Developments

18

Developments

    “I thought she would never go!” sighed Pansy, collapsing onto the sofa in Dr Fairbrother’s sitting-room.

    Delphie also sighed, and sat down more slowly. “Indeed.”

    Mrs Parker, after several busy days in Oxford, during which she had very thoroughly inspected the house that had been old Mr Ogilvie’s and very thoroughly overhauled Delphie’s and Pansy’s meagre wardrobes, ruthlessly ordering new mourning clothes for both of them, even though Pansy had pointed out they each had a black dress, had at last departed for her own home. Having failed signally to get her nieces to agree either to accompany or her or to take a nice house, whether in Oxford itself or in a quiet street of Brighton.

    After a moment Pansy roused herself and said: “Where’s Fliss?”

    “She must be helping Jacky with the monkeys or the birds.”

    They went to look. Fliss was nowhere to be found.

    Dr Fairbrother was discovered in his study. “Mm? Oh: helping Jacky, isn’t she?”

    “No, and he doesn’t know where she is,” said Delphie worriedly.

    “Um, her brother may have taken her out.”

    “No! Dr Fairbrother, pay attention!” cried Pansy loudly. “Mr Tarlington was with us and Aunt Parker all morning!”

    “Check the garden.”

    “Jacky says she isn’t there, but I’ll look.” Pansy ran outside. She returned in a few moments, panting. “No!”

    “I expect she’s stepped out to get a ribbon,” said Dr Fairbrother, sighing. “No need to panic.”

    “No need to panic! When the house is watched?” cried Delphie indignantly.

    Dr Fairbrother sighed. “That fellow in the street who looks like a sweep may actually be one, y’know.”

    “Rubbish!” retorted Pansy loudly.

    “You know very well Jacky knows every sweep in the district, and he says the man is a stranger! And if he is a sweep, why is he lounging in the street and not sweeping chimneys?” said Delphie strongly.

    “All right,” he conceded with a groan. “He’s one of Lord Whatsisface’s spies. But if he’s there, he’s not after Fliss, is he?”

    The girls rushed to the window. The false chimney-sweep was still there.

    “Lord Hubbel could have other men on the job. It was a different man who called, wasn’t it?” said Pansy.

    Dr Fairbrother scratched his chin. “True.”

    The zoologist had been bearded in his own house—his phrase—by a stout man in a red waistcoat who had identified himself as a Bow Street Runner. Dr Fairbrother had refused either to let him speak to the young ladies or to let him in without a warrant. The man did not have a warrant, so he had had to retire. The following day Lord Hubbel had appeared in person, icily polite but evidently very angry, demanding to speak to the young ladies. Dr Fairbrother had pretended to get very annoyed at the intrusion and very insulted at the imputation that any young ladies staying in his house could have had anything to do with anything smoky. And did he have any proof he was actually this lord he was claiming to be? Lord Hubbel, with all sorts of veiled threats, had retired. After that there had been no visible action, but the “sweep” had been more or less constantly present.

    “There you are!” Pansy cried. “There’s more than one!”

    Dr Fairbrother sighed. “With any luck, she’ll be back in a few moments. But I’ll go and look for her if you like. Though I’m damned if I know where to start.”

    “I’d start in the High Street. Look for a shop that sells ribbons,” said Delphie.

    “Ugh. Yes, very well. Um—now, will you be safe here?”

    “Yes. Mrs Mayes won’t let anyone in,” said Pansy.

    “Hm. Think I’d best send for Aden, or Harley.”

    “I think you had best send for Mr Tarlington in any case, dear sir. It is his sister who has disappeared,” said Delphie firmly.

    “That’s putting it too strong. But very well—best be on the safe side.”

    In a very few moments Jacky was off and running in the direction of the Mitre for Mr Tarlington, and the zoologist was departing in search of ribbon shops with his hat on his head.

    “Oh, dear: how she could be so silly?” lamented Delphie.

    “Very easily. The only surprizing thing is that she’s held out this long,” returned Pansy.

    “It must have been boring for her, while we have had to spend so much time with our aunt.”

    “Being immured in Great-Uncle Humphrey’s house waiting for him to die would have been even more boring,” said Pansy firmly.

    Mrs Mayes had appeared at the sitting-room door. “There ain’t no call to talk like that, Miss Pansy. Now, the both of you can come along into the kitchen with me. Keepin’ your hands busy will take your minds off your troubles.”

    The girls duly followed her to the kitchen. Their hands became busy, but it was to be feared that this did not have the effect that Mrs Mayes had predicted.

    Fliss at first had felt a little nervous, but it was a glorious fine day, and what harm could come to her, after all, in the middle of Oxford? She walked briskly along and very soon reached the shops without mishap. Initially she was content merely to stay in the High Street, where it was very busy, with vehicles of all kinds and crowds of people coming and going. After a little, seeing that no-one approached her and certainly no-one appeared to be following her, she became bolder, and ventured across the street in quest of a most delightful little shop which sold, besides ribbons and laces, buttons and buckles in a most varied selection. It was but a matter of dodging quickly down a little alleyway—

    “Oh!” she gasped.

    A grimy-looking man with a muffler high up round his chin, although the day was very warm, had come up to her and seized her arm.

    “No harm, Missy: I just wants a word. You tells me what you know, see, and we leaves it there. Otherwise ’is Lordship ’imself’ll be wantin’ to—”

    “No!” panted Fliss. “How dare you, you horrid creature! And don’t imagine I shall say a word! Let me GO!”

    The grimy man would have let her go in any case, for a gentleman had just rounded the farther corner of the alleyway, but he did not have the time to point this out, for the gentleman came upon him with a rush, tore him away from Fliss, and knocked him flying with a splendid right to the muffled jaw.

    “Oh!” gasped Fliss.

    “Beg pardon, Cousin Felicity,” said Captain Lord Rupert Narrowmine, grinning all over his broad face, and blowing upon his knuckles. “Not the thing, in front of a lady!”

    “Oh—no!” gasped Fliss. “It was wonderful, Lord Rupert!”

    Lord Rupert grinned more than ever but said to his fallen foe: “Oy, if you was thinkin’ of movin’, don’t.”

    The man lay where he was but whined: “Sir, it’s a mistake. I’m on official business, and so I was telling the young lady!”

    “Ooh, you were not!” cried Fliss.

