“Oh, Mr. Standen!” faltered Olivia. “You are so very obliging! I do not know what to say! I had no notion—! My one thought was to reach dear Miss Charing, and I just hailed the first coach I saw, and jumped into it!”
The inner voice which seldom added anything to Mr. Standen’s comfort now warned him that trouble loomed in front of him. He said: “You want to see Miss Charing?”
“Oh, yes, for I am in the greatest distress, and she said that she would help me!”
“Very sorry to be obliged to disappoint you: gone out of town!” said Freddy apologetically.
This time, Miss Broughty dropped her muff as well as her reticule upon the flagway. “Gone out of town!” she repeated, looking perfectly distraught, “Oh, heavens, what shall I do?”
Freddy once more retrieved her belongings. Taking Miss Broughty’s exclamation in its most literal sense, he replied with great civility: “Very difficult for me to say. Happy to do anything in my power, but not in possession of the facts. No use asking for Miss Charing today: call again tomorrow!”
“Too late!” uttered Miss Broughty, in tragic accents. “I am lost, for there is no one I may turn to, except Mr. Westruther, and I cannot, I cannot!”
Mr. Standen now knew that his inner voice had not deceived him. His instinct was to extricate himself with what dexterity he could summon to his aid from a situation which bade fair to plunge him into the sort of embarrassment his fastidious soul loathed; but an innate chivalry bade him stand his ground. He said, with a deprecatory cough: “Very understandable! Shouldn’t turn to him, if I was you. Better tell me! Do my best to assist you: betrothed to Miss Charing, you know!”
She stared wildly up into his face. “Oh, yes, but— How could I? You are not to be teased with my affairs, I am sure! Besides—oh, I could not!”
“Not at all!” he said. “Pleasure! Collect it concerns Miss Charing’s cousin: very delicate matter, but no need to conceal anything from me: know all about it!”
“You do?” she cried. “But it does not concern him! At least—Oh, what shall I do?”
Mr. Standen, deftly catching her muff, which she released as she began to wring her hands, restored it to her, and said very sensibly: “Take a turn about the Square with me. Can’t stand here: have all the fools in town gaping at us!”
Miss Broughty, a biddable girl, weakly accepted the support of his proffered arm, and allowed herself to be led along the flagway. She was at first unable to do more than utter disjointed and inexplicable ejaculations, but soothed by Mr. Standen’s unintelligible but consolatory murmurs she was very soon pouring her troubles into his ear.
It might have been supposed that Freddy, whose intellect was not of the first order, would have found it impossible to grasp the gist of an extremely tangled and discursive story, but once more the possession of three volatile and excitable sisters stood him in good stead. Recognizing at a glance, and as swiftly discarding, all the irrelevant details with which Miss Broughty obscured her tale, he very soon mastered the essential fact, which was that Sir Henry Gosford had requested her Mama’s permission to solicit her hand in marriage, and that if she refused to bestow this upon him, her Mama would kill her.
Well aware that to bring the voice of sober reason to bear upon the exaggerations of agitated females was both fruitless and perilous, Freddy wisely let this pass, and listened in sympathetic silence to an enumeration of the various hideous fates Miss Broughty considered preferable to marriage with Sir Henry. If he did not feel that she was made of the stuff that could face with fortitude the prospect of being crucified, or boiled in oil, he did realize that she was in very great distress, and making sincere efforts to escape a somewhat sordid destiny. At the first opportunity, and emboldened by her many references to her Camille, he asked her if the Chevalier knew of this disaster. Two large tears trembled on the ends of her lashes, and she replied: “Oh, no, no, for what would be the use? Mama will never, never consent to my marrying him, and it would cast him into such agony!”
It was at this point that his brilliant stroke of policy came into Freddy’s head. He was so much dazzled by it that he was obliged to hush Miss Broughty, who was distracting him with her monologue. “Can’t think, if you keep talking,” he explained. “Very important I should think: got a notion!”
