“Well, of course I’ve come home!” she replied, with a touch of impatience. “I haven’t been to the North Pole! I have been, as you very well know, a distance of no more than twelve miles, and since I had my mother’s coachman to drive me there, and both her footmen to protect me from any eccentric highwaymen who might have chanced to fall upon the carriage, and to rescue me if those showy slugs had bolted, and overturned us, you cannot have been under the smallest apprehension that any disaster had befallen me!”
“No, miss, I was under no such apprehension. It is her ladyship’s state which makes me thankful to see you back. She has suffered a terrible shock, and, I regret to say, is in great affliction.”
“Good heavens, is my mother ill? Has there been some accident?” she cried.
“Not, so to say, an accident, Miss Hetta,” replied Grimshaw, heaving a deep sigh, and casting a reproachful look at her. “But when the terrible news was conveyed to her ladyship she felt a very severe spasm and went into strong hysterics.”
“But what news?” demanded Henrietta, in considerable alarm.
“I regret to be obliged to inform you, miss,” said Grimshaw, in a tone of ghoulish satisfaction, “that we have every reason to fear that Sir Charles has eloped with Miss Steane.”
“Oh, my God!” muttered Simon, at Henrietta’s elbow. “Now we are in the basket!”
“Fiddle!” she snapped. “How dare you talk such moonshine, Grimshaw? Who had the spiteful impudence to tell such a ridiculous story to her ladyship? Was it you, or was it Cardle? I can believe it of either of you, for you have both tried, from the moment Miss Steane set foot inside this house, to make her ladyship believe that she was an odious schemer! But it is you and Cardle who are the odious schemers! I don’t wish to hear another word from you—though I promise you you will hear a great many words from Sir Charles when I tell him of this piece of wicked mischief-making! I am going to my mother now, but I am expecting a visit from Miss Steane’s father, Mr Wilfred Steane. When he arrives, you will show him into the library, and advise me of it.”
Before this blaze of wrath, as alarming as it was unprecedented, Grimshaw quailed. “Yes, Miss Hetta!” he said hastily. “Her ladyship is laid down on the sofa in the drawing-room, miss! Being a little restored by some drops of laudanum. It wasn’t me that broke it to her that Sir Charles was gone off with Miss Steane, and I’m sure I wouldn’t have said anything about it until you was come home—”
“That will do!” said Henrietta superbly.
“Yes, miss!” said Grimshaw, almost cringing. “I will show Mr Steane into the library, exactly as you say, miss!”
“Or the Baron Monte Toscano!” interpolated Simon.
Henrietta had started in the direction of the drawing-room, but she checked at this, and looked over her shoulder, saying quickly: “No, no, Simon! I can’t receive strangers at such a moment!”
“Same man!” he explained, in an undervoice. “Explain it to you later! But for the lord’s sake, Hetta, don’t see him until you’ve first seen me! Something dashed important to warn you about!”
She looked bewildered, but promised she would join him in the Green saloon as soon as might be possible.
The scene that met her eyes when she entered the drawing-room bore eloquent testimony to Lady Silverdale’s attack of the vapours. Her ladyship lay moaning softly on the sofa; Cardle was waving smelling-salts under her nose with one hand, and with the other dabbing her brow with a handkerchief drenched in vinegar; and on the table beside the sofa was a collection of bottles, ranging from laudanum and tincture of Valerian-root, to Hungary Water and Godfrey’s Cordial.
“Thank God you are come home at last, Miss Hetta!” cried Cardle dramatically. “See what that wicked creature has done to her ladyship!”
“Oh, Hetta!” quavered Lady Silverdale, opening her eyes, and holding out a limp hand.
“Yes, Mama, I’m here,” said Henrietta soothingly. She took the limp hand, and patted it, and said coldly: “You may go, Cardle.”
“Nothing,” announced Cardle, bridling, “shall induce me to leave my beloved mistress!”
“Your mistress doesn’t need you while she has me to look after her,” said Henrietta. “This show of devotion would be more affecting if you had not quite deliberately thrown her into such agitation! I’ll speak to you later: for the present, you will please leave me to be private with her ladyship.”
“That I should have lived to hear such words addressed to me!” uttered Cardle, clasping her hands to her spare bosom, and casting up her eyes to the ceiling. “I that have served her blessed ladyship faithfully all these years!”
“Yes, yes, but go away now!” said her blessed ladyship, reviving sufficiently to push away the vinegar-soaked handkerchief. “I don’t want this nasty-smelling stuff! You know I don’t like it! Oh, Hetta, thank you, dearest!” she added, receiving from her thoughtful daughter a fresh handkerchief, sprinkled with lavender-water, and sniffing it. “So refreshing! You see, Cardle, that Miss Hetta knows just what to do to make me better, so you needn’t scruple to leave me in her care! And take away the vinegar, and the laudanum, and all those bottles, except the asafoetida drops, in case I should feel another spasm coming upon me! And give me my smelling-salts, please! And perhaps you should leave the cinnamon water, but not Godfrey’s Cordial, which I am persuaded doesn’t suit my constitution. And don’t, I beg of you, Cardle, start sobbing, for my nerves are shattered, and I find myself in a very agitated state, and nothing upsets me more than to have people crying over me!”
At the end of this speech, which had increased in vigour surprising in a lady who had, at the start of it, presented the appearance of one who was almost beyond human aid, Cardle saw nothing for it but to withdraw, which she did, with the utmost reluctance, and with many shuddering sighs indicative of her wounded sensibilities. When she had gathered up the rejected remedies, she went with bowed shoulders to the door, turning as she reached it to bestow a last pitiful look at her mistress, and one of venomous dislike at Henrietta.
“Well, now,” said Henrietta cheerfully, “we can be comfortable together, Mama!”
“I shall never again know a moment’s comfort!” said Lady Silverdale, relapsing slightly. “Oh, Hetta, you don’t know what has happened!”
“No, I don’t,” agreed Henrietta, sitting down beside her mother, and casting her very becoming hat of satin-straw on to a near-by chair. “Grimshaw told me a ridiculous Banbury story, not one word of which am I such a goose as to believe, so do, pray, Mama, tell me what really happened here today!”
“Alas, it is no Banbury story! Charlie has run off with that wretched girl Desford persuaded me to house for him! I shall never forgive him, never! Heaven knows it was much against my will that I consented to take her, for I didn’t like her. There was always something about her that seemed to me to show a want of conduct. Those inching manners, you know, were beyond the line of being pleasing. You must recall my saying so to you, several times!”
“No, I don’t recall that,” said Henrietta dryly. “It doesn’t signify, however. What does signify is this nonsensical notion that Charlie has run off with Cherry Steane. It is too absurd, Mama! Cherry doesn’t like him any better than she likes any young man!”
“That was just her artfulness! Exactly what one might have expected of Wilfred Steane’s daughter! I see now that she was all the time determined to get a husband. There can be no doubt that she first set her cap at Desford, only he, being up to snuff (more shame to him!), no sooner saw what her game was than he got rid of her—at my expense! Hetta, when you refused to marry Desford you had a fortunate escape! I own, I was disappointed at the time, however little you may have guessed it, but I have lived to be thankful that you are not today the wife of such an unprincipled rake! You would have been miserable, dearest! And if ever I reproached you for refusing his offer I tell you now that nothing would prevail upon me to consent to your union with him!”