    “Give him in charge, shall I?” suggested Lord Rupert genially.

    “Yes!” she said viciously.

    “Sir, you’ll find if you do that it will mean trouble for the young lady—”

    “What?” he said dangerously.

    “For I’m in ’is Lordship, the Earl of Hubbel’s employ, that’s what!” he cried loudly.

    “Fellow’s batty,” said Lord Rupert simply. “Delusions, ain’t that what they call ’em?”

    Fliss merely gulped.

    “Sir, it’s true!” panted the grimy one, feeling his jaw very gingerly.

    “It ain’t broke, or you wouldn’t be gabbin’ on,” he noted. “—Never heard of such a thing. Hubbel kidnappin’ young girls off the street?” he added to Fliss.

    She gulped again. “I fear it may be true,” she quavered.

    “Rats! –You is not feelin’ the thing,” he decided brilliantly.

    “No—truly I am all right, sir, and—and—I think you had best let him go,” she faltered.

    Lord Rupert tried to insist the fellow be given in charge, but seeing that Fliss became very upset, allowed the grimy man to depart, with only a parting adjuration to the effect that if he laid eyes on him again it would be the worse for him, and a parting kick to the backside.

    “Don’t leave me!” gasped Fliss, grabbing his arm.

    “Wasn’t about to!” he said indignantly. “What the Devil are you doin’, anyway, wanderin’ about the back alleys of Oxford by yourself?”

    “It is not a back alley! Why, the High Street is but two steps away! And there is the dearest little shop just down there, and—and—” Fliss burst into tears, flinging herself against his chest.

    Captain Lord Rupert looked at first very startled, and then rather gratified. He patted her back gingerly and, as that did not seem to do any good, hugged her rather tightly. “Better?” he said, as she finally gulped and stopped.

    “Mm,” said Fliss into his shoulder.

    “Could go and have—um—glass of milk, or some such?” he offered.

    “Oh, thank you!” she breathed, looking up at him.

    “No need to thank me, merely a glass of milk.”

    “What? Oh! No: for rescuing me so bravely!”

    “Wasn’t that brave. Fellow was half my weight.”

    “Of course it was brave, dear Lord Rupert! You hit the man and he fell right down! You are a hero!”

    “Well—uh—glad you think so,” he said, grinning. “Feel a bit better, now?”—Fliss nodded, and straightened her bonnet.—“That’s the ticket. Come on, then: this way.”

    “You will stay with me, won’t you?” she faltered.

    “Said so, didn’t I? Oh, I get it: you wish to do some shopping?”—Fliss nodded, looking up at him hopefully.—“Er—well, dare say I might manage that,” he said, squaring his shoulders.

    “Oh, thank you, Cousin Rupert!” she breathed mistily.

    “You had best have that drink and a sit-down first, y’know.”

    “Oh, yes: I feel in need of it!” she assured him.

    Lord Rupert saw nothing to cavil at in that, and led her off tenderly.

    It was not until some time had passed and they had emerged from a ribbon shop victorious that he thought to say: “What are you doin’ in Oxford, anyway?”

    “What are you, come to that?” returned Fliss with a smile. “Well—um—Aden and I accompanied some connections of the family, sir.”

    “Huh?”

    “Um—you would not know them: the other side of the family,” she said desperately.

    “Oh.”

    Fliss waited but he didn’t volunteer. “So—so why are you here, sir?”

    “Mm? Oh: been at Blefford Park. Harpy sent to say I had best come and see m’father, seeing as I had some leave due. He’s taken to his bed, y’know. Well, silly old fellow rode out in a dashed rainstorm. Forget just when—a fortnight back, something like that.”

    Fliss nodded. “I recall that storm.”

    “Aye. But he don’t seem all that sick, to me. Think he may be sulkin’. In a damned bad mood, y’know: Harpy has told him he means to offer for your Cousin Alfreda.”

    “What?” she gasped.

    Lord Rupert gulped. “Uh—forget I said that. Supposed to be a secret.”

    “Oh, how wonderful!” she cried, grasping his arm fiercely.

    “Ow,” he said, wincing. “Don’t do that.”

    Fliss looked very crestfallen, and took her hand away.

    Lord Rupert looked down at her uncertainly. “Um—here.” He tucked her hand under his arm. Fliss blushed brightly and looked away.

    Rupert suddenly felt very happy indeed. He beamed at her, even though at the precise moment he couldn’t see much except bonnet, and said: “I’ve told him I shall sell out. Had enough of bein’ a Hyde Park soldier. I shall get on down to Harpingdon Manor. Well, s’pose if Harpy marries, he will not wish to have me infestin’ the house,” he added with a grin, “but there’s a nice solid little dower house he says I may have. Think I would like that. I shall help him manage the place, y’know. Then when m’father goes, dare say I shall take over the runnin’ of it entirely: Harpy will be pretty busy, with the other properties and so forth.”

    “Yes, of course! So that is settled! Well, I’m very glad for your sake: but shall we never see you in town again?”

    “Don’t know,” he said vaguely. “Bit fed up with town, y’know.”

    “Oh,” she said in a small voice.

    “Harpingdon Manor ain’t that far from Guillyford! Dare say I might get over, y’know!”

    It was on the border of Cornwall and Devon. “It is miles and miles,” said Fliss in a stifled voice.

    “Aye... Well, not so dashed isolated as Noël Amory’s place! At least we is on the south coast!”

    “Yes.”

    He swallowed. “You’ll have to persuade Aden to bring you down.”

    “Ye-es... Oh! Yes! If Cousin Harpingdon marries Alfreda of course Mamma will not be able to say he has no hostess! How wonderful!” she cried.

    “Aye, that’s it,” he said, beaming. “Er—don’t go chatterin’ on about it, will you? Harpy hasn’t spoken to the girl’s father, yet.”

    “No, of course I shan’t mention it! Oh, it’s just what I’d hoped for!” said Fliss, positively hugging his arm.

    Captain Lord Rupert went rather red. “Good,” he said in a strangled voice.

