Madcap Miss (2 page)

Whewett stared, too astonished to be as annoyed as he felt he should be. Her attention again turned to him.
“
Are you making a long visit at Willowcrest, Mr. Whewett?
”

“
Only a day or two.
”

“
It ain
’
t likely we
’
ll have the pleasure of meeting you, for Willowcrest is a good five miles from town. If you need anything in the way of a boot or shoe--
”

“
Yes, quite,
”
he said, cutting her off.
“
I
’
ll remember.
”

Mrs. Sempleton was reduced to chatting the rest of the way with a schoolgirl.
“
So, you
’
re visiting your governess. Seems to me, you
’
re young to be finished with her.
”

“
I am not finished with her. She
’
s on holiday.
”

“
Seems a funny thing for a young lady to go visiting alone.
”

“
Mama is
—
having a baby,
”
Grace explained, reaching for the first excuse that came to mind.

“
And the governess
would
go running off. I know just how it is. A baby, eh? Have you got any other kiddies at home?
”

“
No, this will be the first after me. I hope it
’
s a boy.
”

“
Boys are nasty things. What do you want one for?
”

“
Because girls talk too much,
”
Grace answered, smiling ever so sweetly.

Mr. Whewett glanced at the girl, with the suspicion of a smile on his lips.
“
Tell me, Miss Jones, as you are about my daughter
’
s age, how is your French coming along?
”
he inquired.
“
The reason I ask is that I fear Augusta, my girl, is lagging in hers.
”

“
We have got up to subjunctives,
”
Grace replied with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm, engendered by her memory of trying to teach the Bixworth girls.

“
Already! You are doing well.
”

“
Miss Thomas speaks French fluently.
”

“
Is she a Frenchie?
”
Mrs. Sempleton demanded.

“
No,
”
Grace said, and immediately turned back to Whewett. They chatted awhile about her lessons. He found her a bright, precocious child, possessing more countenance and knowledge than Augusta. She seemed quite mature; he supposed that she had been given considerable independence. He would no more let Augusta go alone on the stage, for instance, than he would fly. Did he keep her too protected? His sister often told him so.

After another mile the conversation flagged, and he sat deep in thought. Mrs. Sempleton put her head close to Grace and whispered,
“
Don
’
t take up with strange men, missie. I
’
ll look after you if he tries anything.
”

The coach was small, and while Mr. Whewett did not hear all, he heard enough that, combined with Mrs. Sempleton
’
s menacing looks, he understood her. He looked at the little girl, who glanced back with a trace of laughter in her eyes.

That one silent glance established between them the realization that their traveling companion was an interfering gudgeon. For the sake of peace in the carriage Whewett paid no more attention to either female, except for an occasional surreptitious look at the girl.

She reminded him of someone
—
who was it? Not Irene. Was it Dolly? Yes, by God, Dolly Fraser! He hadn
’
t thought of Doll in nearly a decade. What had happened to her? Ran off with some soldier, if memory served. He looked at the girl again, just to determine she was too old to be Doll
’
s daughter.

What interested him more was the possibility that she might be his and Dolly
’
s daughter. Dolores Fraser had been the toast of the tavern, his one straying from the halls of rectitude. No, certainly the girl was too old to have issued from that liaison. Indeed there was no reason to think any child had come of it. The memory of Dolly beguiled the remainder of the trip very pleasantly for him, though Mrs. Sempleton could not trust those occasional glints of interest at Miss Jones from under his half-closed eyelids.

Whewett left the carriage the instant it stopped and went to the stables to arrange the hire of a carriage. Mrs. Sempleton was surprised to see that no one met Miss Jones. Before she could express her astonishment, Miss Jones went darting down the street with her straw case in her hand, apparently knowing exactly where she was going.

It looked as though the child was wearing a pair of heeled slippers. Her eyes must be failing her. As the matron puffed her way home to her rooms above the cobbler
’
s shop, she forgot Miss Jones, but she remembered to tell Mr. S. she had met a fellow connected with the Broughams, and likely as not, Willowcrest would be up for sale soon.

“
Is that so?
”
he asked dully. The sale of a large estate was of little interest to him, and that, too, was forgotten in the important announcement that the price of tanned leather had risen,
again.

The straw bag was heavy, and Miss Thomas
’
s cottage well removed from the coach stop. Miss Farnsworth
’
s arms were sore and her legs tired by the time she found the pretty rose-bordered cottage. She sighed with relief as a vision of her dear Thomas
’
s face loomed in her mind, swiftly followed by the vision of a cup of tea and some food. Morning was long past, and breakfast had been scanty. She set the case down, gave the brass knocker two bangs, and turned the knob, planning to hop in and surprise her friend.

The knob turned half a twist, then stopped. The door was locked. She hit the knocker again, and later again, but soon realized that Miss Thomas was not at home. After thinking for a moment, she went next door to make inquiries.

“
Miss Thomas?
”
the servant asked, frowning.
“
She
’
s gone to visit relatives somewhere
—
a cousin feeling poorly, I believe. We
’
re not well acquainted yet. I really couldn't say where she's gone or for how long."

“
Oh, dear!
”
Grace said. Her mind ran swiftly. She would have to break in and stay at Miss Thomas
’
s cottage till she could get in touch with her.

