It may easily be believed that I took an early walk next morning
before breakfast. No sooner had I made my escape from Aunt
Horsingham's room, than, in utter defiance of the cold thaw just
commencing, I put my bonnet on and made the best of my way to the
moat. Sure enough, large fragments of ice were floating about where
the surface had been broken, close to the side farthest from the Hall.
There were footprints on the snow though, leading away through the
Park in the direction of Muddlebury, and I came back to breakfast with
a heart lightened of at least half its load. We were to return to
London immediately. Aunt Deborah, pale and reduced, but undoubtedly
better, was able to appear at breakfast, and Lady Horsingham, now that
we were really about to take leave of her, seemed to value our
society, and to be sorry to part with us.
"My dear Deborah, I trust you are well wrapped up for this cold raw
day," said our hostess, pressing on her departing guest all kinds of
provision for the journey. "I have ordered them to put up a paper of
sandwiches and some sherry, and a few biscuits and a bottle of
peppermint-water."
"And, Aunt Deborah," put in Cousin Amelia, "here's a comforter I've
made you myself, and a box of cayenne lozenges for your throat; and
don't forget the stone jug of hot water for your poor feet; and mind
you write directly you arrive--you or Kate," she added, turning to
address me almost for the first time since the memorable mistake about
Squire Haycock.
Aunt Deborah was completely overpowered by so much kindness.
"You'd better have the carriage all to yourself--you and your maid,"
persisted Lady Horsingham. "I'll drive Kate as far as the station in
the pony-carriage.--Kate, you're not afraid to trust yourself with me
in the pony-carriage?"
"Not I, indeed, aunt," was my reply, "nor with anybody else, for that
matter. I've pretty good nerves--there are few things that I am afraid
of."
"Indeed, Kate, I fear it is so," was my aunt's reply. "I own I should
like to see you a little more of a coward."
So it was settled that Aunt Deborah and Gertrude being safely packed
up in the close carriage, I should accompany Lady Horsingham, who was
rather proud of her charioteering skill, and drove stiff and upright,
as if she had swallowed the poker--never looking to the right or left,
or allowing her attention to wander for an instant from the ponies she
had undertaken to control.
Now, these said ponies had been doing nothing during the frost except
consuming their three feeds a day with vigorous appetite and a
considerable accession of high spirits. Consequently they were, what
is termed in stable language, very much "above themselves"--a state of
self-exaltation which they demonstrated by sundry unbecoming squeaks
and gambols as soon as they found themselves fairly started on their
journey. Tiny, the youngest and handsomest, would persist in shying,
plunging, and swerving against the pole, much to the demoralization of
his comrade, Mouse, a stiff-built little fellow with a thick neck, who
was ordinarily extremely well-behaved, but apt on occasions like the
present to lower his rebellious little head and defy all control.
Lady Horsingham was tolerably courageous, but totally destitute of
what is termed "hand," a quality as necessary in driving as in riding,
particularly with fractious or high-spirited horses. The seat of a
pony-carriage, besides, is not a position from which a Jehu has much
command over the animals in front of him; and although, as I have
repeatedly said, I am not nervous, I had earned sufficient experience
in the ways of the equine race to know that we might easily be placed
in a position of some peril should anything occur to excite the
mischievous propensities of either of the specimens now gambolling
before us. More accidents have happened out of pony-carriages than all
other descriptions of vehicle put together.
It is said that in the olden and golden days of the road the usual
death of a "long coachman" was to be pitched out of a gig; and
doubtless that two-wheeled conveniency, particularly when going at any
pace, is capable of arriving at a large proportion of grief. But even
a gig, if properly constructed, admits of the driver having a certain
amount of control over his horse; he is well above the animal, and can
get a good purchase to pull him up from, when the acceleration is
becoming dangerous, or there is a tendency to the grosser
insubordination of a "kicking match." Not so in a pony-carriage: low
down upon the ground, even under their very heels, you are completely
at the mercy of your team; and the facility of egress in the event of
a runaway only tempts you to the fatal expedient of jumping
out--another form of expression for "certain death."