    They wandered on arm-in-arm, neglecting to do any more shopping. Fliss told him about old Mr Ogilvie’s death and Pansy’s and Mr Parker’s inheritances, and Rupert, though he didn’t have the vaguest who she meant, listened kindly and countered with some detailed information as to the agricultural excellence of the land round Harpingdon Manor. Fliss did not understand this, but listened intently and smiled a lot: so all in all they were feeling very pleased with themselves and each other, when Lord Rupert was very much startled by an untidy-looking fellow’s rushing up to them and demanding breathlessly: “Who the Devil’s this?”

    “Might ask the same of you,” he noted, squaring his shoulders.

    “Oh! No! It’s Dr Fairbrother!” squeaked Fliss, suddenly very pink. “Dr Fairbrother, this is my cousin, Captain Lord Rupert Narrowmine. –He is Lord Harpingdon’s brother!” she added on a gasp.

    “Been with you all the time, has he?”

    “Well—no!” she gulped.

    “No. Look, I’m pleased to meet you and all that, sir,” said Lord Rupert, “but would you mind tellin’ me who you are? Because my cousin has just had an unpleasant experience.”

    “Dr Fairbrother, a dreadful man in a muffler accosted me! But Lord Rupert rushed up and hit him: wham!” cried Fliss, eyes sparkling. “And he went over all in a heap and lay there like a rag doll! You never saw anything like it!”

    “Well done, sir. –This was just any man in a muffler, was it, Fliss?”

    “Well, no,” she gulped. “He was one of Lord Whatsisface’s spies.”

    “Skinny feller. Half my weight, y’know. M’cousin Aden will tell you I’m out of condition: dare say it was a lucky blow,” said the warrior modestly.

    “Cousin Rupert,” quavered Fliss, squeezing his arm, “although you were very wonderful and brave, Dr Fairbrother—um—does not mean precisely that.”

    “No, I don’t. Think you’d best come along home and tell me the lot, Fliss.”

    Fliss gulped.

    “In that case, I’ll come too,” said Lord Rupert grimly.

    “Can he be trusted to keep his mouth shut?” said Dr Fairbrother.

    Fliss went very red.

    “I say!” cried her second cousin indignantly. “I can, too!”

    “Aden said it was you spread that story about Henry.”

    “I never! I did not tell it to above two or three fellows who is all as close as oysters! And in the regiment, what’s more!”

    “Um—well, I don’t think any of his friends from the regiment are likely to be in Oxford!” said Fliss with a sudden giggle. “And he would certainly never tell an enemy, sir!”

    “No, I wouldn’t!” he cried indignantly, “Uh—look, what is all this about enemies?” he added on a weak note. “And—uh—dare say you will think it’s a hum, sir, and for my part, think he was batty; but the fellow said something about the Earl of Hubbel sendin’ him to kidnap girls in the street.”

    “No!” cried Fliss. “You have it all wrong!”

    Lord Rupert took a deep breath. “Oh, do I, just? Look, Miss, does Aden know what you’re up to?” he demanded awfully. Spoiling his effect somewhat by adding: “Whatever it is.”

    “Yes, of course he does,” said Dr Fairbrother, grinning at him. “Come on, then—Lord Rupert, is it? Aye. We’ll go home. Dare say I might find you a tankard of something, too.”—The gallant one nodded gratefully.—“Aye. Warm day, is it not?”

    Lord Rupert agreed it was a warm day and during the stroll to the zoologist’s house favoured him with a dissertation on the varieties of refreshing tankards to be found in all the inns within a five-mile radius of the centre of Oxford.

    “But this is serious!” said Mr Quayle-Sturt some little time later, with a frown of concern.

    “’Pears so: aye,” agreed Dr Fairbrother. grinning. “She’s favouring him with a view of Portia Parrot sittin’ on her egg as we speak.”

    “I did not mean Miss Tarlington and Lord Rupert,” he said, smiling, “though I’m very glad to hear that’s your opinion.”

    “Oh. indeed!” cried Delphie, clasping her hands.

    “The man strikes me as an idiot!” said Pansy roundly.

    “Aye: they’ll suit excellently,” noted the zoologist.

    “You are too unkind, Wynn,” said Mr Quayle-Sturt firmly. “I think that Miss Tarlington is not very happy in her home, and if she can find happiness with such a sound fellow as Captain Lord Rupert, we must all be glad for her.”

    Pansy stared at him. “You cannot be serious!”

    “Certainly,” he replied gravely.

    “Mr Quayle-Sturt, he cannot talk of anything except how fine the arable land is near his brother’s house, and what the fine fellows from his regiment have said to him, and—and pathetic on-dits of the town!” she cried.

    “A not uncommon type, then,” noted Dr Fairbrother

    “He may not be the most intellectual fellow who ever walked, but he has a good heart,” said Harley firmly.

    “A good heart! Why, if Fliss should marry him he will put her in his blessed dower house and treat her like a piece of his furniture for the rest of her life!” she cried. “Are you blind?”

    A flush had risen to Harley Quayle-Sturt’s smooth cheeks, but he replied quietly: “No, l am not blind, and I think that Miss Tarlington would find it a very happy and busy life down at Harpingdon Manor.”

    “I think she will be pining for fashionable frivolities within a se’en-night; and nagging the poor fool unmercifully until he provides them!” retorted Pansy vigorously.

    “We’d better agree to disagree, in that case, Harley,” said the zoologist hurriedly. “Er—you were saying the case is serious, I think?”

    “Yes,” said Mr Quayle-Sturt, glancing uncertainly at Pansy as she sat back in her chair with her arms crossed, glaring at him. “As you know, I sent George a note advising him that it would be best for Lady Jane to write to let her Papa know she is well and unharmed, but whether she did or not it hasn’t seemed to have induced him to call his dogs off. And if he’s told them to waylay the young ladies in the street, I think you must agree it has become very serious, Wynn.”

    “Mm... We didn’t think Hubbel would give up easily,” he reminded ‘him.

    “Mr Quayle-Sturt, have you written to Lady Jane’s eldest brother?” asked Delphie.

    “Lord Broughamwood. Yes, I have, Miss Ogilvie, but I have heard nothing from him as yet. He may not be in town.”

    “Probably gone haring off after ’em to the other brother’s place,” offered Dr Fairbrother.

    “To Lord and Lady Lucas: yes. They live with Lucas’s Uncle Henry Kenworthy in Nottinghamshire.”

    “What did you say in your letter?” demanded Pansy.

    “Merely that his sisters were safe, and that he might contact myself or Aden about the matter, but that we understood they did not wish to return to their home.”

