Runaway Bride Read online

  ‘Yes. A fine house on the edge of the Downs. Not unlike your own in some ways. I truly believe you might be happy enough there if you could but come to terms with Cousin Lavinia and the children. There will be but three that concern you. Lord Laverstoke, the eldest son, is a man grown now, and is away, I apprehend, at Oxford. After him come twin boys, Edward and Jeremy, who must be rising nine, and my pet and god-daughter Lucinda who is seven and the most adorable little imp you can imagine.’

  But Jennifer interrupted her. ‘Boys of nine! But my dearest love, consider, that means Latin and Greek. French, music and the use of the globes I can easily compass, but as for Greek declensions and Propria Quae Maribus: alas, I should be quite at a nonplus.’

  Lucy laughed. ‘Never trouble yourself for that. Since their doting mother would not let them go to school, their studies have been in the curate’s hands these three years past. That must be how he contrived to make his party good with Milly. Small wonder poor Lavinia is in a puzzle: it is indeed a sad blow to lose tutor and governess in one elopement. But all the more reason why she will be delighted to see you and will not, I hope, look too closely at your recommendations.’

  ‘Lord, Lucy, how shall we contrive for those?’

  ‘Nothing to that. We will write you a most elegant testimonial, and your Aunt Julia shall do you the kindness of signing it. You recollect I used to take pleasure in imitating that spidery old lady’s hand of hers.’

  Jennifer laughed. ‘Yes, it is but poetic justice that she should help me so. But, Lucy, what of my wardrobe? I have nothing but what I stand up in.’

  Lucy looked her over. ‘And that, though it becomes you à merveille is hardly the thing for a very respectable governess. But I have already taken thought for that. Do you not recollect that poor dear Miss Martindale, who bore with our schoolroom vagaries so patiently, took the fever some years past and died here?’

  ‘Of course I do, but what’s that to the question?’

  ‘Only that her one relative—a brother who always neglected her—would not put himself to the trouble of taking away her box. It is still here in the attic somewhere and from it we will outfit you as the most respectable dowd who ever straightened a back or rapped a knuckle.’

  Jennifer pulled a face. ‘Miss Martindale’s clothes? Oh, Lucy, must I?’

  Her friend was adamant. ‘It is that or George Ferris. As for me, to deal plainly with you, Jenny, I’d marry ten times before I went for a governess. Come, it’s not too late to reconsider. Ride back, ask your uncle’s pardon and have him. After all, a husband’s a husband be he never so younger a son.’

  ‘No.’ Jennifer’s little chin went up. ‘I’ll not have him, were he Prince Leopold himself. Have at your clothes, Lucy, there’s no time to be lost if I’m to reach Teyning tonight.’

  So they adjourned to the attic, where, with many a giggle from Lucy and long face from Jennifer, they outfitted her from the deceased Miss Martindale’s outmoded crêpes and bombazines. At last the shabby box was repacked and Jenny decked protestingly forth in a dove grey travelling dress whose unfashionably high waist and small sleeves proclaimed its ancient vintage.

  ‘There,’ said Lucy triumphantly, ‘’tis but to take issue with those modish curls of yours and cover all with this calash and you will be every inch a reliable frump. No, never trouble yourself with protesting; Cousin Lavinia is too much the faded beauty to tolerate anything in her house as handsome as you in your natural state. Once get her accustomed to you and I promise you she’ll never see you. Then you may make your own modifications on poor Miss Martindale’s toilette. But for the first impression you must be ruled by me.’

  Jennifer reluctantly conceded the wisdom of this and resigned herself to a penance of frumpery, though she did insist on packing her own green riding habit among the limp and crumpled garments in Miss Martindale’s box. They then composed a letter from Aunt Julia commending ‘Miss Jenny Fairbank’ as a clergyman’s impoverished daughter of impeccable reliability, refinement and—to Jennifer’s disgust—sobriety. ‘Indeed, my love, it is quite necessary,’ explained Lucy. ‘Poor Cousin Lavinia once had a governess who grew tipsy on her ratafia. She has never forgotten it.’

  ‘I look forward to meeting your Cousin Lavinia,’ said Jennifer, heroically settling the maroon calash at a still more unbecoming angle on her auburn hair, whose curls Lucy had forced into the fashion of 1810. She turned to consider herself in the looking-glass. ‘Will I do?’

