarily vivid, so that she thought for a moment she had indeed fainted. But then she saw that the horseman was Joe Wilson, her father’s overseer, and that people, including Makepeace and old Matthew, were jostling round him where he had reined in opposite the dining-room windows.
Across the fifty-yard gap her father’s voice reached her. “Afire? Our mill?” and then everyone began running back and forth, and she saw Makepeace glance towards the summerhouse, and instinct prompted her to move out of the ribbon of light cast by the dining-room lamps and into the fringe of the copse where the ferns grew waist high. She heard him call twice, but nobody came in pursuit and within minutes Goldthorpe’s carriage came pounding through the stable arch GodIsAnEnglishman.indd 33
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3 4 G O D I S A N E N G L I S H M A N
and she watched the three men scramble in, and Joe Wilson wheel his sweating horse. Then, in a long, rambling clatter, they were gone.
She thought gratefully, “It’s a sign from heaven, it’s God helping me to escape!” and without conscious thought her resolution was formed and she dodged round the summerhouse, avoiding the group of yammering servants gathering on the terrace as they stared up at the glow in the sky, and along the north side of the house to the con servatory door.
She went through it to the hall, up the stairs and along the passage to her room, still littered with her preparations for
living together, always …? It’s some thing that any girl would have to…to…think about a long time, even a millhand!”
He laughed outright at this, but there was relief in his laughter. He said, taking her hand again, “It isn’t anything you have to decide, Henrietta. It’s important, GodIsAnEnglishman.indd 32
3/27/09 5:13:12 PM
Fugitive in a Crinoline 3 3
of course, far too important for someone like you to decide. You wouldn’t know how, for that’s a man’s job and anyway, it hasn’t been decided in a moment. I’ve been consider ing it ever since the Victory Ball, and so has my father and your father. And now it’s arranged!” and his arm went round her waist with a firmness that surprised her.
The wave of panic touched her and broke over her so that she was too frightened and too breathless to find the strength to pull away from him a second time. She found herself groping for words as if they had been pieces of wreckage to keep her head above surface, but even in the tumult of the moment she had a horrid certainty that he assumed her to be overwhelmed by nothing more momentous than the majesty of the occasion, that and the vapourings that were reckoned obligatory on the part of an inexperienced girl receiving her first proposal of marriage. She said, despairingly, “When …?” but he seemed to take this as an invitation for both arms went round her and his face loomed over her, blotting out the light from the terrace. The scent of flowers in the half-moon beds were vanquished by the whiff of his breath, heavy with claret and a sourness that made her want to retch. She would have fought back with her knees if the arc of the crinoline had not made this impossible, and her right arm had not been pinioned by his left. There were only two avenues of resis tance available, a left-handed downsweep of her fingernails across his cheek, or a simulated faint. She chose the latter as the easier to accomplish, buckling her knees so that she slipped below the level of his waistcoat. Then, before he could reach out and support her, she heard the steady drumming of hooves and the spatter of loose gravel, and suddenly he was gone and she was on her knees on the grass, cocooned in yards of silk and muslin. Voices called distractedly from the drive and the terrace, and she smelled the sharp whiff of a sweat ing horse. Behind her, as she rose, was a glow in the sky, yellowish white and extraordinarily vivid, so that she thought for a moment she had indeed fainted. But then she saw that the horseman was Joe Wilson, her father’s overseer, and that people, including Makepeace and old Matthew, were jostling round him where he had reined in opposite the dining-room windows.
Across the fifty-yard gap her father’s voice reached her. “Afire? Our mill?” and then everyone began running back and forth, and she saw Makepeace glance towards the summerhouse, and instinct prompted her to move out of the ribbon of light cast by the dining-room lamps and into the fringe of the copse where the ferns grew waist high. She heard him call twice, but nobody came in pursuit and within minutes Goldthorpe’s carriage came pounding through the stable arch GodIsAnEnglishman.indd 33
3/27/09 5:13:12 PM
3 4 G O D I S A N E N G L I S H M A N
and she watched the three men scramble in, and Joe Wilson wheel his sweating horse. Then, in a long, rambling clatter, they were gone.
She thought gratefully, “It’s a sign from heaven, it’s God helping me to escape!” and without conscious thought her resolution was formed and she dodged round the summerhouse, avoiding the group of yammering servants gathering on the terrace as they stared up at the glow in the sky, and along the north side of the house to the con servatory door.
She went through it to the hall, up the stairs and along the passage to her room, still littered with her preparations for
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