Cousin Prudence (3 page)

“See here, Miss, I can’t rightly answer that, nohow; not for knowing nor for being discreet,” he said, “and as it IS the wrong way for Gretna I’d say it’s no such thing, but Miss Fairlees’s good name is paramount so I’d be much obliged if you said nothing about it.”

“Oh I shan’t
,” said Prudence, “I just can’t help being intrigued by a mystery.  Lord Alverston is then the guardian of Miss Fairlees?”

“Oh
no
miss,” said John, “she’s his betrothed; their parents fixed it up when she was born!.”

“Poor girl
,” said Prudence. “He seems an unlikeable man; and to have no choice at all is an unkind way for any parent to treat their daughter.”

“Well I don’t deny he can be hard
,” said John, “but he’s well respected, I assure you, by all his dependants.  Aye, that was why he left me I wager; because of your concern for your maid and Joseph here.  Will you wait, miss, while Joseph and I check the traces and see that the chaise drives straight?  You have good placid nags, they’ve not panicked at all.”

“They trust Joseph
,” said Prudence.  “Thank you John.  May I….” she slipped him a gratuity which John accepted with a touch of his hand to his forelock.

The chaise seemed in no wise damaged; and Prudence was thankful that the ditch had been no deeper and had gentle sides, more to demark the sides of the road than to act as a drainage channel here on the easily drained chalk.  She left Joseph and John discussing springs and horses to resume her journey with the placid
Hester – who had continued knitting through the whole – to sort out her own tangled skeins and ride on to the nearest inn.

It seemed worthwhile stopping there to bespeak a meal as well as setting John down; and Prudence expressed the opinion to
Hester that she only hoped that they might be on their way before Alverston should bear down on the place to collect his man.

Hester
raised an eyebrow.

“Yon Lord was a fine figure of a man, Miss Prudence, but, think on, not worth
bein’ throng in’t’ noddle over,” she said.

Prudence sniffed.

“I have no time for the likes of him,” she said loftily, dismissing any suggestion that she had been busy thinking about him at all.

Chapter 3

The Honourable Mr Arthur Alver had done more damage to his phaeton in his ill-judged passing of Miss Blenkinsop’s chaise than he had realised.    The wheel came off just a mile further down the road from the inn where Miss Blenkinsop stopped, and there Alveston came upon him, engaged in what could only be described as a nursery brawl.  Since Miss Fairlees was in the process of calling Mr Alver a bacon-brained, hen-witted gudgeon and he was adjuring her not to take on like a bedlamite with more hair than wit, the Marquess concluded that whatever this flight might presage, romance was not within its purview.

“Arthur
,” he said, as he strode up to the young couple, too engaged in their own pulling of caps to have noticed his arrival.

The young man swung round and the girl gave a gasp of despair.

“U-Uncle Gervase,” said Mr Alver.

“Arthur, I hate to call into question your grasp of geography, but to the best of my recollection,
Gretna is in the north and you are heading south,” said Alverston.

Mr Alver flushed.

“I’m not eloping sir!” he said in something akin to a squeak.  He cleared his throat and ran a finger round the inside of his collar, “I was taking Kitty to Aunt Mouser.”

Katherine Fotheringill was by way of being a second cousin to both Alverston and Miss Kitty Fairlees, who had been named after her; the irreverent nickname following from the good lady being known as ‘Kat’ to her husband, and being an inveterate hunter of all news whilst remaining aloof from any desire to gossip.

“All very well, young Arthur, but why in such a precipitate manner?” demanded Alverston. “Surely most young ladies prefer to go on a visit with a little more preparation and decorum of manner – like the unfortunate young lady that you tipped into a ditch.”

“I
said
you should have stopped when you felt the wheel touch, Arthur,” said Kitty.

“Nonsense!  They should have got out of the way
,” sulked Mr Alver.

“There wasn’t room on the road
, you little whipster,” said Alverston, in a voice like thunder, “and I am NOT pleased.  I had to stop on behalf of YOUR ill manners; and it has made me lose face.  YOU, Arthur, when you have tendered me an explanation concerning your motives in treating Miss Fairlees as though she were a kitten to take to market in a sack for the pounding you have subjected her to in this precipitate flight, will be writing an apology to Miss Blenkinsop staying at Hartfield, Highbury in Surrey!  And it had better be heartfelt and well written, not your usual illiterate scrawl!” he added nastily.  Mr Alver flushed.  Alverston was so damnably sarcastic and nasty tongued when he was up in the boughs!  “
Why
were you taking Kitty to Aunt Mouser?” demanded Alverston.

“Because Aunt Mouser is the only one who isn’t scared of you and Kitty don’t want to marry you!” blurted out Mr Alver.

Alverston stared.

“Kitty, do you truly not want to marry me?” he asked.

She shook her head, tears in her blue eyes.

“No Gervase
,” she said in a small voice.

“Well why the devil didn’t you say so?” his voice was sharp “Your father gave me to believe that you were in transports of delight over the idea and that if I cried off for seeing you more as a sister than a lover I should place you into a decline!  I need to marry and – good grief, girl, why didn’t you SAY something?  And will you stop making a watering pot of yourself?” as Kitty howled.

“I was afraid you would sh-shout at me like th-that Gervase!” she sobbed “Because papa said you had always
expected
to marry me and it was my
duty
!”