    “I see. Do you think you can make Lord Broughamwood promise to help them, Mr Quayle-Sturt?”

    Harley hesitated, then said steadily: “I do not think I can make him do anything, Miss Pansy, and nor would I wish to. But I certainly hope to persuade him to see his sisters’ point of view.”

    “That is entirely tepid of you!” she cried loudly.

    “Pansy, my love—” said Miss Ogilvie in distress.

    “Well, at any rate, it doesn’t matter,” said Pansy firmly. “I have all this horrible money and at least some good has come of it, for poor Lady Jane and Lady Sarah may live with me for the rest of their lives. –And don’t say I may not spend it on them, for the minute I turn twenty-one I won’t have to listen to a word you say!” she said loudly to Dr Fairbrother.

    “I’m not saying anything of the sort, and for the Lord’s sake don’t yell: we have a hatching mother in the house, in case you’d forgotten it.”

    Pansy opened and shut her mouth. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly.

    “Dearest, it would scarcely be right for the ladies to live with you without the consent of their family,” faltered Delphie.

    “Pooh! You have spent too long in the company of Aunt Venetia and the prudish Mr Parker!” she retorted rudely. “You’re beginning to sound just like them!”

    “Miss Pansy, your sister is correct: we must do all we can to affect a reconciliation between the ladies and their parents,” said Harley on a grim note.

    “Be better than having Hubbel take you to court, Pansy.” noted Dr Fairbrother.

    Pansy cried scornfully: “I am not afraid of him! –And I think we should set off downriver as soon as may be, Dr Fairbrother.”

    “Not ‘we’,” he replied firmly.

    “I’m not going to miss out on such an adventure!” she cried.

    °Look, apart from anything else, that would leave poor Delphie to go home alone,” he said on a desperate note.

    “Rubbish. She may go with Fliss and Mr Tarlington. And I’m quite sure he wouldn’t let her go home anyway with just me for company, so your argument falls down entirely!”

    “Now, look, Pansy, you’re being a damned nuisance—”

    “I’m not!” shouted Pansy, bounding up. “Don’t be horrible, Dr Fairbrother! I don’t know what’s happened to you! You used to treat me like a—an equal; and now that you’re in charge of my stupid money you seem to think you have to be my mentor! Well, you are not my guardian, and you can’t tell me what to do, and I’m GOING!” She gave a loud sob and rushed from the room.

    “Damn,” said Wynn Fairbrother, rubbing his chin. “I’m afraid she’s in the right of it. Been behaving like me own grandfather—and he was an old curmudgeon, if y’like! Well, if she wants to go downriver in a damned flat-bottomed boat, let her.”

    “Sir—” began Delphie.

    “Let her, Delphie,” he repeated, sighing. “If Ladies Jane and Sarah are going, with George Hanley to keep an eye on ’em, it’ll be quite safe. Well, safe as it can be. And at least they’ll all be in the same boat!”

    Delphie bit her lip and said in a very weak voice: “That isn’t funny.”

    “Not particularly, no, Wynn. I’m surprized at you,” said Mr Quayle Sturt grimly.

    “That’s because you don’t know me very well, Harley, old fellow. The last thing I wish to be is anybody’s mentor; and the poor child’s in the right of it. Let her have her adventure. Time enough for prunes and prisms when the damned cats get hold of her. –And they will, y’know,” he added with a sigh. “Mrs Parker’s already started.”

    Harley swallowed. “But it is highly ineligible that a lady of gentle birth should embark on such a voyage when there is no necessity for her doing so!”

    “None of your business,” he noted.

    Delphie flushed. “He is only being kind, Dr Fairbrother.”

    “Only bein’ interfering. –Pansy’s hopping mad, y’know,” he said to him.

    “Whether it is interfering or not, I will not back down from my stance.”

    “No need to tell me that. I can see you’re a man of principle. Well, so can Pansy: she’s not slow. The thing is, she can also see when what purports to be a principle is merely a damned stupid social convention,” he said, scratching his pepper-and-salt curls. “Thought you could, too. Pity.”

    Mr Quayle-Sturt drew a deep breath. “l am persuaded Aden will support me in this, Wynn.”

    “Doubt it. He’s every bit as bright as you, but a damned sight more clear-sighted. And harder-headed,” he noted. “And it’s not like going on the common stage, y’know.” He eyed him mockingly.

    “Please, Dr Fairbrother!” cried Delphie, almost in tears.

    “Look, if you don’t wish for it, Delphie, I’ll do my best to talk her out of it. Only it’ll be totally harmless, y’know. And her presence may be of some comfort to the two ladies. Been on and off the river all her life, more or less.”

    Delphie hesitated. “Oh, dear. That’s a point.”

    “Aye. Remember the summer she was—um—thirteen, was it? ’Bout that. Spent two months on a barge with those Whatsanames.”

    “The Coddleses. Yes,” she gulped. “I had forgotten that.”

    “Yes. And Fred Coddles is a rascal, if ever I laid eyes on one. But Quentin had no qualms about letting her go.”

    “Miss Pansy’s papa let her live on a barge for two months?” gasped Mr Quayle-Sturt.

    “Aye. Mind you, think he told the Bridlington hag she was off to stay with cousins, or somethin’. Don’t know what the hag thought when she came back black as a gypsy!” he said, laughing.

    “But—”

    “No harm in it, y’know: the little Coddles girl was Pansy’s age. –What did they call her, now? Ducky?” he asked Delphie.

    “No: Swan, for the swans were nesting the month she was born.”

    “Aye: knew it was something to do with waterfowl,” he said, satisfied. “Well, y’see: Pansy knows the river, she knows boats, and she’s used to adventuring!” he said cheerfully to Harley.

    “She is, however, no longer thirteen,” he noted grimly.

    “She’ll be all right.”

    “It may be her last adventure,” said Delphie with a sigh.

    “Miss Ogilvie, she should be past desiring adventures,” said Harley tightly.

    Delphie hesitated; then she said: “Do you know, sir, I have always found that there is little point in the word ‘should’. For ‘should’ can never make ‘is’. If you will excuse me, I will just go and speak to Pansy.” She went out quietly.

    “Ho!” said Dr Fairbrother to the dumbfounded Mr Quayle-Sturt. “You thought she was the biddable one, didn’t you?”