To be sure, if people will but sit still, there is no reason why they
should be much alarmed, as an "upset" from so low an elevation need
not necessarily produce any very serious results. But they never
_will_ sit still--at least they won't in nine cases out of ten, and
the consequence is that whilst newspaper columns are filled with
"horrid accidents" and "frightful occurrences," based on the fact of
the "unfortunate sufferer taking an airing in his or her
pony-carriage," many an elderly lady and cautious gentleman is not to
be persuaded into entering one of these little conveyances, but
prefers the slow and sure travelling of his or her own respectable
feet.
Well, Lady Horsingham seemed rather uncomfortable on her driving-seat,
although far too proud to acknowledge so derogatory a feeling. We had
no servant with us; and when I suggested that we might as well take
one of the stablemen to open the gates, my proposal was met with
derision and contempt.
"I should have thought such a masculine lady as yourself, Kate, would
have been above requiring any assistance. I am always in the habit of
driving these ponies quite by myself; but of course, if _you're
afraid_, I'll have a groom to go with us immediately."
_Afraid_, indeed! I scouted the idea: my blood was up, and I almost
hoped something would happen, that I might fling the word in my aunt's
teeth, and ask her, "Who's _afraid_ now?" It came sooner than I
bargained for.
The ponies were pulling hard, and had got their mouths so thoroughly
set against my aunt's iron hand, that she might as well have been
driving with a pair of halters for any power she had over them, when a
rush of colts in an adjoining paddock on one side of the lane, and a
covey of partridges "whirring up" out of a turnip-field on the other,
started them both at the same moment. My aunt gave a slight scream,
clutched at her reins with a jerk; down went the ponies' heads, and we
were off, as hard as ever they could lay legs to the ground, along a
deep-rutted narrow lane, with innumerable twistings and turnings in
front of us, for a certainty, and the off-chance of a wagon and bell
team blocking up the whole passage before we could emerge upon the
high road.
"Lay hold, Kate!" vociferated my aunt, pulling for her very life, with
the veins on her bare wrists swelling up like whipcord. "Gracious
goodness! can't you stop 'em? There's a gravel-pit not half a mile
farther on! I'll jump out! I'll jump out!"
My aunt began kicking her feet clear of the sundry wraps and shawls,
and the leather apron that kept our knees warm, though I must do her
the justice to say that she still tugged hard at the reins. I saw such
an expedient would be certain death, and I wound one arm round her
waist, and held her forcibly down in her seat, while with the other I
endeavoured to assist her in the hopeless task of stopping the runaway
ponies. Everything was against us: the ground was slightly on the
decline; the thaw had not yet reached the sheltered road we were
travelling, and the wheels rung against its frozen surface as they
spun round with a velocity that seemed to add to the excitement of our
flying steeds. Ever and anon we bounded and bumped over some rut or
inequality that was deeper than usual. Twice we were within an inch of
the ditch; once, for an awful hundred yards, we were balancing on two
wheels; and still we went faster and faster than ever. The trees and
hedges wheeled by us; the gravel road streamed away behind us. I began
to get giddy and to lose my strength. I could hardly hope to hold my
aunt in much longer, and now she began to struggle frightfully, for we
were nearing the gravel-pit turn! Ahead of us was a comfortable fat
farmer, jogging drowsily to market in his gig. I can see his broad,
well-to-do back now. What would I have given to be seated, I had
almost said _enthroned_, by his side? What a smash if we had touched
him! I pulled frantically at the off-rein, and we just cleared his
wheel. He said something; I could not make out what. I was nearly
exhausted, and shut my eyes, resigning myself to my fate, but still
clinging to my aunt. I think that if ever that austere woman was near
fainting it was on this occasion. I just caught a glimpse of her
white, stony face and fixed eyes; her terror even gave me a certain
confidence. A figure in front of us commenced gesticulating and
shouting and waving its hat. The ponies slackened their pace, and my
courage began to revive.
"Sit still," I exclaimed to my aunt as I indulged them with a good
strong "give-and-take" pull.