She was obediently silent, looking up every now and then into his face, but not venturing to address him again. They had come within sight of Lady Buckhaven’s house once more before he emerged from his abstraction, and said abruptly: “Going to take you to m’sister. Your Mama likely to come seeking you there?”
She trembled. “Oh, if she were to guess—! But she will not miss me directly, for she is in town herself, and she does not know I ran away from my uncle’s house as soon as she went out. But—”
“It don’t signify,” said Freddy. “Tell m’sister’s butler to say you ain’t there. Very reliable fellow, Skelton.”
“But how can I intrude upon Lady Buckhaven?” protested Olivia. “She cannot help me, and indeed I would not ask it of her!”
“No, but must leave you somewhere while I settle the thing,” explained Freddy.
She clasped both hands round his arm, crying breathlessly: “Settle it! Oh, sir, can you?”
“Told you I’d got a notion,” he reminded her. “Mind, not sure the thing will come off right, but no harm in trying!”
There were those who might have doubted Mr. Standen’s ability to bring anything off right, but Miss Broughty was not of their number. In so elegant a gentleman, and one, besides, who was engaged to her dear Miss Charing, she could not but repose the utmost confidence. She attempted no further remonstrance, but accompanied him meekly up the steps of Lady Buckhaven’s house.
Skelton, looking slightly surprised, admitted them into the house, and volunteered the information that her ladyship had just ordered her carriage.
“Never mind that!” said Freddy, handing over his hat and gloves. “Where is she?”
“I fancy, sir, that her ladyship is in her dressing-room. I will inform her that you have returned.”
“Needn’t do that. Take Miss Broughty into the Saloon! And mind this, Skelton!—if anyone comes here asking for her, she ain’t here, and you haven’t seen her!”
In the course of a long and successful career, Skelton had gathered much experience of eccentric young gentlemen. He had not previously included Mr. Standen in this fraternity, and he was both grieved and shocked to find that his judgment had been so much at fault. But he concealed his feelings, and led the shrinking Miss Broughty to the Saloon, what time Mr. Standen trod lightly upstairs to his sister’s dressing-room.
“Good gracious, Freddy!” exclaimed Meg, when she saw him. “What now, pray?” A gleam of hope shone in her eyes. She cast aside the hat she was just about to set on her head, and said eagerly: “Oh, do you mean to tell me the secret after all?”
“Not that one,” responded Freddy. “Tell you another instead!” He perceived that she was looking affronted, and added: “Not bamming you! Wish I was! Dashed awkward business! Fact is, need your help.”
A little mollified, but still suspicious, she looked an enquiry.
“Got the Broughty girl downstairs,” said Freddy. “Put her in the Saloon.”
“Then I wish you will take her away again! I don’t want her!” said Meg, with asperity.
“That’s just it: I don’t want her either. Been thinking for some time I should have to get rid of her. Think I can do it! You knew that cousin of Kit’s was trying to fix his interest with her, didn’t you?”
“Oh, I know that Kitty was attempting to make up a match between them, but I think it most unsuitable!”
“No, it ain’t: best match she could make, if you ask me!”
“She! And what of the Chevalier, pray?”
“Now, listen, Meg! Going to tell you something I don’t want you to repeat. Got to trust you.”
“As though you did not know I would never breathe a word to a soul of anything you told me in confidence!”
“Well, see you don’t, because it ain’t a story I want to find flying round the town!” said Freddy, unimpressed. “You remember what we were saying about the Chevalier before Jack brought him here?”
“No,” said Meg, mystified.
“Yes, you do! Told Kit he’d very likely turn out to be a dirty dish.”
“Oh, that! Yes, why?”
“Exactly what he has turned out to be,” said Freddy. “Not a Chevalier at all: deuced loose fish, in fact! Just what I thought: a dashed ivory-turner!”
“Freddy, no!” cried Meg, turning quite pale. “Oh, poor Kitty! Does she know?”
“Stupid fellow told her. Thing is, Meg, must get rid of him too!”