    Harley had gone very red. “I— Well, something like that, yes.”

    “Both their father’s daughters, in their own ways,” he said, shaking his head. “Delphie looks damn’ like Quentin, when she gets that firm look to her mouth. Well, if you dislike it so much—and I do understand your feelings, so don’t get your dander up—why don’t you go downriver with her?”

    Mr Quayle-Sturt was now redder than ever. “If you think about it for a minute, I think you must see that that would make the whole expedition many times more ineligible.”

    “Uh—oh! Keep forgettin’ you’re not an old buffer like me!” he said with a loud laugh. “Hm. I can’t get away, what with Portia Parrot about to hatch, and then Jacky can’t be trusted to keep his head if one of the monkeys gets sick. Well, can always manage a few days, y’know, only this would be an extended trip.”

    “Quite. Look, can’t we possibly manage to get them away by coach?”

    Dr Fairbrother made an awful face. “Doubt it. Was talking to the Master of Balliol only this afternoon, when I was on the hunt for Fliss, and he was rabid because his coach had been stopped on the London road. Hubbel has Bow Street onto it officially, there is no doubt. The Master said the fellow who looked in his coach had a drawing in his hand and looked most carefully at his wife and daughters.”

    Harley looked at him in horror.

    “Mm,” he said, shaking his head. “Might be safe to switch to a coach further downriver, of course: but not near Oxford.”

    “No, indeed,” he recognized.

    “Well—what shall we do, d’you think? The summer as marchin’ on, y’know. Get ’em away downriver as soon as may be? Wait to hear from their brother?”

    “I—I’m not sure.”

    Dr Fairbrother went on looking at him hopefully, not betraying that this had been a test and that he had wished to see just how much decision there was about Harley Quayle-Sturt.

    Finally Harley bit his lip and said: “I think we had best ask Aden’s opinion.”

    Dr Fairbrother got up. “Mm. Excuse me, dear fellow: better see that Fliss and Lord Rupert ain’t disturbing Portia too much.”

    He went out, but did not make his way immediately to the parrots’ room. Instead he went out to the kitchen.

    “Thought that fellow Harley would do for Pansy,” he said mournfully to Mrs Mayes.

    “Aye, well, so do I! He seems to favour her, and though I don’t think she has beaux in her head as yet, bless her, there’s no doubt she likes him! Now, don’t tell me it ain’t so?”

    “He’s got a damned conventional streak,” he said, shaking his head. “Prudish, too, come to think. Damned pity. Drove Pansy into such a temper she rushed out of the room over nothing much. Well, nothing that anyone but a conventional fellow with his head full of prunes and prisms would bother about!”

    “Is you sure you ain’t exaggerating, Dr Fairbrother?” she asked shrewdly.

    “Uh—a bit, perhaps! Um… Well, no need they should exactly agree on everything under the sun. Only it seems to be a fundamental disagreement,” he said, shaking his head. “Of temperament, not only the intellect.”

    “Mm. Well, Pansy always did have a hasty temper. And there’s no denying a nicely brung-up gent will expect a young lady to behave like she is a young lady.”

    “Aye,” he said glumly, leaning on the table. “What’s for dinner?”

    “Um—depends,” she said, giving him a dry look.

    “What on?”

    Mrs Mayes sniffed slightly. “Bella’s Joe has sent up a brace of pheasant: nicely hung an’ all, they be.”

    “Then let’s have ’em, dear woman!”

    “Aye. Only,” she said, drier than ever: “they be off of that Lord Rupert’s pa’s estate.”

    “Serve ’em up, by all means!” he choked, laughing himself silly.

    “Well, it’s on your head. Only don’t you tell him where they come from!”

    “Never!” he gasped.

    “And I s’pose I can do that nice piece of pork. With the last of the gooseberries, if that suits.”

    “Wonderful,” he said, grinning.

    “Only…”

    “What?”

    “We is runnin’ out of money,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

    “Hell,” said Dr Fairbrother limply.

    “Why don’t you ask Mr Tarlington, sir? He strikes me as a sensible feller what won’t make no fuss about lending us some cash to tide us over.”

    “Not the done thing,” he said, with a grimace. “Though you’re right, of course. Aden is a sensible man. Pity it ain’t him that’s fallen for Pansy, eh?”

    “Aye, ’tis that,” she said, shaking her head.

    Dr Fairbrother went slowly out of the kitchen, very disappointed to find that Mrs Mayes’s opinion on that point was the same as his own. For he had rather hoped he had had it wrong.

    Mr Tarlington had spent a blissful afternoon in the bookshops. He had returned with a couple of volumes under his arm to the news that there was a messenger and a gentleman waiting for him in his private parlour. With the Mitre’s apologies.

    Somewhat surprized at the apologies, Mr Tarlington went cautiously into the parlour with a hand in the pocket where he kept a small pistol. Just in case Lord Hubbel might get some silly idea into his head of forcing the truth out of him.

    “What the Devil are you doing here?” he said limply.

    Jacky sprang to his feet. “Sir, I never told ’im nuffin!” he gasped.

    “Nor he did,” agreed Sir Noël Amory languidly, looking down his nose at him, though refraining from the use of his quizzing glass, for the nonce.

    “’E eyed me up and down with that spy-glass, an’ all,” reported Jacky aggrievedly, apropos.

    “Did he, indeed? A horrid fate, Jacky, I agree. But don’t fear the gentleman, he’s a friend of mine. Do you have a message for me, Jacky?”

    “Yessir. Um,”—he glanced warily at Sir Noël—“Dr You-Knows-Who says you is to come, acos Miss You-Knows-Who has gone walkin’, sir! By ’erself!”

    “My sister?” he said with a groan.

    “That be it, sir!” said Jacky, vastly relieved that his code had been so quickly grasped.

    “How long have you been waiting for me, Jacky?”

    “Dunno, sir. Hours, I dessay.”

    “I have been here two hours,” said Sir Noël politely, “and he has been here longer than I.”

    “Acos Dr You-Knows-Who said if you was not ’ere, I was to wait, sir, acos if I went wandering round the town, Lord Whatsisface’s men might a-grab ’old of me!”

    “They might, indeed: you are certainly far safer at the Mitre. Ah—have you had any refreshment?”

    “The gent made me drink some milk.”

