Propelled irresistibly by a firm hand in the small of her back, Lucilla mounted them, but paused at the top, to say, over her shoulder: “If I could be of the least use to you, Ninian, I wouldn’t leave you in this fix, even though you wouldn’t have been in it if you hadn’t meddled in my affairs!”

“You may make yourself easy on that head!” responded Mr Elmore. “Far from being of use to me, your presence would make everything worse! If it could be!” he added.

“Well, of all the unjust things to say!” gasped Lucilla indignantly. She would have said more, but Miss Wychwood cut short her recriminations by thrusting her into the carriage. She then directed her interested footman to transfer her unexpected guest’s baggage from the gig to the carriage, and, when this was done, herself mounted into the carriage, briskly desired Miss Farlow to make room for a third person on the back seat, pushed her own hot brick under Lucilla’s feet, tucked a generous share of the fur-lined carriage-rug round her, and nodded to her footman to put up the steps. In a very few minutes the coachman had set his horses in motion, and Lucilla, snuggling between her hostess and Miss Farlow, heaved a small sigh, and, stealing a cold hand into Miss Wychwood’s, whispered: “Oh, I do thank you, ma’am!”

Miss Wychwood chafed the little hand, saying: “You poor child! You are quite frozen! Never mind! We shall soon be in Bath, and we shan’t discuss your problems until you are warm, and have dined, and—er—have the benefit of Mr Elmore’s advice!”

Lucilla gave an involuntary choke of laughter, but refrained from comment. Very little conversation was exchanged during the rest of the journey, Lucilla, worn-out by the day’s adventures, being on the brink of sleep, and Miss Wychwood confining her remarks to a few commonplaces addressed to Miss Farlow. For her part, Miss Farlow’s usual flow of chit-chat was dried up, because (as she would presently tell her employer) her feelings had been wounded by the imputation that her own companionship did not suffice Miss Wychwood. Miss Jurby preserved a rigid silence, as befitted her position, but she too had every intention of favouring Miss Wychwood with her opinion of her latest, ill-judged start, as soon as she was alone with her—and in far more forthright terms than would be used by Miss Farlow.

Lucilla awoke when the carriage drew up in Upper Camden Place, and was insensibly cheered by the welcoming candlelight coming through the open door of the house, and by the benevolent aspect of the elderly butler, who beamed upon his mistress, and accepted, without a blink, the unheralded arrival of a stranger in her company.

Annis handed Lucilla over to Mrs Wardlow, her housekeeper, with instructions to bestow her in the Pink bedchamber, and to direct one of the maids to wait on her; and prepared herself to deal with her affronted companion.

Waiting only until Lucilla, meekly following Mrs Wardlow up the stairs, was out of earshot, Miss Farlow said that while she trusted it would always be far from her intention to criticize any of her dear cousin’s actions she felt herself bound to say that had she known that her companionship no longer satisfied dear Annis she would instantly have resigned her post.

“Whatever the exigencies of my circumstances,” she said tearfully, “I should prefer to five in utter penury than to remain where I am not wanted, however comfortable this house may be, which indeed it is, not to say luxurious, for Better a dinner of herbs where love is than a stalled ox and hatred therewith! Even though I am not at all partial to herbs, except for a little parsley in a sauce, and I have never been able to understand how anyone, even a Biblical person, could possibly live on herbs. However, times change, and when one thinks of all the most peculiar things that happened in the Bible, well, it makes one positively thankful one didn’t live in those days! Bushes catching fire, and ladders coming down out of the sky, and people being swallowed up by whales, and not being a penny the worse for it—well, I should find that sort of thing most disconcerting! Manna, too! I’ve never been able to discover what kind of food that was, but I am persuaded I shouldn’t like it, even if I were starving, and it was suddenly dropped on me, which I think extremely unlikely. But,”she continued, fixing Miss Wychwood with a reproachful gaze, “I would make a push to like it if you wish to set Another in my place!”

“Don’t be such a goosecap, Maria!” replied Miss Wychwood, in a rallying tone. “I haven’t the least desire to set Another in your place!” Always appreciative of the ridiculous, she could not resist the impulse to say: “I can vouch for it that there is no hatred in this house—unless Jurby hates you, but you wouldn’t care for that, because you must know that she wouldn’t do so if she didn’t fear that you were ousting her in my regard!—but the stalled ox has me in a puzzle! Where, cousin, do you suspect me of stalling an ox?”