“
I
’
ll tell you who could help you out is the couple she let the house to,
”
the servant continued, happy to assist the child.
“
They
’
ll be coming this afternoon. They will know where she is gone, likely.
”

“
Thank you, ma
’
am,
”
Grace said, her heart sinking as she walked slowly away. She went back to Thomas
’
s doorstep and sat down to think. She couldn
’
t even break in and stay alone. Why had not Miss Thomas let her know? The letter was probably in the mail this minute, and when it reached Bixworths
’
, they wouldn
’
t know where to forward it.

She was tired, hungry, and very worried, but she could not sit all day on the doorstep. She thought of her two shillings, grateful for them. She could at least have a cup of tea. Lifting the heavy case, she turned her steps back to the high street, stopping at the first tea shop she came to, for she could not carry the straw case another foot without doing permanent damage to her arm.

The establishment was more elegant than she had thought from its plain exterior. Whether even a cup of tea was within her means was doubtful. After a careful scan of the menu, she decided a child could dispense with a pourboire and used all her money to order tea and a sandwich. This done, she sat back to look at the customers. They were not particularly interesting. Mostly females in groups, taking a break from their shopping. There was one man in the corner with his nose stuck in a journal. Perhaps one of the women could tell her if anyone
needed a governess. Her plan of screening her next employer flew to the winds. When her tea came, she drank and ate hungrily, then sat on, unwilling to leave the comfortable place. She had no idea where she could go.

The man in the corner put down his paper, glanced impatiently at his watch, then began to lift the paper again. He seemed to be waiting for more time to pass. He took a disinterested look around the shop before he resumed his reading.

A flash of recognition lit his eyes as he spotted the girl from the stage. Odd she was alone. Whoever was to have met her had not shown up apparently. With a thought of his Augusta, he felt a rush of concern for the girl. She looked ready to burst into tears. He laid down the paper and strode over to her.

“
Miss Jones, I believe?
”
he asked, smiling.
“
You remember me from the coach?
”

“
Oh, Mr. Whewett! Was it you hiding behind that paper all the while? I thought you would be at Willowcrest by now.
”

“
So did I, but there
’
s only one carriage for hire, and it won
’
t be back till four, so I am stuck to cool my heels in town. Has something happened to your connection, too?
”

A wave of despair washed over her. What had happened was so disastrous that her lower lip trembled.
“
I wasn
’
t met,
”
she confided in a troubled voice.

“
I thought as much. Tell me where you want to go, and I
’
ll take you as soon as I get my carriage. I have some hope my own may be repaired and forwarded before four o
’
clock.
”

Grace looked at him in misery and confusion.
“
My governess, that I was to visit, is gone,
”
she said. Despite her usual courage, she felt a warm tear start in
her eye.

“
Ah, that is too bad,
”
he said, patting her hand in a kind, fatherly way that caused the tears to wash over her lids and course down her cheeks in two rivulets. A hiccup of a sob caught in her throat.

“
Now, you must not cry, my dear. It isn
’
t that serious. You have only to get back home to Lewes, a mere ten miles. I
’
ll see you onto the next stage.
”

“
I have no money!
”
she sniffled.

“
I
’
ll look after it. Peculiar your governess left. Was she not expecting you?
”

She shook her head in a negative. Speech was beyond her. Whewett continued,
“
Your mama should have made sure you were to be met, but there
’
s no great harm after all. Come now, wipe your eyes, and I
’
ll take you back to the inn to see when the next coach leaves.
”

“
I can
’
t go back there,
”
she managed to say, trying to sniff away her tears.

“
Where, to the inn?
”

“
No, to Lewes. I have no mother there.
”

Whewett sat dumbfounded.
“
Where is she?
”
he demanded.

“
Dead,
”
she answered on a fresh burst of tears.

“
Did you just learn of it?
”
he asked, wondering how it could have happened in such an irregular fashion. The mother must have died in childbirth. He remembered some talk of Miss Jones wanting a brother.
“
You can go back to your papa.
”

“
He
’
s dead, too. I am an orphan.
”

“
Good God!
”
Whewett felt a stab of pity for the poor little creature.
“
But my dear, you cannot stay here. Who are your family solicitors? Some relatives will come for you.
”

“
Oh, you don
’
t understand,
”
she said, wiping her eyes with her knuckles till he stuffed his handkerchief into her fingers. She looked at his kindly, concerned face and decided on the spot she would tell him the truth. He might lend her some money to tide her over till she could find Miss Thomas.

“
No, I don
’
t understand, but I wish you will explain. I
’
ll help you,
”
he promised.

Grace lifted her moist eyes and looked at him hopefully.
“
The thing is, I am not Miss Jones at all. I am Miss Farnsworth, and I am twenty-two years old,
”
she said.

Whewett remained perfectly impassive, except for a slight widening of his gray eyes and the lifting of one well-arched brow. He studied her young face, her hair chucked up in girlish curls, her roll-brimmed hat, and her freckles.
“
I begin to think you are a minx, Miss Whoever-You-Are. Now, let us hear the truth, if you please, without benefit of a Cheltenham tragedy. Have you run away from school? Is that it?
”

Her chin lifted pugnaciously, which only increased the air of youthful rebellion.
“
School is closed in August.
”