    “He assured me porter was his usual tipple, but l did not take him at his word,” said Sir Noël languidly.

    “Thanks, Noël. Well, we had best be off to Fairbrother’s, though it’s more than likely Fliss has returned by now.”

    “Sir, is you takin’ the curricle?” gasped Jacky.

    “Er—oh. Very well, I’ll ask them to bring it round,” he said, ringing the bell, as Jacky beamed his gap-toothed grin. “And in the meantime, Noël, you may explain why in God’s name you’re here.”

    Sir Noël shrugged. “Couldn’t imagine why the Devil you’d want to borrow my Égyptienne so urgently: thought I’d come and see what you’re up to. Oh: you’ve missed the Claveringham ball, by the way.”

     Mr Tarlington’s jaw dropped. “Never tell me they held it!”

    “Er—certainly. Oh—think Ladies Jane and Sarah had colds, or some such: they were not there.”

    Mr Tarlington rolled his eyes slightly but as a waiter had come in, did not comment, just asked for his curricle to be brought round directly.

    Sir Noël continued languidly: “But Lady May was in fine fettle. And old Lady Georgina turned up. Monkey and all.*

    “Did she have ’er blackamoors with ’er, sir?” asked Jacky eagerly.

    Sir Noël raised his quizzing glass. “Er—yes.”

    “She’s got five, sir!” he said excitedly to Mr Tarlington.

    “Five, is it? Thought it was four.”

    “No, sir, it be five! Acos Dr Fairbrother, ’e said to ’er when she come to see ’im, was it just the four for a bite, then, and the old lady says no, there is another one on the box with the driver, and down ’e comes, ’uge as Lucifer and black as yer ’at!”

    “‘And shook a dreadful dart,’” noted Sir Noël languidly.

    At this Mr Tarlington’s shoulders shook, but he said kindly to the boy: “Aye, it’s quite a spectacle, isn’t it?”

    “It was certainly a spectacle at the Claveringham ball,” drawled Sir Noël: “she was in cloth of gold, with the footmen and the damned monkey tricked out to match. –I think she and Lady Hubbel had had a falling out over it: at the least, there was something in the air.”

    “Somethink in the air!” said Jacky with a hoarse laugh. “Ho!”

    “That’ll do: we’ll let him into it, but gently, I think,” said Mr Tarlington, now frankly grinning.

    Sir Noël raised his eyebrows very high but did not ask questions. When the curricle was brought he discovered that Aden intended placing the grubby little boy between themselves. His eyebrows rose again but he mounted into the vehicle without saying anything.

    “You’ve got damned niffy-naffy since the Peninsula,” noted Mr Tarlington dreamily, apparently to the ambient air.

    “I don’t go around up-ending females and dusting their backsides for ’em on the public road, certainly.”

    “You can drop that. Unless you’d like me to drop you?”

    “Ooh, yes: you ’ave a go at ’im, sir!” urged Jacky.

    “What have I done?” wondered Sir Noël.

    “Made him drink milk, apparently. –I keep telling you, Jacky: Sir Noël is a friend of mine. We were in the Army together.”

    Jacky eyed Sir Noël’s exquisite tailoring and said nothing.

    “Though you’d never know it, to look at him!”

    “Witty, Aden,” sighed the baronet.

    Grinning, Mr Tarlington turned the curricle in the direction of Dr Fairbrother’s residence.

    After a few minutes Sir Noël said in stunned voice: “Aden, did we or did we not just drive by Hubbel, and did he or did he not cut us dead?”

    “Yes. But then, it was a choice between that or running me through, and I’ve already told him I won’t fight him.”

    “You’d beat ’im easy, Mr Tarlington!” cried Jacky.

    “That is why I won’t fight him, Jacky: he is an old man.”

    Jacky looked glum.

    “For God’s sake, Aden, what have you been up to?” said Noël dazedly.

    “Er... I should warn you the Miss Ogilvies are in it.”

    “They be at Dr Fairbrother’s as we speaks,” noted Jacky helpfully.

    “I see. Go on, Aden.”

    Aden wasn’t sure whether Noël had come hot-foot to Oxford because he wished to see Miss Pansy again, or not. He told him the story, though without stress on the part played by the Ogilvies.”

    “Mm…,” said the baronet slowly. “I can certainly bring up Égyptienne as far as the Pool.”

    “The Pool be in London, Mr Tarlington: Dr Fairbrother showed me on ’is map,” said Jacky helpfully.

    “Yes, that’s right. –So you mean to help us, then, Noël?”

    “Why not?”

    “Because Hubbel may very well see to it that we are all thrown in gaol or transported.”

    Sir Noël shrugged slightly. “Let him try. –No, seriously, Aden, I insist on being in on it! So where have you spirited the ladies away to?”

    Jacky gave Mr Tarlington an anguished look.

    “Near enough to the river,” replied that gentleman calmly.

    “Sounds feasible, then,” said Sir Noël, grinning all over his handsome face. “Er—easy enough coming downriver, dear fellow, but, uh, what about navigating the Pool?”

    “We-ell… We either find a reliable fellow to guide them through it, or disembark before then. They were telling me at the Mitre the Runners have road-blocks on all roads out of Oxford: I dare say it will be safe enough to carry on by coach once we are a fair distance from the place.”

    “You won’t need Égyptienne, then.”

    “Maybe. It depends on what Hubbel does when he learns they have not headed for Nottinghamshire and Lucas’s place. He may assume they have turned on their tracks and headed towards London.”

    “It would be safer to come down the river all the way, then. And I can meet ’em with the yacht!”

    “Dr Fairbrother says as it be a matter of draught, sir, acos the river, it ain’t so deep, nor the canals neither, which is why the barges is flat-bottomed,” said Jacky.

    Sir Noël replied amiably: “That is perfectly correct, but the Pool is deep and many sea-going ships with far greater draught than my yacht dock there.”

    “There you are, then, sir!” he said to Mr Tarlington.

    “So it would appear,” replied that gentleman, grinning. “Thanks, Noël.”

    Pansy came into the sitting-room and stopped short with a gasp. “What are you doing here?”

    Sir Noël had flushed a little; he rose, and bowed.

    “He’s come to help us, and if you want his aid,” said Mr Tarlington, not bothering to get up, “you’d best be civil.”