  ‘Admirably. I would never have thought you could look so reliable, Jenny.’

  She swept a curtsy. ‘Thank you, my love. Oh, one more favour. Tell your groom to turn Starlight loose. He’ll find his own way home and my uncle can spend a happy night thinking I’m dead in some stone quarry, and he my heir. Then, tomorrow, send him this letter by your new man—he’s never been to our house, I fancy, and so cannot be recognised as connected with you. I have told my uncle that I choose to live by my own devices until I am twenty-one, when I shall expect a strict accounting of my estates. Uncle Gurning’s a knave, but no fool. So left, he’ll not dare risk his name by robbing me. And now, Lucy, good-bye. Write to me as Miss Fairbank sometimes and tell me how the world goes with you.’

  CHAPTER III

  Fortunately for the success of the girls’ scheme, the Favershams’ coachman had been in their service since Lucy could remember and was devoted both to her and to Jennifer. His expression, when he first saw the latter in her borrowed bombazine, was almost too much for the girls’ composure, but he listened without protest, though with an extremely disapproving expression, to Lucy’s instructions that he was to say nothing about Jennifer to Lady Laverstoke’s servants. Pursing up his lips in affront at the very suggestion that he might gossip, he however obeyed his instructions heroically and, by speedy driving, got Jenny to Teyning before the last light had ebbed from the sky.

  Laverstoke House, which stood in wooded parkland under the shoulder of the Downs below Chanctonbury Ring, looked large and gloomy in the dusk. No lights showed. At the door, Jennifer had a moment of unwonted fright. Suppose Lady Laverstoke was away? Or refused to receive her? What then? But whatever happened, retreat was now impossible. Mustering up her courage, she was relieved to see a glimmering light develop behind the high windows on each side of the front door . It opened, revealing a surprised footman whose livery jacket showed every sign of having been donned at speed. He looked Jennifer up and down with haughty distaste. Schooling herself into the timidity her new position in life demanded, she swallowed her anger and handed him Lucy’s letter with a muttered, half comprehensible explanation. Told, haughtily, to wait inside, she gave one last glance at the friendly coachman at the horses’ heads and scurried indoors with a mixture of real and affected fright.

  The wait, in the chilly little salon, seemed endless. My lady, the footman had informed her, was still drinking her tea. It was doubtful whether this ceremony would be interrupted for anything so trivial as the announcement of a new governess. Jennifer was pacing nervously up and down the room, trying to compose her thoughts, when she heard a peal of childish laughter in the hall outside. Suddenly, the door of the room was thrown open and a little girl rushed in, black curls flying, closely pursued by two rather older boys. Not noticing Jennifer, who had retired to a window, they seized the girl, whose hands were full of sugarplums, and began to twist her arms to make her let them go, ignoring her shrieks and the protests of an aproned maid who had followed them into the room and stood ineffectually appealing to Master Edward and Master Jeremy to ‘be good boys and give over do’. Laughing and defending herself at first, the little girl soon began to cry in good earnest and Jennifer thought it time to intervene. Coming briskly forward, she removed a boy with either hand, and, holding them at arm’s length, looked them over.

  ‘What cads’ game is this?’ she asked. ‘Fight each other, if you wish, but think shame to attack a girl—and smaller than yourselves, too.’

  ‘But she always gets the best of everything
,’ protested the taller of the twins, whom Jennifer had already identified, from the maid’s cries, as Edward.

  ‘Then she should share with you.’

  So it was that Lady Laverstoke, appearing somewhat dubiously to interview the new governess her cousin had sent, was surprised by an animated scene.

  Kneeling on the floor, Jennifer was surrounded by the three children. ‘And one for Lucinda,’ she was saying, ‘one for Edward, one for Jeremy, and here is one over which shall go to whoever is first to bed. There,’ she handed it to the maid. ‘You shall make the award.’

  ‘Huzza,’ shouted Jeremy. ‘I shall beat, I’m positive. Lucinda cannot undo buttons and Edward always forgets his prayers.’ With these words, the three children rushed from the room, followed, more sedately, by the maid, who gave a glance of deep gratitude to Jennifer and one full of meaning to her mistress, whom Jennifer now noticed for the first time.

