It was then that Bert had his brilliant idea.
To explain it, reference must be made again to his family history. His
father's sister had married a grocer at Richmond, named Stodder, she
having been cook in a family at Hampton Court previous to this event.
The pair had five children, and Bert, when a child, was often taken down
to visit his relations; in the hot weather holidays the Stodders had him
to stay with them for most of the summer. The children hated him, for he
was a spoilt, ill-tempered little boy from the start, but they had to
put up with him, and he grew up on familiar if rather quarrelsome terms
with the whole family.
The eldest boy, Ned, after he left school, was employed in driving his
father's cart about the neighbourhood every day, in order to deliver
orders received and to collect fresh ones. It was Bert's favourite
occupation to sit in the back of the van, his legs dangling, or kicking
against the backboard, while he watched the white roads slip under him
and the grocer's dog trotting with extended tongue beneath his drumming
heels. Ned was quite aware of the pleasure his cousin took in this not
very arduous form of exercise, and he soon devised a way of turning
it to his own profit. He pointed out to Bert that he could not expect
anyone to put up with his company unless he did something to make it
worth their while, and that he for one would not suffer Bert's company
in the van unless he justified his presence by cleaning it when they
came home, and by helping to look after the harness and the horse. Bert
disliked work, but he hated to be cut off from his drives, and, as Ned
was quite firm besides being older and stronger than he was, he told
himself that needs must--and Ned that he was the devil--and took up the
duties of stable boy.
Under his critical and unsparing master and to the accompaniment of
more than a few cuffs and kicks when he tried to shirk his work, Bert
became more proficient in the care of the grocer's steed than any less
well-adjusted mixture of pain and pleasure would have been likely to
result in.
As a further reward, too, the stern Ned so far relented as to allow him
occasionally to take the reins. The combination of discipline and fresh
air did the Tremmels' boy a world of good, and that was a happy summer
for him. Unfortunately, when he returned to Hanover Street his mother
soon undid the good effects of Ned's cuffings; and the following summer
when he found himself again under his uncle's hospitable roof Ned had
left it to enter private service in the stables, and his next cousin had
come out of school and succeeded to the job of driving the van. Geoffrey
was of a less good-humoured, easy-going disposition than his brother
Ned, and Bert was at this age becoming more and more objectionable; it
was seldom that Geoffrey could be induced to let him go with him on his
rounds, but he followed his brother's example in forcing his cousin to
assist him with the horse and cart when he returned with them. This only
enraged and embittered Bert, and of the good done the year before the
last remnant was now utterly destroyed.
In the meantime, as the years went on, Ned grew up a credit to his
family, and a good and favoured servant. So rapid was his progress,
and so astounding--as the Tremmels said--his luck, that by the time
he was three-and-twenty he had risen to the situation of coachman to
an old lady named Mrs. Wilkinson, the aunt of his former master. This
lady kept only one horse and a brougham, and with them drove out every
afternoon, in winter from three to five, in summer from four to six. It
was impossible to imagine an easier or more comfortable place, and Bert
often envied his cousin the soft thing he had stepped into.
Ned was the only one of his relations whom he ever went near nowadays,
but he used often to go round to his stable during the luncheon hour and
explain to the young coachman how little he deserved his good fortune.
It was not till, for the first time, he beheld Madame Querterot at a
loss, not till he heard what in their great plan she had forgotten to
provide for, that he suddenly realised that Ned's good fortune was
possibly his own as well.
"See here," he said to the agitated Frenchwoman, "I can manage that
part." And he told her of his cousin the coachman.
"Mrs. Wilkinson, the lady he works for, has by the rarest luck a
house in the same street as the one I have taken. She lives at No. 1
Scholefield Avenue, only a few doors away from No. 13. More than that,
it happens that she has a large garden at the back of the house, and
the stable is situated at the end of it, quite away from any other
buildings. There's luck for you!"
"How is that?" cried Madame Querterot, "explain yourself quick." She
was very nervous and excited, and for the only time during the whole
business her calm confidence deserted her. It was so near the hour! She
had already smoothed away so many difficulties, done the impossible; and
if all her hopes were to be shattered now, and by so small an obstacle,
it would be, she told herself, the _comble_.
"Why, this way," Bert reassured her. "Ned is always wanting to go home
to Richmond, because the young lady he's keeping company with lives down
there, though he makes out to me that it's his family he wants to see.
As if anyone wanted to see their family! But his old lady drives out
till six every day, and by the time Ned has cleaned up and rubbed down
the horse, and fed him, and washed the brougham and the rest of it, it's
too late to get a decent train down to Richmond, for it's a tidy way
from Scholefield Avenue to Gloucester Road, where the trains connect.
"Now suppose I go to Ned, and tell him I know he wants an evening off,
and that if he likes I don't mind doing his job for once, so as he can
have it. I'll offer to be about on Monday, when he comes in from taking
old Mrs. Wilkinson out for her drive, and to look after the horse and to
put it to bye-bye. I've often done it for him when I was a lad, so he
knows I can manage, though I don't say he won't be a bit surprised at
my offering, so to speak. I think perhaps I'd best say I'll do it for a
consideration; he'll be good for a bob where his young lady's concerned,
I'll bet. What's more, I'll say I'll feed the horse in the morning, so
he won't have to catch the last train back, but can stay down home for
the night. After I've seen him off the premises I'll get inside his
livery--he's a bigger man than me, though not so long in the leg--and
I'll put the horse in again and drive down to Covent Garden and fetch
the lady up. We can say the Prince is sending his own carriage for her."
Madame Querterot nearly wept on Bert's neck in her joy and emotion.
"You will save us, my dear friend!" she exclaimed, pressing his hand,
a demonstration that he resented by snatching it savagely away. "What a
mind, what a genius, to think of so splendid, so heaven-given a device!
Let it be as you say. I am well assured now that all will go well."
These last days were a busy time for Madame Querterot, for there were
certain personal details, essential to the success of her plan, to
be attended to: there were bills to collect, sales to arrange, and
purchases to be made. At last all was done, everything ready, and she
stood in the hall of No. 13 Scholefield Avenue awaiting, with only the
least flicker of the nerves, the sound of wheels before the door.