“The devil take it!” said Alverston.  “Well then, I shall see you to Aunt Mouser myself…. Two bandboxes?  Is that all the luggage you have?  Well Aunt Mouser will sort something out….. and then I’m off to have a word with your father.  He might have been my sire’s closest friend and your mother might be my cousin but honestly!  Well Kitty, dry those foolish tears and put on a smiling face in contemplation that you and I have found out that it is merely the manipulation of your foolish parent that has wrought your current misery and that we are not condemned to face each other across the breakfast table for the rest of our lives.”

“Sir, are you very angry with me?” asked Mr Alver.

“Yes Arthur I am
,” said Alverston, “you ought to know that I would not marry an unwilling girl!   You are heedless, have no sense and you can’t drive.  I will have your phaeton collected and repaired and it is not to go off my lands until you have worked on your driving skills well enough to satisfy me; I should never have given in to your entreaties to buy it in the first place.  And we shall work first on the ability to recognise your limitations.”

Mr Alver brightened.

“You’ll give me lessons sir?” he asked.

“Yes cub I shall; so you don’t disgrace me again!” said Alverston.  Reproachful green eyes in a pale face surrounded by chestnut hair still haunted him.  “I should have taken more notice of your skills at speed as
well as at a moderate pace. 
Not
that I could have expected you to behave like a bedlamite and with Miss Fairlees beside you too.  Up you get Kitty; Arthur shall hand up your band boxes.”

“I say, sir, what about me?” asked Arthur.

“You may walk cross country to Aunt Mouser’s and it will do you the world of good,” said Alveston, “a new experience for you, walking; new experiences are good for one,” he added maliciously, borrowing the phrase from Miss Blenkinsop.

The Honourable Arthur sighed.   It could have been a lot worse; his uncle in a temper was a frightening sort of person.  Especially when he was in the right.

And he was in the right; charging off with Kitty at breakneck speed was rather unkind to her, but she had been so frightened!  And they had grown up together like brother and sister, the estates of his uncle marching with those of Kitty’s father.

Well Uncle Gervase was at least being reasonable about not marrying Kitty; so that at least was one less thing to have to worry about.

And it was
worth
breaking his phaeton, by George it was, even if he had to pay for its repair out of his own allowance, just to get lessons from Uncle Gervase!

Chapter 4

“She’s here!” cried Emma, who had been looking out for her cousin for the last two days.  She leaped to her feet ignoring her father’s call,

“My dear!  You should change into goloshes and put on a cloak!”

Emma ran heedlessly out to the drive, noticing the cold of the wet ground striking up through her thin kid slippers but deciding to ignore it.  She was so glad that she never took colds like poor papa! It had rained distressingly hard the previous day and the skies were still a sullen grey, though the day was fine enough for March, and the wind only moderate; but there was enough chill that Mr Woodhouse did not dare to venture out.

The door of the chaise opened and a middle aged woman dressed as an abigail descended holding out her hand to the figure behind her.

Emma came forward, also extending a helping hand.

“How nice to finally meet my little cousin….”she trailed off as Prudence emerged and stood up.

Prudence towered over Emma, being almost as tall as George Knightley; and Emma looked up into merry green eyes.  Cousin Prudence was no beauty; her hair was neither angelically fair nor exotically dark, being brown with a hint of chestnut to it.  Her mouth was too generous for beauty and her nose too tip-tilted, no straight classical member.  And yet she had a vivacity and charm that made one forget that she could claim no right to be described, as Emma was described, as  a diamond of the first water.

Emma could not contain a giggle as Prudence unfolded her length.

One of Prudence’ eyebrows rose and Emma clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Oh Cousin Prudence, do I pray you forgive me!” said Emma, “but here we’ve all been talking about
little
Cousin Prudence!”

“Why, that is funny indeed!” said Prudence, her eyes laughing back as she smiled at
Emma, “and you must be my Cousin Emma for I understand my Cousin Isabella is a matron of some seven or eight-and-twenty years; and you are surely near to my age?”

“I am almost two-and-twenty
,” said Emma, “and you are eighteen as I understand; so closer to me in age than my sister!  You will meet Isabella in due course.  Pray, come inside; it must have been a tedious journey.”

Prudence chuckled.

“Well much as I should like to spin a tale of how we were pursued by a great ghostly black hound over the moors, or held up by a dozen highwaymen, or detained by the last remnants of a forgotten band of outlaws in Sherwood Forest, I fear the only thing that disturbed and delayed my journey was being run into a ditch by a young fool who was fleeing his uncle’s wrath over some matter,” she said, “and the uncle was a most disagreeable fellow into the bargain.  Though he knows what is due to his underlings,” she added, trying to be fair.

“It sounds prodigiously unpleasant!” said Emma “Come and mee
t papa and my husband, Mr
George
Knightley; my sister is married to his brother you see,” she explained, drawing Prudence within.

How glad Emma was that she had listened to George’s estimation of the likelihood that Miss Blenkinsop was wealthy indeed!  From the top of her fashionable russet shako-style hat trimmed with knots of sage green ribbon on the side  to the tips of her toes clad in russet jean half-boots with the most ridiculous and delightful tassels, Prudence was the picture of fashion.  Her velvet pelisse matching the shako was frogged and braided in the military fashion as was
de rigeur
and her travelling gown of lustring in sage green, fashionably short to show her half-boots  and was ruched and flounced for the bottom five or six inches with knots of orange ribbons made into the semblance of flowers at the top of the flounce.