The gravel-pit corner was close at hand, but the figure had seized the
refractory little steeds by their heads, and though I shook all over,
and felt really frightened now the danger was past, I knew that we
were safe, and that we owed our safety to a tall, ragged cripple with
a crutch and a bandage over one eye.
My aunt jumped out in a twinkling, and the instant she touched _terra
firma_ put her hand to her side, and began to sob and gasp and pant,
as ladies will previous to an attack of what the doctors call
"hysteria." She leant upon the cripple's shoulder, and I observed a
strange, roguish sparkle in his unbandaged eye. Moreover, I remarked
that his hands were white and clean, and his figure, if he hadn't been
such a cripple, would have been tall and active.
"What shall I do?" gasped my aunt. "I won't get in; nothing shall
induce me to get in again. Kate, give this good man half a crown. What
a providential escape! He ought to have a sovereign. Perhaps ten
shillings will be enough. How am I to get back? I'll walk all the way
rather than get in."
"But, aunt," I suggested, "at any rate I must get to the station. Aunt
Deborah is sure to think something has happened, and she ought not to
be frightened till she gets stronger. How far is it to the station? I
think I should not mind driving the ponies on."
In the meantime the fat farmer whom we had passed so rapidly had
arrived at the scene of action, his anxiety not having induced him in
the slightest degree to increase the jog-trot pace at which all his
ideas seemed to travel. He knew Lady Horsingham quite well, and now
sat in his gig with his hat off, wiping his fat face, and expatiating
on the narrow escape her ladyship had made, but without offering the
slightest suggestion or assistance whatever.
At this juncture the cripple showed himself a man of energy.
"Your ladyship had best go home with this gentleman," said he,
indicating the fat farmer, "if the young lady is not afraid to go on.
I can take care of her as far as the railway, if it's not too great a
liberty, and bring the ponies back to the Hall afterwards, my lady?"
with an interrogative snatch at his ragged hat.
It seemed the best thing to be done under the circumstances. My aunt,
after much demurring and another incipient attack of the hysterics,
consented to entrust herself to the fat farmer's guidance, not,
however, until she was assured that his horse was both blind and
broken-winded. I put Mouse's bridle down on the lower bar instead of
the cheek, on which he had previously been driven. My aunt climbed
into the gig; I mounted the pony-carriage, the cripple took his seat
deferentially by my side, and away we went on our respective journeys;
certainly in a mode which we had little anticipated when we left the
front door at Dangerfield Hall.
My preserver sat half in and half out of the carriage, leaning his
white, well-shaped hand upon the splashboard. The bandaged side of his
face was towards me. The ponies went quietly enough; they had enjoyed
their gallop, and were, I think, a little blown. I had leisure to take
a good survey of my companion. When we had thus travelled for a
quarter of a mile in silence he turned his face towards me. We looked
at each other for about half a minute, and then both burst out
laughing.
"You didn't know me, Miss Coventry! not the least in the world,"
exclaimed the cripple, pulling the bandage off his face, and showing
another eye quite as handsome as the one that had previously been
uncovered.
"How could you do so, Captain Lovell?" was all I could reply.
"Conceive if my aunt had found you out, or even if any one should
recognize you now. What would people think of _me_? But how did you
know we were going to London to-day, and how could you tell the ponies
would run away?"
"Never mind how I knew your movements, Miss Coventry," was the reply.
"Kate! may I call you Kate? it's such a soft, sweet name," he added,
now sitting altogether _inside_ the carriage, which certainly was a
small one for two people. "You don't know how I've watched for you,
and waited and prowled about, during the last few days. You don't know
how anxious I've been only for one word--even one look. I've spent
hours out on the Down just to see the flutter of your white dress as
you went through the shrubbery--even at that distance it was something
to gaze at you and know you were there. Last night I crossed the ice
under your window."
"You did indeed!" I replied with a laugh; "and what a ducking you must
have got!"
