The Smile of the Stranger (19 page)

I
X

Captain Davenport seemed to be turning out such a different person from what she had supposed him! Gone were the polished manners, the elegance of mind, the respect, the tender consideration! And I fear it is my own fault, Juliana thought miserably. I myself have wrought this change in him, I have forfeited his respect. How can he look up to someone who has agreed to such a scandalous breach of propriety?

But then she thought: Perhaps he is merely worried and put out by so many things going amiss; when we reach his sister
’
s house, I daresay he will recollect himself, and all will be as before.

She told herself this, but in her heart she was not certain that she believed it. One fact that dismayed her very much was that she found she could not enjoy Captain Davenport
’
s embraces. Loving him as she was sure she did, she had felt certain that being kissed by him would be the summit of bliss; but it was not. Rather, as she owned to herself ruefully, it was like being gnawed by a hungry dog. But how can this be? she asked herself. Why do I find it so disagreeable? I love him, do I not?

Or do I?

Absorbed in these disconcerting reflections, she hardly observed the couple of small hamlets and smooth green farmland through which they had been passing once the Downs were left behind. But now they came to a narrow stone bridge over a little river, and Captain Davenport, pointing with his whip, called in a relieved voice, “Yonder lies Petworth—see the church spire? A mile up this lane, and we shall be there.”

“How far is it from Petworth to Horsham?” Juliana inquired.

“Horsham?”

“Is not that where Mrs. Bracegirdle resides?”

“Mrs. Br
—
Oh,
Horsham
, yes. It is about another ten miles.”

Prue, who had relapsed into silence, now complained that she was middling hungry and wanted her dinner.

“Be
quiet
, you!” Captain Davenport said to her, slewing round with such a savage face that she shrank back into her
corner
, quite cowed. He must have noticed Juliana
’
s expression, for he added more mildly, “Forgive me, my angel. I am afraid I have been acting like a bear with a sore head. The truth is, if you must know, that ever since we left the Downs, one of my teeth has begun to ache most confoundedly, and I can hardly stand the pain.”

He laid a hand on his jaw, wincing, and Juliana realized that his face did indeed look somewhat swollen.

“Oh, how shocking for you!” she exclaimed in the liveliest sympathy. “Poor dear, and you have had so many difficulties to bear! I am so sorry for you. But surely there will be a surgeon in Petworth—it looks like a good-sized little town. Do you not think that you should have the tooth drawn without delay? I am certain that you should not be driving in such a state.”

“Well, perhaps you are right,” he owned, wincing from another twinge. “I will inquire at the inn where we are to meet Cox—where Prue
’
s uncle is to pick her up—if there is a tooth-drawer or barber in the town.”

“Yes, I am sure you should do so,” said Juliana warmly. Poor dear, how I have been misjudging him, she thought to herself. If he has been in pain all this while, it is no wonder that he has seemed a trifle surly. The only wonder is that he should have wished to kiss me!

After about ten minutes
’
more driving, Captain Davenport a
rr
ived in the main square of Petworth, which occupied an irregular, sloping space round a central town hall, and contained three inns, the Bull, the Half-Moon, and the White Hart. Of these the White Hart seemed the largest; Captain Davenport drove around it into a fair-sized yard at the back, demanded a feed for the horses, and then disappeared into the inn, to make inquiries about surgeons.

Juliana, who had noticed that some kind of entertainment was taking place in the square, suggested to Prue that they should walk round and see what was going on. They discovered half a dozen morris dancers in the middle of a performance, watched by an admiring crowd. Prue
’
s complaints of hunger were soon appeased by the gift of a large hunk of gingerbread off a pie stall, and she stood eating this contentedly enough, watching the antics of the dancers, who wore ribbons on their hats, bells tied to their legs, and held staves which they clacked together loudly as they danced. Twenty or thirty people had by now assembled, and Juliana said, “Look out for your uncle among these people, Prue, my child, and tell me if you see him.”

Prue gazed about her rather blankly and shook her head.