    “How are you, Miss Pansy?” said Sir Noël.

    “Very well, thank you. Has Mr Tarlington told you the whole, then?”

    “Yes, indeed. Égyptienne—my yacht, you know—is down at Brighton as we speak. I’ll get on back there and bring her up to London in plenty of time to meet you and the Claveringham ladies.”

    Pansy’s jaw sagged.

    “Though I wouldn’t half mind coming downriver with you: never been on a flat-bottomed boat.” He grinned at her.

    “It’s usually not very eventful. But it’s pleasant on the river,” she said limply.

    He nodded. “Not real sailing. Ever been on the Broads?”

    “No,” she said feebly.

    “That can be fun. –Please, come and sit down, Miss Pansy.” Sir Noël held a chair for her; limply Pansy sank onto it. He reseated himself and began to chat cheerfully about his sailing experiences, what time Mr Tarlington looked on sardonically.

    After a while Pansy said weakly: “So you don’t disapprove of my joining the expedition, then, Sir Noël?”

    “It seems harmless enough, and Fairbrother has assured me that you will be well looked after by his friend. I can’t say I’d permit one of my sisters to join in such a venture: but then, they are not as intrepid as you, and not used to leading an independent life.”

    “That’s honest,” said Pansy after a moment.

    “Thank you.”

    “Um…” Pansy licked her lips. Sir Noël looked at her apparently tranquilly: Mr Tarlington could not for the life of him tell if the fellow was acting.

    She hesitated and then said: “Can you eat pheasant, Sir Noël?”

    “I’m very fond of it. But as to what I can eat—! Both Aden and I can eat anything!” he said with a laugh.

    “That’s true: only he don’t generally admit it, damned fribble,” said Aden, wrinkling his  nose at him.

    “l enjoy the comforts the civilized life may afford: why not? Doesn’t mean I can’t do without ’em, or that I don’t set ’em at their true worth. Here, remember that dashed pigsty in the Peninsula? There was you, and me, and young Pennycook, and Aurry Kernohan!” he said with a laugh.

    “Good God, yes! Foul, wasn’t it? Aurry Kernohan! Yes, a very decent fellow! I heard he was wounded at Waterloo, Noël?”

    “Mm. Invalided out. He’s married now: don’t know that you would know her. She was a Miss Hildegarde Maddern: they call her Hildy in the family.”

    “But—but surely…” said Pansy uncertainly.

    “Yes, Miss Pansy? –I’m sorry: boring on about old acquaintances!” said Sir Noel with his pleasant smile. “You must forgive us: old soldiers will do it, I’m afraid!”

    “Can you mean the Mrs Kernohan who is a relation of little Bunch Ainsley’s?”

    “Why, yes! I had forgot you must know the terrible Bunch!” he said with a laugh. “Indeed, Mrs Kernohan is her cousin.”

    “Aurry Kernohan was not in the same regiment as us, but we all met up in this pigsty, y’see,” drawled Mr Tarlington.

    Pansy had jumped. “Oh—yes,” she said lamely.

    “No, no: the point is, it was literally a pigsty!” said Sir Noël, laughing. “Senior officers were quartered in the farmhouse, and we poor fellows were relegated to the pigsty!”

    “Yes. Fortunately Kernohan had a splendid chap with him who made us as snug as possible under a makeshift canvas roof,” added Mr Tarlington, “and fed us on the toughest damned fowl I ever set my teeth in!”

    “I will always maintain,” said Sir Noël with dignity, “that it was crow.”

    “Though Noël will always maintain,” agreed Mr Tarlington solemnly, “that it was crow.”

    The two gentlemen thereupon laughed very much and Pansy laughed weakly and said: “Goodness! I need not have asked about the pheasant, then!”

    “No, indeed!” agreed Sir Noël, frankly grinning.

    “We are also having roast pork,” she added with a twinkle in her eye.

    The gentlemen promptly collapsed in roars of laughter, and Pansy joined in. Having by now forgotten entirely that Mrs Mayes, having sent her along to the sitting-room to ask if the new arrivals could eat pheasant, might possibly be awaiting an answer.

    Harley Quayle-Sturt had quietly volunteered to help Dr Fairbrother feed the monkeys. He remarked with interest on the varied diet the zoologist offered them, but after that fell silent. Finally he said: “Aden is all for the downriver scheme, then.”

    “Aye.” Dr Fairbrother glanced sideways at him. “He is a less conventional fellow than you at heart. I think?”

    “Yes.”

    “What’s this Sir like?”

    Harley swallowed a sigh. “Appearances somewhat to the contrary, he is a thoroughly good fellow. He can behave like a damned Bond Street beau, but—well, I suppose one does not go around characterizing one’s old friends as noble and brave, but Noël Amory is both. He was in the Peninsula with Aden, and Aden owes him his life. Though you won’t hear about it from Noël! And he’s the sort of man who will look out for the young subalterns and see they don’t get into mischief—much like Aden himself. I know he don’t look it, but you may take it from me, Aden would not have remained close friends with him for so long if there wasn’t considerably more to him than meets the eye.”

    “I see. Well, glad to hear it, Harley.”

    Mr Quayle-Sturt gave him an awkward smile and added: “I collect Noël met the Miss Ogilvies some time back? Aden told me some tale of—of Miss Pansy pretending to be the eider?”

    “Mm.” Dr Fairbrother ate a small piece of green vegetable that had been destined for the monkeys and said thoughtfully: “You may like to hear the tale in full.” And forthwith told it. “What do you think?” he concluded on a dry note.

    Mr Quayle-Sturt was plainly very much shocked. “How could they even dream— When they might have gone respectably to Mrs Parker!”

    “Thought I explained that?”

    “Well, yes, Wynn, you did, but... I am not surprized the headmistress dismissed them!”

    “Nor am I. On the other hand. I’m not surprized she’s been keeping an eye on ’em ever since.”

    “Er—I’m glad to hear it. And they live in a tiny cottage, you say?”

    Dr Fairbrother replied on an ironic note: “Oh, not that tiny, for it has an attic floor with a spare bedroom which will just take Lady Jane and Lady Sarah Claveringham.”

    “I— Frankly, I’m appalled by the whole thing.”

    “Mm. Don’t think, from something that Pansy let slip, that Sir Noël Amory was much impressed, either. But the cottage is warm and weather-proof: perfectly comfortable.”

