Regency Buck (33 page)

The way was now hollow, running between banks covered with a thick tangle of hazels. There were bends in it that ever and again hid the pursuing curricle from view, but the sound of the chestnuts’ hooves seemed to Miss Taverner to be coming inexorably closer. She held grimly to the crown of the road, determined with a queer mixture of obstinacy and unreasoning panic to prevent Worth from passing her.

She feather-edged a corner, almost scraping the wheels of a post-chaise coming in the opposite direction, heard Judson gasp beside her, and gave a reckless little laugh. “How near is he?” she demanded.

“Close behind you, miss. For the Lord’s sake steady them at the next bend! It’s sharper than you know.”

One of the leaders stumbled, but she held him up, and pressed on. The bend came into sight; she checked slightly, and hugged the left side of the road, secure in the conviction that the Earl would not dare to shoot his horses past on the corner. A sharp, compelling blast on a horn sounded immediately behind her; a chestnut head crept up alongside, and in another instant the Earl had flashed by, his team at a full gallop.

She gazed after him in a kind of horrified wonder, believing for a moment that the chestnuts were bolting. But then’ headlong pace was checked gradually; they dropped into a canter; continued so for a little way; and then clattered into Cuckfield at a smart trot.

Her own team was blown; she could only follow in the Earl’s wake through the narrow street to the centre of the town.

He reached the King’s Head considerably in advance of her and by the time she had pulled up before it he was standing on the ground awaiting her, and a couple of ostlers, shrilly instructed by Henry, were leading off his horses.

“Blow up for the change, Judson!” said Miss Taverner sharply.

The groom, however, was looking at Worth, and did not obey her. The Earl laid his hand on the curricle, and said curtly: “You will be pleased to alight, Miss Taverner.”

She glanced down into his face, and experienced a sensation of shock. She had seen the Earl supercilious, she had seen him scornful, but never had she encountered in him a look so blazingly angry. The breath caught in her throat, but she said with tolerable composure: “By no means, Lord Worth. You were averse, I believe, from my driving to Brighton in Peregrine’s curricle. You must know that I have submitted to your decree, and have engaged to race him there in my own curricle instead.”

“Miss Taverner, must I request you again to get down?”

“I shall not get down, sir. Time is precious. I wait only for the change.”

His eyes met hers; he said with a menace she could not mistake in his voice: “Your race is run. I have a good deal to say to you. If you choose it shall be said here in the open street, but I think you will prefer to hear it alone!”

A flush of mortification at being thus addressed before the groom and the waiting ostlers, spread over her cheeks. She could not doubt that the Earl would be as good as his word, and with one furious look shot at him from under her brows, she gave the reins to Judson, and allowed the Earl to assist her to alight. His fingers grasped her wrist ungently, and released it the instant her feet were upon the ground. He said: “Go into the inn!” and turned to give instructions to the ostlers.

There was nothing for it but to obey him. Holding her head proudly erect, Miss Taverner went into the King’s Head, followed by the landlord, who had been standing just outside, and who ushered her at once into one of his private parlours and desired to know what refreshments he might bring her.

She declined every offer of tea, coffee, or lemonade, and stripping off her gloves stood by the table in the centre of the room, jerking them between her hands. In the space of a few minutes the door opened to admit the Earl. He came in with a firm stride, and said without preamble: “You will finish your journey by post-chaise, Miss Taverner. I have hired one for you, and it should be ready in a very few minutes.”

Her eyes flashed; she exclaimed, “How dare you? How dare you? I shall finish as I began! This interference in the way I choose to travel passes all bounds!”

“Miss Taverner,” said the Earl, “I shall not remind you that you are my ward, for it is a fact you must be well aware of, but I shall give you a warning that may not come amiss. While I hold the reins you will run as I choose, and by God! ma’am, if you try to take the bit between your teeth it will be very much the worse for you!”