Frank laughed too, and resumed. "I was sadly afraid that your aunt
might have found out you were holding a parley with the enemy outside
the walls. I knew you were to go to London to-day. I thought very
likely you might be annoyed, and put under surveillance on my account,
and I was resolved to see you, if only for one moment; so I borrowed
these ragged garments of a professional beggar, who I believe is a
great deal better off in reality than myself, and I determined to
watch for your carriage and trust to chance for a word, or even a
glance of recognition. She has befriended me more than I could expect.
At first, when I saw 'Aunt Deborah' alone in the chariot, it flashed
across me that perhaps you were to stay _en penitence_ at Dangerfield.
But I knew Lady Horsingham had a pony-carriage. I also knew--or what
would be the use of servants?--that it was ordered this morning; so I
stumped gaily along the road, thinking that at all events I might have
an opportunity of saying three words to you at the station whilst the
servants were putting the luggage on, and the dear aunts, who I
presume cherish a mutual hatred, were wishing each other a tender
farewell. But that such a chance as this runaway should befriend me
was more than I ever dared to hope for, and that I should be sitting
next _you_, Kate (and _so close_, I'm sure he might have added), in
Lady Horsingham's pony-phaeton is a piece of good luck that in my
wildest moments I never so much as dreamt of. We scarcely ever meet
now. There--you needn't drive so fast; the up-train don't go by till
the half-hour, and every minute is precious, at least to _me_. We are
kept sadly apart, Kate. If you can bear it, I can't. I should like to
be near you always--always to watch over you and worship you. Confound
that pony! he's off again."
Sure enough, Tiny was indulging in more vagaries, as if he meditated a
second fit of rebellion; and what with holding him and humouring
Mouse, and keeping my head down so as to hide my face from Frank, for
I didn't want him to see how I was blushing, I am sure I had enough to
do.
"Kate, you must really have pity on me," pursued Frank. "You don't
know how miserable I am sometimes (I wonder what he wanted me to
say?), or how happy you have it in your power to make me. Here we are
at that cursed station, and my dream is over. I must be the cripple
and the beggar once more--a beggar I am indeed, Kate, without your
affection. When shall we meet again, and where?"
"In London," was all I could answer.
"And you won't forget me, Kate?" pleaded poor Frank, looking so
handsome, poor fellow.
"_Never_," I replied, and before I knew how it was, I found myself
standing on the platform with Aunt Deborah and the servants and the
luggage. The great green engine was panting and gasping in front of
me, but ponies and pony-carriage and cripple had all vanished like a
dream.
As we steamed on to London I sometimes thought it _was_ a dream, not
altogether a pleasant one, nor yet exactly the reverse. I should have
liked my admirer to have been a little more explicit. It is all very
well to talk of being miserable and desperate, and to ring the changes
of meeting and parting, and looks and sighs, and all that; but after
all the real question is, "Will you?" or "Won't you?" and I don't
think a man is acting very fairly towards a girl who don't put the
case in that way at once before he allows himself to run into
rhapsodies about his feelings and his sufferings and such matters,
which, after all, lead to nothing, or at least to nothing
satisfactory. To be sure, men are strange creatures, and upon my word
I sometimes think they are more troubled with shyness than our own
sex. Perhaps it's their diffidence that makes them hesitate so, and,
as it were, "beat about the bush," when they have only got to "flush
the bird" and shoot it at once and put it in the game-bag. Perhaps
it's their pride for fear of being refused. Now, I think it's far more
creditable to a man to wear the willow, and take to _men dinners_ and
brandy-and-water for a month or six weeks, than to break a girl's
heart for a whole year; and I know it takes nearly that time for a
well-brought-up young lady to get over a _real_ matrimonial
disappointment. However, shy or not shy, they certainly ought to be
explicit. It's too bad to miss a chance because we cannot interpret
the metaphor in which some bashful swain thinks it decorous to couch
his proposals; and I once knew a young lady who, happening to dislike
needlework, and replying in the negative to the insidious question,
"Can you sew a button?" never knew for months that she had actually
declined a man she was really fond of, with large black whiskers, and
two-and-twenty hundred a year. Women can't be too cautious.