‘Ay, that’s very pretty talking!’ retorted the Squire. ‘But what the devil am I to tell him, Duke?’
‘If I were you,’ replied Sylvester, ‘I rather think I should merely tell him that I had been unable to bring Miss Marlow back with me because she had already left for town-on a visit to her grandmother.’
The Squire, having thought this over, said slowly: ‘I could say that, of course. To be sure, they don’t know Phoebe has been here all along-and it would be as well, I daresay, if they never did get to know of it. At the same time, I don’t like hoaxing Marlow, for that’s what I should be doing, no question about it!’
‘But, Father, what good would it do to tell them you found Phoebe here?’ asked Tom. ‘Now that she’s gone, it could only do harm!’
‘Well, that’s true enough,’ admitted the Squire. ‘What am I going to tell them?’
‘That Miss Marlow travelled to town in my chaise, escorted by my head groom, and attended by a respectable abigail,’ replied Sylvester fluently. ‘Not even Lady Marlow could demand a greater degree of propriety, surely?’
‘Not if she don’t set eyes on the respectable abigail!’ murmured Tom.
‘Don’t put mistaken notions into your father’s head, Thomas! Let me reassure you, sir! The landlady’s daughter has gone with Miss Marlow. She is unquestionably respectable!’
‘Yes, but such a toadeater!’ said Tom wickedly. ‘Saying you were more important than a gobble-cock-!’
13
Contrary to Sylvester’s expectation Phoebe reached her grandmother’s house at half-past ten that evening. She had been travelling for nearly eight hours, for the state of the roads had compelled the postilions to proceed at a very sober pace, and she was as weary as she was anxious. Her initial reception in Green Street was not encouraging. While she waited in the chaise, with the window let down, watching him, Keighley trod up the steps to the front door and plied the heavy knocker resoundingly. A long, long pause followed, and a nerve-racking fear that Lady Ingham was out of town assailed Phoebe. But just as Keighley raised his hand to repeat his summons she saw him check, and lower his arm again. The quelling noise of bolts being drawn back was next heard, and Phoebe, craning eagerly forward, saw her grandmother’s butler standing on the threshold, with a lamp in his hand, and heaved a sigh of relief.
But if she expected to receive a welcome from Horwich she was the more deceived. Persons who demanded admittance at unseasonable hours were never welcome to him, even when they arrived in a chaise-and-four and escorted by a liveried servant. A street lamp illumined the chaise, and he perceived that for all the dirt that clung to the wheels and panels it was an extremely elegant vehicle: none of your job-chaises, but a carriage built for a gentleman of means and taste. A glimpse of a crest, half concealed by mud, caused him to unbend a trifle, but he replied coldly to Keighley’s inquiry that her ladyship was not at home to visitors.
He was obliged to admit Phoebe, of course. He did it with obvious reluctance, and stood, rigid with disapproval, while she thanked Keighley for his services, and bade him goodbye with what he considered most unbecoming friendliness.
‘I will ascertain whether her ladyship will receive you, miss,’ he said, shutting the door at last upon Keighley. ‘I should inform you, however, that her ladyship retired to rest above an hour ago.’
She tried not to feel daunted, and said as confidently as she could that she was sure her grandmother would receive her. ‘And will you, if you please, look after my maid, Horwich?’ she said. ‘We have been travelling for a great many hours, and I expect she will be glad of some supper.’
‘I will that, and no mistake!’ corroborated Alice, grinning cordially at Horwich. ‘Don’t you go putting yourself out, though! A bit of cold meat and a mug of porter will do me fine.’
Phoebe could not feel, observing the expression on Horwich’s face, that Sylvester had acted wisely in sending Alice to town with her. Horwich said in arctic accents that he would desire the housekeeper-if she had not gone to bed-to attend to the Young Person presently. He added that if Miss would be pleased to step into the morning room he would send her ladyship’s maid up to apprise my lady of Miss’s unexpected arrival.
But by this time Phoebe’s temper had begun to mount, and she surprised the venerable tyrant by saying tartly that she would do no such thing. ‘You need not put yourself to the trouble of escorting me, for I know my way very well! If her ladyship is asleep I shall not wake her, and if she is not I don’t need Muker to announce me!’ she declared.
Her ladyship was not asleep. Phoebe’s soft knock on her door was answered by a command to come in; and she entered to find her grandmother sitting up in her curtained bed, with a number of pillows to support her, and an open book in her hands. Two branches of candles and the flames of a large fire lit the scene, and cast into strong relief her ladyship’s aquiline profile. ‘Well, what is it?’ she said testily, and looked round. ‘Phoebe! Good God, what in the world-? My dear, dear child, come in!’
A weight slid from Phoebe’s shoulders; her face puckered, and with a thankful cry of: ‘Oh, Grandmama!’ she ran forward.
The Dowager embraced her warmly, but she was not unnaturally alarmed by so sudden an arrival. ‘Yes, yes, of course I am glad to see you, my love! But tell me at once what has happened! Don’t try to break it to me gently! Not, I do trust, a fatal accident to your papa?’
‘No-oh, no! nothing of that nature, ma’am!’ Phoebe assured her. ‘Grandmama, you told me once that I might depend on you if-if ever I needed help!’
‘That Woman!’ uttered the Dowager, sitting bolt upright.
‘Yes, and-and Papa too,’ said Phoebe sadly. ‘That was what made it so desperate! Something happened-at least, I believed it was going to happen-and I couldn’t bear it, and so-and so I ran away!’
‘Merciful heavens!’ exclaimed Lady Ingham. ‘My poor child, what have they been doing to you? Tell me the whole!’
‘Mama told me that Papa had arranged a-a very advantageous marriage for me with the Duke of Salford,’ began Phoebe haltingly. She was conscious that her grandmother had stiffened, and paused nervously. But the Dowager merely adjured her to continue, so she drew a breath, and said earnestly: ‘I couldn’t marry him, ma’am! You see, I had only met him once in my life, and I disliked him excessively. Besides, I knew very well that he didn’t so much as remember me! Even if I had liked him I couldn’t have borne to marry a man who only offered for me because his mother wished him to!’
The Dowager, controlling herself with a strong effort, said: ‘Is that what That Woman told you?’
‘Yes, and also that it was because I had been brought up as I should be, which made him think I should be suitable.’
‘Good God!’ said the Dowager bitterly.
‘You-you do understand, don’t you, ma’am?’
‘Oh, yes! I understand only too well!’ was the somewhat grim response.
‘I was persuaded you would! And the dreadful thing was that Papa was bringing him to Austerby to propose to me. At least, so Mama said, for Papa had told her so.’
‘When I see Marlow- Did he bring Salford to Austerby?’