“I was speaking metaphorically,” answered Miss Farlow, in outraged accents. “It is not to be supposed that you could stall an ox anywhere in Bath, for you may depend upon it that it would contravene the regulations. I daresay you wouldn’t be permitted to stall a cow,and that would be of far more use to you!”

“So it would!” agreed Miss Wychwood, much struck.

“Oxen and cows have nothing to do with the case!” said Miss Farlow, dissolving into tears. “My sensibilities have been deeply wounded, Annis! When I heard you invite that young woman to come here to be a companion to you, I suffered an—an electrical shock from which I fear my nerves will never recover!”

Perceiving that her elderly cousin was very much upset, Annis applied herself to the task of soothing her lacerated feelings. It took time and patience to mollify Miss Farlow, and although she succeeded in convincing her that she stood in no danger of being dismissed she failed to reconcile her to Lucilla’s presence in Camden Place. “I cannot like her, cousin,” she said impressively. “You must forgive me if I say that I am astonished that you should have offered her the hospitality of your home, for in general you have such very superior sense! Mark my words, you will live to regret it!”

“If I do, Maria, you will have the comfort of being able to say that you told me so! But what reason could I possibly have for not rescuing that child from a very awkward predicament?”

“It’s my belief,” said Miss Farlow darkly, “that the story she told you was a take-in! A very hurly-burly young female I thought her! So coming—quite brass-faced indeed! Such a want of delicacy, running away from her home, and in the company of a young gentleman! No doubt I am old-fashioned, but such conduct doesn’t suit my sense of propriety. What is more, I am very sure dear Sir Geoffrey would disapprove quite as strongly as I do!”

“Probably more strongly,” said Annis. “But I hardly think he could be so foolish as to call her either coming or brass-faced!”

Miss Farlow quailed under the sparkling look of anger in Annis’s eyes, and embarked on a confused speech which incoherently mixed an apology with a great deal of self-justification. Annis cut her short, telling her that she expected her to treat Lucilla with civility. She spoke with most unusual severity, and when the afflicted Miss Farlow sought refuge in tears was wholly unmoved, merely recommending her to go upstairs and to unpack her trunk.

Chapter 2

When Miss Wychwood had changed her travelling dress for one of the simple cambric gowns she wore when she meant to spend the evening by her own fireside, and had endured a scold from Miss Jurby on the subjects of wilfulness, imprudence, and what her papa would have said had he been alive, she went to tap on the door of the Pink bedchamber, and, upon being bidden to come in, found her protégée charmingly attired in sprig muslin, only slightly creased from having been packed in a portmanteau, and with her dusky curls brushed free of tangles. They clustered about her head, in the artless style known as the Sappho, which, to Miss Wychwood’s appreciative eyes, was not only very becoming, but which emphasized her extreme youth. Round her neck was clasped a row of pearls. This demure necklace was the only jewellery she wore, but Miss Wychwood did not for a moment suppose that the absence of trinkets denoted poverty. The pearls were real, and just the thing for a girl newly emerged from the schoolroom. So was that sprig muslin dress, with its high waist and tiny puff sleeves, but its exquisite simplicity stamped it as the work of a high class modiste. And the shawl which Lucilla was about to drape around her shoulders was of Norwich silk, and had probably cost its purchaser every penny of fifty guineas. It was plain to be seen that Lucilla’s unknown aunt had ample means and excellent taste, and grudged the expenditure of neither on the dressing of her niece. It was equally plain that such a fashionable damsel, bearing all the appearance of one born to an independence, would never find favour with Mrs Nibley.

Lucilla said apologetically that she feared her dress was sadly crumpled. “The thing was, you see, that I haven’t been in the way of packing, ma’am.”

“I shouldn’t think you’ve ever done so before, have you?”

“Well, no! But I couldn’t ask my maid to do it for me, because she would have instantly told my aunt. That,” said Lucilla bitterly, “is the worst of servants who have known one since one was a baby!”

“Very true!” agreed Annis. “I am afflicted with several myself, and know just how you feel. Now, tell me by what name I am to present you to people!”