“Yes, you will!” said Ninian. “I have been wondering how to get you to Bath before you are quite frozen, and if this lady will take you there I shall be very much obliged to her.”
“I will certainly take her there,” said Annis, smiling at him. “My name, by the way, is Wychwood—Miss Annis Wychwood.”
“And mine, ma’am, is Elmore—Ninian Elmore, entirely at your service!” he responded, with great gallantry, “And this is—”
“Ninian, no!”cried Lucilla, much flustered. “If she were to tell my aunt where I am—”
“Oh, don’t be afraid of that!” said Annis cheerfully. “Never shall it be said of me that I’m an addle-plot, I promise you! I collect that you are going to visit a friend, or perhaps a relation?”
“Well,—well not precisely! In fact, I haven’t met her yet!” disclosed Lucilla, in a rush of confidence. “The thing is, ma’am, I am going to apply for the post of companion to her. She says—I have brought the notice I saw in the Morning Post with me, but most foolishly packed it in my portmanteau, so that I can’t immediately show it to you—but she says she requires an active and genteel young lady of willing disposition, and that applicants must call at her residence in North Parade between the hours of—”
“North Parade!” exclaimed Annis. “My poor child, can it be that you are going to visit Mrs Nibley?”
“Yes,” faltered Lucilla, dismayed by Miss Wychwood’s very obvious pity. “The Honourable Mrs Nibley, which made me think she must be a perfectly respectable person. Isn’t she, ma’am?”
“Oh, yes! A pattern-card of respectability!” answered Annis. “Renowned in Bath as the town’s worst archwife! She has had I don’t know how many active and genteel ladies to wait on her hand and foot during the three years I’ve been acquainted with her. Either they leave her house in strong hysterics, or she turns them off because they have not been sufficiently active or willing! My dear, do believe me when I tell you that the post she offers would not do for you!”
“I guessed as much!” interpolated Mr Elmore, not without satisfaction.
Lucilla bore all the appearance of having sustained a stunning blow, but at this her spirit flickered up in a brief revival, and she said: “No, you didn’t! Pray, how could you have guessed anything of the sort?”
“Well, at all events, I guessed no good would come of such a bird-witted start, and I said so at the time! You can’t deny that! Now what do you mean to do?”
“I don’t know,” said Lucilla, her lips trembling. “I shall have to think of something.”
“There’s only one thing you can do, and that is to return to Mrs Amber,” he said.
“Oh, no, no, no!” she cried passionately. “I would rather hire myself out as a cook-maid than go back to be scolded, and reproached, and told I had made my aunt ill, and forced to many you, which is what would happen, on account of my having run away with you! And it wouldn’t be the least use to tell my aunt, or your papa, that I didn’t run away with you, but away from you, because even if they believed me they would think it worse,and say we must be married!”
He blenched visibly, and ejaculated: “Oh, my God, that’s just what they would do! What a hobble we’re in! It almost makes me wish I hadn’t caught you creeping out of the house, and thought it my duty to see you came to no harm!”
“Forgive me!” interposed Miss Wychwood. “May I offer a suggestion?” She smiled at Lucilla, and held out her hand. “If you are set on being a companion, come and be a companion to me!” She heard Miss Farlow within the carriage utter a faint, outraged clucking, and made haste to add: “It won’t do, you know, to be putting up at an hotel, all by yourself; and it’s not to be expected that Mrs Nibley—even if she engaged you, which I think extremely unlikely—would be prepared to do so immediately. She will require you to furnish her with the name and direction of some respectable person willing to vouch for you.”
“Oh, goodness!” exclaimed Lucilla, dismayed. “I never thought of that!”
“Most understandable that you should not!” said Annis. “One can’t think of everything, after all! But I do feel that it is a matter which ought to be considered, and I also feel that it is quite impossible to consider anything when one is standing in the open road, with a perfectly horrid wind positively freezing one’s wits! So do, pray, get into my carriage! Mr Elmore will follow us in due course, and we can discuss the matter when we have dined, and are sitting snugly beside the fire.”
“Thank you!” Lucilla said unsteadily. “You are very kind, Miss Wychwood! Only—only how is Ninian to manage, when he can’t leave the horse?”
“There is no need for you to fret about me,” said Mr Elmore nobly. “I shall lead the horse to the next hostelry, and trust to being able to hire some sort of a carriage to carry me to Bath.”
“You might even ride the horse,” suggested Annis.
“But I am not dressed for riding!” he said, staring at her. “And—and even if I were, it is not a saddle-horse!”
Annis now perceived that Mr Elmore was a very correct young gentleman. She was a good deal amused, but although the ready laughter sprang to her eyes she said, with perfect gravity: “Very true! We must leave you to do as you think best, but I should perhaps warn you that since this is not a post-road you may find it difficult to hire a chaise at the—the ‘next hostelry’, and may even be reduced to contenting yourself with some vehicle quite beneath your touch! However, I shan’t despair of seeing you in Upper Camden Place in time for dinner!” She then furnished him with her exact direction, smiled benignly upon him and pushed Lucilla to the steps of her carriage.
Propelled irresistibly by a firm hand in the small of her back, Lucilla mounted them, but paused at the top, to say, over her shoulder: “If I could be of the least use to you, Ninian, I wouldn’t leave you in this fix, even though you wouldn’t have been in it if you hadn’t meddled in my affairs!”
“You may make yourself easy on that head!” responded Mr Elmore. “Far from being of use to me, your presence would make everything worse! If it could be!” he added.
“Well, of all the unjust things to say!” gasped Lucilla indignantly. She would have said more, but Miss Wychwood cut short her recriminations by thrusting her into the carriage. She then directed her interested footman to transfer her unexpected guest’s baggage from the gig to the carriage, and, when this was done, herself mounted into the carriage, briskly desired Miss Farlow to make room for a third person on the back seat, pushed her own hot brick under Lucilla’s feet, tucked a generous share of the fur-lined carriage-rug round her, and nodded to her footman to put up the steps. In a very few minutes the coachman had set his horses in motion, and Lucilla, snuggling between her hostess and Miss Farlow, heaved a small sigh, and, stealing a cold hand into Miss Wychwood’s, whispered: “Oh, I do thank you, ma’am!”
Miss Wychwood chafed the little hand, saying: “You poor child! You are quite frozen! Never mind! We shall soon be in Bath, and we shan’t discuss your problems until you are warm, and have dined, and—er—have the benefit of Mr Elmore’s advice!”
Lucilla gave an involuntary choke of laughter, but refrained from comment. Very little conversation was exchanged during the rest of the journey, Lucilla, worn-out by the day’s adventures, being on the brink of sleep, and Miss Wychwood confining her remarks to a few commonplaces addressed to Miss Farlow. For her part, Miss Farlow’s usual flow of chit-chat was dried up, because (as she would presently tell her employer) her feelings had been wounded by the imputation that her own companionship did not suffice Miss Wychwood. Miss Jurby preserved a rigid silence, as befitted her position, but she too had every intention of favouring Miss Wychwood with her opinion of her latest, ill-judged start, as soon as she was alone with her—and in far more forthright terms than would be used by Miss Farlow.