Presently they saw Captain Davenport in front of the White Hart, and made their way toward him. He wore a much more cheerful expression, and said, “They say there is a barber and surgeon up the hill in Church Road—a man called Goble. I shall go up to him directly. Can you find some amusement about the town until I return? I daresay it will not take many minutes to have my business attended to. Walk about—look at the shops—watch the dancing. Oh, but could you oblige me with a little more money, my dear?” he asked Juliana. “I daresay a tooth will not cost above a shilling or two.”

“Of course,” she said, pulling out her purse, and, with a nod of thanks, he took a handful of money and hurried off.

“What about Prue
’
s uncle?” she called after him, but he did not hear.

“You said as how you
’
d buy me sugarplums in Petworth,” Prue reminded Juliana, tugging at her hand.

“So I did—let us go down this little street, and perhaps we may find a baker
’
s, or a cake shop.”

Petworth seemed to be a very small town indeed, set around the top of a hill. Three or four streets leading irregularly out of the central square soon petered away into fields and farmland. The shops were not many or at all elaborate; however, they found a baker who had some toffee apples, and were returning, with Prue wreathed in sticky bliss, toward the main square and the morris dancers, when a voice hailed them.

“Hillo, Prue, my sweetheart! So we meet again!”

Glancing up, startled, for the voice was an educated one, Juliana wondered if
this
could be Prue
’
s uncle. Surely not? The young man who had accosted them wore the uniform of a naval lieutenant; he had a pink face, a merry eye, and yellow curly hair.

“Where
’
s Da
vv
y, then?” he inquired, falling into step beside them, and giving Juliana a friendly grin. He took a large bite from the side of Prue
’
s toffee apple, which made her scream with indignation. She made no answer to his question, so Juliana replied for her.

“He was afflicted with severe toothache, and had to go to a surgeon,” she explained.

“Was he, though, poor old fellow? He always has the most confounded ill luck,” said the lieutenant, bursting into a fit of laughter. “Oh, well, an aching tooth is soon mended! Hope the barber doesn
’
t have to trim that beard he was at such pains to grow! In the meantime, allow me to introduce myself—Lieutenant Cox, Tom Cox at your service! Prue knows me already, don
’
t you, Prue, for we met on the docks in Southampton last week when you were out with your papa. And
you
must be Tillie,” he added, turning to inspect Juliana
’
s apron and mobcap. “Devilish good taste Dav always did have
—
no wonder he calls you his Sussex Rose—remind me to congratulate him, my dear! But where
’
s the heiress—did she not come up to scratch? Don
’
t tell me all Dav
’
s playacting has been in vain?”

“The heiress?” inquired Juliana, puzzled.

“Why, Miss Moneybags—what
’
s her name, Paget? Don
’
t tell me after Dav grew that Charles the First pair of mustachios and went to so much trouble, that you have not brought her along, just when I
’
ve cozened my captain into granting me three weeks
’
leave, so that I can help you carry her off to Scotland?”

He mistook the stunned look on Juliana
’
s face for one of chagrin, and added kindly,
“I’
m sure
your
nose need not be out of joint, my dear, never look so glum! I dare swear Dav will always love you best, but he could not have married you, after all! This will only be a marriage of convenience, though. Even the Prince of Wales does it, so why should not Dav? Once he has his hands on the lady
’
s fortune, and has paid her half to old Madam Horse-face, the mother, I daresay he will be ready to set you up in fine style—you and little Miss Prue, here. Do you fancy a house in Chelsea—or one at Richmond? Hey, sweetheart? You will be riding behind a team of six gray horses in a few months! But where
is
the young lady? Did you manage to bring her as far as this without raising her suspicions?”

Finding her voice with an effort, Juliana replied, “Oh, yes. She suspected nothing at all. She is resting—in a private parlor at the inn. The large one in the square—the White Hart.”

“What about Da
vv
y
’
s cattle?” Lieutenant Cox wanted to know. “Are they good for another hundred miles or so? Or should I pay them off? I
’
ve found a couple of prime steppers at the Bull. But I
’
ve no dibs on me, and the old lady would not pay out a penny until she was assured that we had her daughter safe under hatches.”