  ‘Oh,’ she found no need to pretend embarrassment, ‘I beg your pardon. I had not observed...’ she rose guiltily to her feet and made her second best curtsy. Did governesses curtsy, she wondered. Best be on the safe side...

  It seemed to be well taken. Lady Laverstoke shook out her crimson skirts and settled herself on a sofa, every inch the beauty. Considering her blonde, fragile and well cared for prettiness, Jennifer did a quick female calculation and put her age at forty. Her manner, however, had never passed its thirtieth birthday. ‘How do you do, Miss Fairbank.’ It was a beauty’s sighing air. ‘You look very young,’ she went on reproachfully, ‘my cousin hardly prepared me for such a girl. But,’ the appraising glance took in Miss Martindale’s outmoded calash and darned mittens, ‘you appear to have a way with children.’

  ‘I like them, my lady,’ said Jennifer with truth.

  ‘Oh...liking,’ said the beauty, ‘as to that...I dote on them, but it does not make them mind me. If you can contrive to do so...why, perhaps your being young is no such bad thing after all. But we must be practical...’ And she proceeded to put Jennifer through a surprisingly competent cross-examination as to her qualifications and experience, thus giving her a very harassing quarter hour of improvisation. At last, she gave a sigh of satisfaction. ‘I really believe you will do. Pray ring the bell. Hawkins shall show you to your room. Mary has been looking after your charges and will, I am sure, be delighted to tell you all you need to know.’

  So easily, relieved, Jennifer found herself mistress of a tiny room which, she was glad to find, she did not have to share with the children, and the expectation of ten pounds per annum. Not bad, she told herself, for an heiress’s first earnings.

  Nor, indeed, did she find the life a bad one. Her charges, though deplorably spoiled by their mother, recognised her firm hand with respect and, she thought, relief. Children do not like to be spoiled. They settled down gratefully to a placid routine of lessons and walks in the park. The rector consented to supervise the boys’ classical studies in default of his errant curate and Jennifer was relieved to find that the relics of her own education were amply sufficient for Lucinda, who never seemed to have been taught anything at all. Lady Laverstoke explained this by remarking languidly one day that book learning was a dead bore and a sad waste of time for a female, and Jennifer soon learned that in the children’s unregulated lives, only appointments with singing and dancing masters were held to be of any real importance.

  It was different for the boys, sighed Lady Laverstoke. Their guardian, a tyrant, with strong views about education, was apt to make unexpected descents on Laverstoke Hall and insist on hearing them their Latin declensions. ‘He wishes them sent to school,’ wailed their doting if inattentive mamma, ‘to that barbarous Eton to be bullied to death. I do not know how I shall endure it.’

  The boys told a different tale. Uncle George, it seemed, was a trump, a Trojan, a Corinthian. They ransacked their schoolboy vocabularies for epithets worthy of him. As for Lucinda, he had once brought her a doll with real hair and a silk dress all the way from Paris: she was his for ever. Jennifer found herself looking forward with somewhat mixed emotions to the next appearance of this paragon. She had, she felt, made her part good with Lady Laverstoke almost too easily: would the peremptory guardian be so readily satisfied?

  But, meanwhile, time passed peacefully enough between the pianoforte and the globes. Jennifer found herself increasingly contented in this strange new life. It had not occurred to her before that perhaps the worst of what she had suffered under her uncle’s unwelcome guardianship had been boredom. She had had far too little to do and, worse still, no one to care for. Now her case was altered indeed. Lady Laverstoke, who habitually lay in bed till after midday, was quite satisfied if she saw her children for a decorative half-hour’s doting after dinner. Any more of their company was sure to bring on a fit of the vapours. So, inevitably, their lives revolved round Jennifer.

  And she, in her turn, was soon devoted to them. She came to enjoy their constant demands on her time and patience, whether to settle a quarrel, mend a broken toy, or merely act as audience for an account of their exploits. Their company changed from a task to a pleasure. And, besides, it was positive happiness, she found, to be away from her uncle and aunt. A letter from Lucy told her that it had been given out that she was in Italy for her health. There had been no general alarm or search for her. The Gurnings were making the best of a bad business and—no doubt—enjoying her estate in the meanwhile. Of George Ferris, there had been, Lucy said, no sign. Jennifer wondered what story he had been told.