    Harley clenched his fists. “They must be got out of it! Surely you must perceive the ineligibility of leaving them there?”

    “Don’t think I do, no. But I dare swear Mrs Parker will have ’em out of it before long. –That’s largely why l think Pansy should have this river trip. Let her have the last of her childhood while she may.”

    “The last of her— Yes,” said Harley Quayle-Sturt, going very red. “Of course. You are quite right. –My dear fellow. I wonder if you will excuse me, for tonight?”

    “Aye, well, don’t stay if you don’t wish to, Harley. Dare say Lord Rupert Narrowmine is more than capable of eating your share of the pheasant.”

    “Er—yes. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. And if George Hanley needs someone to take over his lock, I’m more than willing.”

    “Good man!” he said, clapping him on the shoulder and smiling kindly at him.

    Harley gave him an awkward smile and went out hurriedly.

    Dr Fairbrother slowly fed the last of the greenstuffs to his monkeys, shaking his head. “Only seventeen,” he said to a grandfather monkey who was disputing a piece of cabbage stalk with a friend. “What was I doin’, at that age?” A grin slowly overspread his good-natured countenance: “No: scrub that!” he choked. “Well, what was Portia doin’, eh? Aye, you’re in the right of it,” he said, solemnly handing the very last stalk to the grandfather monkey: “gettin’ around with her skirts pinned up and her hair down her back. That was the year she dammed the stream and flooded Papa’s rose garden!” He looked thoughtfully at the monkey. “And the year after that poor old Papa had a houseful of hopeful young men all summer, and she was turnin’ down eligible offers right, left, and sideways! Yes, well, if either Harley or this Sir is halfway serious about our Pansy, they can damn’ well wait!”

    The grandfather monkey seemed to agree: at all events he nodded his head very hard and chittered briskly. Dr Fairbrother kindly chittered back.

    “So we’re agreed?” said Aden as the company shared a bowl of nuts and fruit with Percival Cummings the Second. “A genuine picknick tomorrow to put Hubbel’s men off the scent, followed by a spurious picknick during which Pansy and Wynn lope off to George Hanley’s lock.”

    “Yes,” agreed Sir Noël. “Can’t imagine anything more boring for a fellow from Bow Street than to have to lurk behind a hedge watchin’ a parcel of gentlefolk enjoying ’emselves genteelly in a field on a warm summer’s day!”

    “That’s right, sir! He won’t be keepin’ but half an eye out by the second time we does it!” said Mrs Mayes with a rich chuckle.

    “So long as it don’t rain,” noted Lord Rupert dubiously.

    “If it looks like rain we don’t go. People don’t keep that close track of time, on the river. George’s friends will expect us when they see us,” said Dr Fairbrother placidly.

    “That’s all right, then. I say, I wish I could come on the boat, too.”

    “No! We need you to lay a false scent! You are crucial to the entire enterprise!” cried Pansy loudly.

    Lord Rupert looked highly gratified. “Crucial, eh?”

    “Yes, indeed!” Fliss encouraged him.

    “Crucial!” he chuckled.

    “But how will we smuggle Bessy and Sally into the house, Mrs Mayes?” worried Delphie.

    Mrs Mayes sniffed slightly. “Don’t you worry your head about that, me deary! It’ll look like Dr Fairbrother and Pansy is just a-coming home, you see. That mock-sweep feller won’t only have to get a glimpse of Bessy in a spare pair of Dr Fairbrother’s breeches with his hat on her head and a monkey on her shoulder, and he won’t catch on there’s a thing wrong!”

    “Bessy is the taller, I collect?” said in Sir Noël with a twinkle in his eve.

    “Aye, that’s right, sir: taller and broader.”

    “Good,” said Mr Tarlington briskly. “So the following day we all make—er—loud noises of departure, and you bowl up with a coach and four, Rupert, with your hat pulled low over your forehead, and very evidently smuggle Misses Bessy and Sally off to Lord knows where.”

    “Shall us try the same trick again, with Bella?” asked Mrs Mayes.

    Mr Tarlington hesitated and then said: “I think not: if they’re followed, that might give Hubbel a clue that Bella was involved the first time, and we don’t want to get her into trouble. Perhaps just drive on until you’re accosted, Rupert: what do you think?”

    “Aye... Will these Runner fellows have the nous to see they’ve got the wrong girls, though?”

    Mrs Mayes said firmly: “He’s right, Mr Tarlington. Seems to me there’s considerable doubt about that. I’ll come with you, Lord Rupert, and then we can say as I’m escortin’ the girls to see a relative, urgent-like. And don’t you fret: if we does get dragged up afore Lord Whatsisface, I won’t stand for no nonsense!”

    “Good. But I think there is little fear of that, when you make it plain the girls are your nieces, Mrs Mayes,” said Mr Tarlington.

    “Aye, that’s right; and Bessy and Sally can’t sound like gentry to save their lives: should be all right,” said Dr Fairbrother.

    Lord Rupert nodded. “I see. And I’m just givin’ you a lift, hey?”—Mrs Mayes nodded brightly.—“Sounds all right. Only where am I goin’?”

    There was a short silence.

    Then a grin slowly spread over Sir Noël’s elegant countenance. “My dear Rupert: you are going to see a very old friend up in Nottinghamshire.”

    Pansy gasped. “Sir Noël, you don’t mean—”

    “Aye: Lucas Claveringham, of course,” he said solemnly.

    “You’re a genius!” she choked, collapsing in helpless splutters.

    Mrs Mayes also went into a terrific wheezing fit—thus proving beyond any doubt, had anyone been so foolish as to experience any, that she was fully cognizant of the names and rôles of the entire cast of characters in their drama.

    “Yes,” said Mr Tarlington with great satisfaction when she was more or less recovered: “it should throw Hubbel well off the scent.”

    “But is Lord Lucas an acquaintance of yours, Lord Rupert?” ventured Delphie.

    “Aye: known him for years,” he said, grinning.

    “It’s perfect,” she said in awe.

    “Certainly,” said Sir Noël with dignity.

    Both Ogilvies went into further paroxysms. Sir Noël watched them with a twinkle in his sparkling light tawny eyes, but did not say anything more.

Next chapter:

https://theogilvieconnection.blogspot.com/2022/09/the-river-adventure.html