Juliana felt her knees almost failing under her, so faint with horror did Lieutenant Cox
’
s artless disclosures make her. She managed to say hoarsely, “The pair we have come with
—
are not very good. Perhaps you should take a look at them. They are in the White Hart yard. Pray, where—where is the old lady?”

“Oh,
she
was taking a nuncheon at the Bull,” he said blithely. “I told her she had best remain out of sight lest she should scare the bird from covert
...
Very good, I shall go and cast an eye over Da
vv
y
’
s hacks. Do you come up to the Bull in ten minutes or so, and we may discuss our plan of campaign when old Dav comes from his tooth-drawer.”

And, chuckling again at his friend
’
s misfortune, Lieutenant Cox swung off in the direction of the White Hart
,

Without waiting an instant, Juliana started away in the opposite direction. She was dazed, almost witless from shock
.
Her main impulse was that of an animal—to escape from the scene of so many horrifying revelations, to go to ground. Without any conscious plan, she walked up a short street, took a left turn, then a right one, along a grassy track which seemed to lead downhill, out of the town.

“Where you go
in’
?” grumbled Prue, who had at first been too absorbed in her sweetmeat to pay much attention to their route, but was now approaching the core of the apple, and becoming dissatisfied.

Juliana glanced down. She had almost forgotten Prue, whose hand she still clasped. Now, jerked into awareness, she observed for the first time a strong similarity between the child
’
s eyes and those of Captain Davenport; there was an equal likeness in the structure of brow, nose, and temples.

“Captain Davenport is your father, is he not?” she demanded.

Prue nodded.

“And Tillie—Tillie is your mother? Did she really break her leg?”

“Ay. The doctor set it with a splint An Ma cried wi
’
the pain, an
’
Da
vv
y was mad-angry, acos she said she was blest if she
’
d be plagued wi
’
me when she were laid abed, an
’
he must bring me with him ”

“Do you really have a grandfather in Petworth?”

“Ay, Grandpa Strudwick, over to Hoghurst.
‘
E beant
in
Petworth
...
Where we goin
’
?”

“Out of the town
...
I suppose your father told you not to tell me anything?”

“Ay.
’
E said
’e’
d larrup me if I so much as opened my gob”

No wonder the child had resented her father making love to Juliana!

Faced with evidence of a deception which must have been carefully laid, going back weeks, if not months—those Charles the First mustachios!—Juliana felt as if the ground were crumbling beneath her feet, as if she were walking in a quaking bog.

He must have planned this all along, she thought. From before our very first meeting. How can I have been such a gull—such a simpleton? How he must have laughed at me up his sleeve!

Her cheeks burned at the thought; she clenched her hands. If Captain Davenport had come in sight at that moment she would have flown at him like a fury.

The most horrible feature of the whole business was that Juliana
’
s mother was also involved. She had supplied the funds for her own daughters abduction! But why? To what possible end? To extract money for her dowry from Sir Horace? They would soon catch cold at that, reflected Juliana. She was willing to wager that her grandfather would never part with a single penny. His runaway granddaughter had made her bed, he would say, and she must lie on it.

Oh! Juliana thought, clenching her hands again at the thought of his anger—his disgust at the scrape she had got herself into. He would say,
‘
Like father, like daughter
,’
and he would be right! How could she have been such a goose as to let herself be taken in by Captain Davenport?

Now he seemed a hollow sham, through and through.

I must make a plan, she thought feverishly; I must consider what to do.

Instinctively seeking peace and quiet, she had followed the lane that seemed to lead toward the fields. It was wide enough for a cart track and ran between high stone walls. Now Juliana realized with a sinking heart that it was not a way out of the town, but merely led to a house—a fairly new house that must have been built perhaps some ten or fifteen years ago, a little secluded, some five minutes
’
walk out of the town center. In fact, as they passed a pair of carriage houses and reached a gateway, Juliana discovered that the house was not yet finished: the main, central portion was complete, but scaffolding still enclosed a side wing, and workmen were wheeling barrows of bricks to and fro.

