Jim returned with the tub and proceeded to fill it with hot water from the stove. Louisa removed her spencer and put on one of Nan's aprons to spare her dress.
Bob watched these preparations with fascination, as if he had never seen such activities, focusing most of his attention on Jim, to whom he appeared to have taken a shine.
When he noticed he was an object of some awe, Jim smiled at the boy, ruffled his hair in a friendly fashion, and then reached into Nan's cupboard to get him a piece of ham pie. Bob gobbled it down in short order and gazed on the older boy as if he were a god.
“Tha's still hungry, I'll warrant,” Jim said to him.
The boy nodded.
Jim moved closer to Louisa and ventured in a low voice, “It wouldna do ta feed him too much reet yet. Better ta promise him more when tha's done wi’ t’ bath.” He raised his brows in an ominous gesture.
“You think so?” Jim's expression was meant as a warning, and Louisa felt a sinking inside. Why?"
“It's plain ta see t’ lad's ne'er had no bath. T’ way he's been watching, I can see he's no seen one before!"
Louisa glanced at Bob, who had begun to look trustingly on Jim. He was seated on a low workbench, happily swinging his feet.
She turned back to Jim. “And why should that worry us?"
Jim grinned. “I think tha's abowt ta get a soaking. T’ lad's bound ta put up a fight."
Louisa took a deep breath. “Well, if he does, he does, but I don't see that we have any choice. I shall promise him another pudding."
But, in the end, Jim was right. As soon as Bob discovered the purpose of the tub, he stopped swinging his legs and began to use them another way.
Jim caught him before he reached the door, and it was due entirely to his strength that the boy was brought to the bath at all. No matter how much coaxing and promising Louisa tried, she could not get him to submit peacefully to such a dreadful ordeal as being scrubbed all over with soap.
As a result, on his return to the inn, Charles again discovered the place in an uproar.
His morning had begun in a manner one could only call trying. When he arrived at Ned's manor, he discovered that Ned had quite unexpectedly gone back to London, apparently suffering from more family togetherness than he could handle.
Consequently, Charles was obliged to deal with Miss Wadsdale without the coercive presence of the man who paid her room and board. It became obvious, almost immediately, that Ned had shamelessly bullied his mother's companion into making the journey in the first place.
On Charles's arrival, she informed him that she never travelled in the depth of winter, unless, of course, her dear Lady Conisbrough required it of her. Then she examined him upon the degree of comfort likely to be found inside his carriage: the number of lap rugs, the quality of his carriage springs; whether there were warming pans into which Ned's servants might add coals.
Charles assured her of all these, keeping Eliza's presence a secret. Then, when she appeared at least somewhat satisfied that she would not be required to sacrifice herself to extreme discomfort, he set himself to the task of weaning her from the household.
First, there were her numerous boxes and portmanteaus to find space for. When Charles expressed surprise that she should choose to encumber herself to such a degree for what would prove to be only a moderately long journey, she took offence. She made him privy to the information that Lady Conisbrough would not think of asking her to undertake a trip at such a dreadful season unless she could provide her with ample room for her baggage.
“Be assured, my lord, that her ladyship would stint herself before she would ask me to go without.” Miss Wadsdale folded her hands in front of her. “Not that I would ever do anything to discommode her, as devoted to her as I am. But I am certain Lord Conisbrough was under the impression that my comforts on this unseasonable journey would be well seen to, else he would never have asked me to leave his mother. Indeed, when I think of Lady Conisbrough's sadness on this occasion, it is enough to make me weep, and I assure you I am not a female easily given to tears!"
Charles hastily withdrew his objection and prepared for the next ordeal. That was to get Miss Wadsdale to depart. She seemed convinced that her presence would be sorely missed, that none of the servants could be trusted to see to her patroness's wants in her absence, and that Lady Conisbrough would pine without her enlivening presence.
To ward off this last calamity, she spent an absurd amount of time bidding a touching farewell to her ladyship-Lady Conisbrough, by contrast, appeared to be totally unaffected by the parting-issuing commands to the various servants with regard to her normal duties, sniffing into her handkerchief and, in general, making a scene that was intended to impress Charles with her usefulness in the household.
Her efforts had quite the reverse effect, however. Charles formed a deeper understanding of Ned's desire to be rid of the woman and a suspicion that Miss Wadsdale's tears were due more to a fear of being dismissed than of being missed. He could scarcely tolerate her himself, and he dreaded the thought of being shut up in a carriage with her for even two days. He flirted briefly with the idea of leaving her and setting out for London with Louisa alone.
The thought of how pleasant the journey would be tempted him greatly; but Charles knew what was due to the proprieties, and to Louisa's consequence, so his good sense eventually won out. He resigned himself to a frustrating two days, with the promise of another blistering headache at their end.
Finally, Miss Wadsdale and her baggage were loaded aboard, but as the result of so much delay, Charles found they could not hope to leave the inn before noon. Once in Snaithby, they would be obliged to load Louisa's baggage, which might take some time, now that all available space had been appropriated. But it could not be helped. Charles spent a few moments marshalling the reasons he would use later for not breaking their journey too often.
On the way back to the village, he had a solitary preview of the hours ahead of him. Miss Wadsdale took immediate exception to Eliza. And, although she did not demand that the dog be expelled-Charles divined she had already come to blows with Ned on this issue and lost-she did treat Charles to her opinion that it was against basic Christian precepts to treat “beasts” as if they were humans.
Charles listened politely, suppressing a growl. He only hoped Louisa would contrive to charm this woman and shield him from the worst of her character. Upon reflection, he thought that she just might manage it.
Still, in spite of this more hopeful outlook, he arrived back at the inn in an almost desperate state.
It did not help his humour to discover that the private parlour was empty and that neither Louisa nor the Spadgers were anywhere in sight. Charles ushered Miss Wadsdale into the hallway, for it was not to be hoped that she would wait outside in the carriage for them. As soon as they entered they were welcomed by a hideous cacophony issuing from the direction of the kitchen.
Charles called for Sammy repeatedly, but to no avail. Understanding that his voice could not be heard over the noise, he determined to go in search of anyone who could explain Louisa's absence, at the same time dreading to find that she was the cause of the hubbub. In vain, he tried to dissuade Miss Wadsdale from following him, but she refused to be left alone in a house which, she said, echoed with the very cries of Bedlam.
A shrill wail greeted them as they passed the threshold to the kitchen-a noise Charles might have mistaken for a cat in the throes of love if he had not seen its instrument. A small boy struggled to escape from a brimming tub of water, in which, it appeared, a drenched Jim Spadger and an equally soaked Louisa were trying to drown him. Sammy stood close at hand with buckets of more water and, even as they entered, poured a fresh one over the boy's head to renewed cries. Nan tried helplessly to cope with the puddles of water and mud on her floor.