  Summer slipped blandly into autumn. Jennifer tried a more becoming hair style and nobody noticed except Lucinda. Lucy had been right. Once they are used to them, people do not look at their governesses any more than they do at the pictures on their walls. She began to think she might safely pass her time here till her twenty-first birthday.

  Then, one bright October morning, Lucinda did not appear at her usual hour for her lessons. At first, Jennifer was not perturbed. The child had been very well behaved of late. No doubt the temptation of the fine morning had been too much for her and she had run over to the rectory with her brothers. She would be back soon enough. Though she did her best to conceal it, Jennifer knew she enjoyed her lessons.

  But time passed and the child did not appear. Jennifer rang the schoolroom bell and questioned the footman. After various experiments in effrontery, even the upper servants had, by now, acquired a healthy respect for the new governess, recognising the determination under her quiet manner. No, he answered her civilly, he had not seen the children, but would make enquiries. He returned shortly with alarming news. The new stable boy admitted having saddled the children’s ponies at Jeremy’s orders. The hunt, explained the footman, was meeting in the long meadow.

  ‘The hunt?’ Jennifer was out of her chair in an instant. ‘Lucinda? A child of seven? Madness.’ Running downstairs, she hurried by the back way out to the stables. She had not ridden since her arrival, but knew her way well enough. It was here that the children were most often to be found, talking to the old groom, Charlie. But today the place was oddly quiet. There was no sign of Charlie. A hoof stamped in a loose box, doves cooed on the rooftop. The only sign of life was Harry, the new stable boy, who was walking a big grey hunter up and down in the yard. Its splendid proportions drew a sigh of admiration from Jennifer. It was none of Lady Laverstoke’s, who would ride only the mildest of ladies’ mounts. It was just, Jennifer realised, what she needed.

  ‘Quick,’ she ordered the boy. Put me Lady Laverstoke’s side-saddle on him.’

  ‘On this one,’ the boy opened a half-wit mouth in protest. ‘I doubt my master...’

  ‘A fiddle for your master.’ For a moment, she was Miss Purchas again. ‘Saddle him this instant. ‘Tis a matter of life and death.’

  Unwilling, but quick-handed, he did as she bade him, casting critical glances at her house dress the while. She, too, spared a moment’s thought for her unsuitable garb—a moment, but no more. Then she was up, delightedly feeling the hunter�
�s powerful movement under her as she took him down the back drive, out of the gates and over the slope of the Downs towards the long meadow. Already she could hear the yelp of the hounds, the shrill of the huntsman’s horn clear in the morning air. No time to be lost...The boys rode well enough to follow the hunt, though it was something their timid mother would never allow, but little Lucinda was still far from steady in the saddle. Putting the big horse to the gallop, Jennifer let herself hope that some neighbour would have recognised and stopped the child. But she knew the hope for a forlorn one; people noticed little in the excitement of a meet.

  As she approached the long meadow she knew that she was too late. The hounds’ voices rose in a crescendo; they were away...Guessing their direction from the sounds, she turned aside into a narrow white lane that led over the shoulder of the hill. From this angle she had a good chance of catching up at least with the stragglers of the hunt. She well knew that Lucinda’s plump little pony would not be to the fore.

  But when she came over the side of the hill and caught sight of the hunt streaming over the far slope at an angle to her, she caught her breath in dismay. Jeremy and Edward, with Lucinda’s fat pony between them, were alarmingly well forward. Setting her teeth, she put her willing horse again to the gallop. She would need all his power. Her headlong course was taking her down the side of the hill as the hunt streamed away over the next one. She had been observed by now. Uncaring, she half noticed the nudging comments that her wild appearance drew from the hunt’s stragglers. Passing them, still at a gallop, she took a short cut across a field, only to see at the last moment—for this was country she did not know—that it was bounded on the far side by a deep, sunken lane. No time to find a way across. She put the big grey at it and cleared it with a sigh of satisfaction that he was indeed the magnificent jumper she had expected.

  She was almost up with the hunt at last and could see Lucinda’s small figure jogging along a little behind her brothers. Perhaps all would be well after all. Then she saw that hounds and huntsmen had disappeared into a copse. What would happen, there, to Lucinda who had never ridden except on the open grass of Laverstoke Park? For the first time in her life, Jennifer wished she had spurs, but a dig of the heels and a word of encouragement brought a new spurt of speed from the grey. Absurdly, in this moment of crisis, she found herself wondering what his name was.