The house faced out over a grassy shelf, beyond which lay a deep green valley. It would be a pleasant place to live, Juliana thought dismally; so close to the town, yet private, with a wide prospect of countryside in front, and a spacious plat of land surrounding it. A formal flower garden had been laid out in part of this area, which was enclosed to the rear by another high stone wall, and lay open to the valley in front. Looking down into the valley, Juliana noticed a path, which led to a bridge over a brook at the bottom. If we could get to that path, she thought, we could leave the town quite unobserved; but how to reach it? A ha-ha wall protected the garden on the valley side; only a couple of feet high inside, it gave onto a ten
-
or twelve-foot drop beyond.

“Want to see the dancing men again
!
” whined Prue.

“Hush. I am thinking.”

“Want another sweetie! Want to find Da
vv
y
!
”

“Do not forget,” Juliana reminded her, “that Da
vv
y forbade you to tell me anything. When he finds that I know he is your father, he is liable to be very angry.”

Prue
’
s face fell. She said, in a quelled manner, “When Da
vvy
larrups,
‘
e fair lays on. What
’
d we best do, then?”

“I think I had best take you to your grandfather
’
s house. I shall ask one of those workmen how to find it.”

Having reached her decision, Juliana approached the workmen, who now, since it was nearly the end of the day, were beginning to stack their tools and tidy up for the night. She had made up her mind only just in time; another five minutes and they would all have been gone.

“Pray can you direct me to Hoghurst Farm?” she asked the man who looked like a foreman—a stocky, grizzle-haired individual wearing a carpenter
’
s apron over his smock and carrying a bag of tools.

“Hoghurst? Nay, you graveled me there, lass; I
’
m a Midhurst man myself.” He spoke in a friendly tone, but without any particular deference, and Juliana recollected that she was still disguised in the maid
’
s apron and cap. He turned to his mates. “Anybody here know o
’
Hoghurst Farm?”

“What be farmer
’
s name?” someone asked.

“Strudwick—old Mr. Strudwick.”

“Arr! Owd Strudwick
’
s place. A tidy step that be from yurr, maidy
!
”

“Never mind. If you will tell me how to find it, I shall be very much obliged.”

The man who knew the way led her to the garden wall overlooking the valley.

“Fust you goos down an
’
across Rectory Brook at bottom. Then you goos up the Gog—yonder hill wi
’
the fiddle coppice atop; then you goos down t
’
other side an
’
up Lovers
’
Lane into the Dilly woods yonder.” He waved toward a thick mass of woodland which was discernible on the high land beyond the valley. “Then you goos on, a two, three hours
’
doust, up along through the
‘
oods, an
’
ye
’
ll come to a droveway. Goo along it for a spell, while ye can say Our Father three times, slow-like. Then ye must clim up through an oak hanger to your right hand, till ye come atop the hill, an
’
maunder along, cater-wise, for half a mile, till ye come to a bramble crundle an
’
two cuckoo gates, set middling close. Goo through the second cuckoo gate, an
’
along the headland, an
’
ye
’
ll come to Owd Strudwick
’
s place.
’
Tis a fiddle daggly owd cottage wi
’
a mort o
’
stinging nettles round about.”

“I—I see,” said Juliana, not a little daunted by these instructions.

“Have ye got it arl queered out, maidy? Now, mind you dooant goo astray in the Dilly woods by the partways o
’
the
forrep-land;
‘
tis easy done; an, atop o
’
the packway, goo ye
straight
into the hurst, whurr thurrs two-three fordroughs facing ye; take the one as is dead ahead. Otherwise ye
’
ll be as lost as Owd Lawrencel Will ye mind that?”

“Oh, indeed I will,” said Juliana, hoping there would be somebody else to advise her when she had reached this part of the journey.

She glanced across the valley. Already blue dusk had begun to enshroud the woodlands beyond the little hilltop which her adviser had referred to as “the Gog”; by the time she and Prue were in the woods, true dark would have come. A two
-
or three-hour walk through the woods, in the dark, with little Prue no doubt whining and complaining every step of the way? Was it feasible? She hardly thought so.