This way of putting the matter was scarcely calculated to mollify Miss Taverner, nor did the consciousness of being in the wrong act on her temper as it should. She was white with anger, her lips tightly compressed. She heard the Earl in quick-breathing silence, and when he had done, said in a low, trembling voice: “I admit no right in you to order my movements. My fortune is in your hands, and I have been content to have it so, but at the outset I told you that your authority extended no further than to the management of my affairs. Upon every occasion you have intervened where you had neither cause nor right. I have hitherto submitted, because I do not choose to be for ever at loggerheads with one to whom, to my misfortune, I am in some sort tied. But this goes beyond what my patience can suffer. You are not to be the judge of the propriety of my actions! If it pleases me to drive a curricle to Brighton it is no business of yours!”

“Do you think I will permit
my
ward to make herself the talk of the town? Do you think it suits my pride to have my ward drive down to Brighton wind-blown, dishevelled, a butt for every kind of coarse wit, an object of disgust to any person of taste and refinement? Take a look at yourself my good girl!”

He seized her by the shoulders as he spoke, and twisted her round to face the mirror that hung over the mantelpiece. She saw to her annoyance that her hair, escaping from under the close hat she wore, was whipped into a tangle, and her habit powdered with dust. It made her more angry than ever. She wrenched herself free, and cried: “Yes, an object of disgust for you and any other dandy, I daresay! Do you think I care for your good opinion? It is a matter of the supremest indifference to me! From the moment when I first set eyes on you I have disliked you—yes, and mistrusted you too! I do not know what your motive has been in trying to overcome my dislike, but you have not succeeded!”

“Evidently not,” he said, a grim smile curling the corners of his mouth. “I can readily believe that, but I shall be obliged to you if you will tell me what I have done to earn your mistrust.”

Having no very clear idea, but, woman-like, having merely used the most wounding phrases she could think of, she ignored this home-question, and said: “Do not imagine that I am not well aware of the reason for this unmannerly outburst
in
you! You are less concerned with the appearance I may present than with having had your own commands set aside!
You
must always be the master; you cannot bear to have your will gainsaid.”

“Very true; I cannot,” he replied. “I might say the same of you, Miss Taverner. A strong desire of having your own way has led you into a scrape which might, were I not here to enforce your obedience to my commands, have damaged your reputation more seriously than you know. These hoyden-tricks may do very well in the wilds of Yorkshire: I am happy to say that I know nothing of the manners obtaining there; but they will not serve here. You have been grossly at fault. Your own principles should tell you so; it should not be necessary for me to inform you of it. As for your obliging description of my character, I shall take leave to tell you that this guardianship, which was foisted on to my shoulders, and which has been from the outset a source of trouble and annoyance to me, comprises more than the mere management of your fortune. You had the goodness once, Miss Taverner, to inform me that you were glad you were not my daughter. So am I glad, but however little I may relish the post I stand to you in the place of a father, and if you do not obey me I shall be strongly tempted to use you as I have very little doubt your father would if he could see you at this moment.”

“I have only one thing to be thankful for!” cried Judith. “It is that in a very short time now it will be out of your power to threaten me or to interfere in my concerns! You may be certain of this at least, Lord Worth: once your guardianship of me ends I shall not willingly see you again!”

“Thank you! You have now given full rein to your temper, and can have no more to say,” he replied, and turned, and held open the door. “Your chaise should be ready by this time, ma’am.”

She moved towards the door, but before she could reach it, Peregrine had come hastily into the room, looking hot, and rather more dusty and dishevelled than she was herself.

“What the devil’s amiss?” demanded Peregrine. “I thought you had been half-way to Brighton by now! I have had the wretchedest luck, I can tell you!”

“Lord Worth,” said Judith controlling her voice with an effort, “has seen proper to declare our race at an end. It does not suit his dignity to have his ward drive herself into Brighton.”

“Much we care for that!” said Peregrine. “Damme, Worth, this is a wager! You can’t stop my sister now!”

“I will say what I have to say to you later,” replied Worth, unpleasantly. “Miss Taverner, I am waiting to hand you into your chaise!”

“You may continue your journey,” she said. “When my brother is with me I need no protection but his.”