Very unexpectedly, at this point, a new voice accosted her, which inquired in not unfriendly, but authoritative tones, “
Quest-ce quil y a? Quest-ce qui se
passé
?”

Juliana and her informant were standing on a broad grassy path, bordered by a yew hedge, which ran alongside the low wall overlooking the valley. At each end of this path lay a small pavilion-like building, and from one of these buildings a lady had emerged; it was she who had called out the question as she approached them.

She was a tall, well-built personage, not in her first youth; she wore a white muslin garden dress over a blue silk underbodice; a broad-brimmed straw hat was tied under her chin with a blue silk scarf. Under the hat she also had a green silk eyeshade, and she wore long blue gloves and carried a basket of narcissus. She had remarkably thick and handsome auburn hair, braided up into a massive chignon; her eyes were brown, and her strong-featured face, which at present wore an inquiring expression, showed traces of what must, twenty years ago, have been great beauty.

The man who had been advising Juliana turned and explained.

“
’
Tis the young maid yurr, Mis
’
Reynard.
’
Er wants for to get to Hoghurst Farm. You goo out by yonder gate, maidy, that
’
ll take ye down the dene”—and he pointed to a gate by the pavilion from which the lady had come. “That is, if Mis
’
Reynard don
’
t mind ye a-crossing her garden.”

“I—I beg your pardon, ma
’
am,” said Juliana, abashed to discover that she had strayed into occupied and private property. “I had thought—as the men were still building—that nobody lived here. Otherwise I would not have trespassed—”

“
Chut, chut
!
N
’
importe pas,”
said the lady. “I will show you the way down. Good night, Boxall.
A demain
!”

“Goodnight, missus,” said the man, pulling his forelock, and he hurried after his mates, as the lady turned to escort Juliana to her back gate.

The lady seemed, for some reason, slightly disappointed, and her next words explained why.

“You did not, then, come about the position? I was so hoping you had!”

“Position, ma
’
am?”

Juliana had been rather desperately wondering whether to confide her story to some total stranger. “I am running away from my mother, who is at the Bull Inn, and has hired two men to abduct me.” How implausible did that sound! The most likely reaction would be to hand her over to her mother forthwith. But at the lady
’
s question her hopes suddenly rose.

“Why, my advertisement for a lady
’
s maid. I was in hopes, when I saw you, that you were an applicant.”

Mrs. Reynard, as the man had called her, spoke with a slight but unmistakable Parisian accent. Juliana wondered how a lady from Paris should have taken up her abode in such a tiny place; but no doubt she, like so many others, was a refugee from the terror in France.

Juliana looked up at the lady
’
s face, and, encouraged by something she saw there—a mixture of humor, experience, and tolerance manifest in the broad brow, wide mouth, strong cheekbones, and twinkling brown eyes—she suddenly came to a decision.

“Madame,” she began, speaking rapidly in French, “may I please tell you a little of my story? Will you have the goodness to listen to me for two minutes?”

“
Mais
,
mon dieu
!”
exclaimed Madame Reynard, overjoyed. “Here is somebody who speaks French in the midst of all these peasants. And with a most beautiful accent too! Speak what you wish, my child. I shall be enchanted to listen.”

Thus encouraged, Juliana swiftly poured out an abridged version of her tale. She did not mention the names of any persons, but simply explained that she had run away from her grandfather
’
s custody, and discovered by chance that her supposed lover was no lover at all, but had been paid by her mother to abscond with her.

“
Nom dun nom
!”
But it is a melodrama! Never did I think to hear such a tale in Petworth.” Madame Reynard pronounced it “Petvurrt.”

“Now, madame, I was wondering—I have no experience as a lady
’
s maid, it is true, but I know how to do hair, and I am quite skilled with my needle—I would be happy to do anything you asked me, if I might stay with you for a few nights—until you find someone more suitable—and until—”

“Until the
maman m
é
chante
and the false lover take themselves away from this town,
hein
?”
said the lady, laughing. “Just now,
sans doute
, they are scouring the streets for you, and may very likely have the constables out searching; better you should come into my house directly, I think, eh?”