“As we have seen,” he remarked sardonically. “Well, I warned you, Miss Taverner, that I should compel your obedience.”

He came forward, but Peregrine stepped quickly between them with his fists up, and said sharply: “And I will warn you, sir, to leave my sister alone!”

“I am afraid that noble gesture is wasted on me,” said Worth. “Console yourself with the reflection that if I did hit you, you would be more than sorry to have provoked me to it.”

Miss Taverner pushed by her brother. “Do not make a scene, Perry, I beg of you! I am ready to go with you, Lord Worth.”

He bowed; she went past him out of the room, and a couple of minutes later she was being handed up into the waiting chaise. The door was shut on her; she heard her guardian give an order to the post-boys, and sank back into a corner of the chaise as the horses moved forward.

She found that she was trembling, her thoughts in confusion, and a lump in her throat. All her pleasure in going to Brighton was at an end; she knew herself to be the wretchedest creature alive. There could be no defending her conduct; she had realized at Horley how indecorous it was, and had now the mortification of having earned Worth’s condemnation.

He thought of her with disgust; he had not scrupled to humiliate her, nor to address her in terms of the most galling contempt. It was small wonder that she should have lost her temper with him: he had been unpardonable. The better understanding which had seemed to be growing up between them was quite at an end. She did not care; unless he begged her pardon she could not bring herself to meet him again without feelings of the strongest revulsion, and she was pretty sure that he never would beg her pardon. Her credit with him was utterly destroyed; he was odious, insolent, overbearing, and she herself little better than vulgar Lady Lade.

These agitating reflections produced their natural result. Tears poured silently down Miss Taverner’s cheeks, and picturesque villages, turnpikes, and views passed unnoticed. When she was at last set down at the house on the Marine Parade, not even the sight of the sea had the power to elevate her spirits. She hurried into the house with her veil pulled down, and almost ran up the stairs to indulge her misery in the seclusion of her own bedchamber.

Chapter XVII

It was many days before Miss Taverner could be restored to the enjoyment of composure, and long before the evils of her journey ceased to be felt. She struggled to support her spirits, but they were quite worn down, and although she might assume an air of calm cheerfulness, her reflections were all mortifying, and her heart very heavy.

Peregrine’s arrival in Brighton, half an hour later than her own, brought her no comfort. What had passed between him and Worth she did not ask, nor he divulge. He came to her sulky, half-defiant, half-shamefaced, ready to abuse Worth, but reluctant to discuss the cause of their disagreement. It was evident that Worth had not spared him. Judith’s spirits sank still lower. She felt herself to have bred dissension between the two men, and no acknowledgment now (which would indeed have been hard to make) of having deserved Worth’s censure would avail to soften Peregrine’s indignation. No good could come of talking over the affair; it must be left to time to remedy the harm that had been done. Nor could she expect Peregrine to see it all as she did. He was conscious of having done wrong, perhaps secretly sorry for it, but it was after all no great matter: he could forget everything but Worth’s part in it in a very short while, and sally forth with tolerable light-heartedness to take a look at Brighton.

When Mrs. Scattergood was set down at the house it was some hours later, and Judith was able to meet her with the appearance at least of composure. But it was a hard case to be obliged to listen to her reproaches, and to give her some account of what had passed at Cuckfield. But even Mrs. Scattergood could not talk for ever, and by the time they sat down to dinner she was ready to forget it all, and turn her thoughts to what Brighton offered in the way of entertainment.

The house on the Marine Parade was neat, and sufficiently commodious to satisfy its tenants. They could have wished that the drawing-rooms had been more handsome, but were obliged to admit that the furnishings of the whole, though not rich, were above what was generally to be found in houses let out for hire at the seaside. The want of elegance was soon remedied by the arrangement of all the pretty trifles and hangings which Mrs. Scattergood had had the forethought to bring from Brook Street in one of her many trunks. The first evening passed quietly in making themselves at home; both ladies went early to bed, the elder to place slices of raw veal on her face to prevent wrinkles, and the younger to lie awake half the night in fruitless reflection.