Mrs. Molesworth - Imogen - or, Only Eighteen

Major Winchester considered.

“Not within two hours,” he said. “The stable arrangements at my uncle’s are, to say the least, complicated. I think the wagonette that was to fetch you was bringing some ‘parting guest’ to the station to go on by the two o’clock train and then wait for you, so you see – ”

“Of course,” cried Imogen. “Mamsey, you must ; only – there’s the luggage, and – your groom?”

“He can come up on the wagonette, and see that the luggage comes too. The more important question,” he went on, smiling again, “is your maid. But Smith can look after her: he’s a very decent fellow, and I daresay he knows the station-master’s wife.”

“Oh, Colman will be all right,” said Imogen. “She’s not at all stuck-up, and very good-natured.” Colman had very discreetly retired a few paces. “Mamma, you must see it’s by far the best thing to do, as Mr – ” She stopped short.

“Of course, I have not introduced myself; my name is Winchester,” said their new friend. “I call Mr Helmont my uncle, or rather, I should say, Mrs Helmont is my aunt à la mode de Bretagne .”

Mrs Wentworth’s face cleared.

“I must have heard of you,” she said. “You are really very kind, and, perhaps – ”

Imogen had run off; in an instant she reappeared.

“The back seat of your dogcart, or whatever it is – it’s larger than a dogcart, isn’t it?” – she said, “is a very good size, larger than usual. You would be quite comfortable in it, mamma, and then,” she went on, turning confidingly to Major Rex, “she wouldn’t see the horse whatever he did. Then you’d be all right, wouldn’t you, dear? You know we should be really safe.”

And so it was arranged. Imogen’s first care, it must be owned, was for her mother; to Mrs Wentworth were appropriated the best of the wraps and rugs and mackintoshes disinterred from their own travelling gear, or extricated from some mysterious inner receptacle of the “trap,” by the obliging Smith. And as the rain was evidently clearing, the prospects in every sense grew brighter, as Imogen stepped back a pace or two to contemplate admiringly the result of their joint efforts in the person of Mrs Wentworth, so swathed and packed that really, as her daughter said, she “couldn’t get wet if she tried, and certainly couldn’t fall out.”

“And what about yourself, Miss Wentworth?” said Major Winchester kindly, as he seconded Smith in his efforts to tuck up the young lady, if not so completely as her mother, yet sufficiently to keep her dry. “Have you no objection to watching Paddy’s antics?” for a dance or two and a playful plunge showed that the “old man” was not as yet entirely exorcised from the young horse. But he was well under control. No sooner had they started than it became evident that Paddy knew who held the reins. They went fast but steadily; notwithstanding the cold, and the rain, and the mist – now slowly rising on all sides, for the freshening breeze to chase it away – the sensation was exhilarating and exciting.

“I,” replied the girl, after a moment’s silence, given to watching Paddy gradually settling to work like a child after a feint of resistance; “I! no, of course I’m not frightened – It’s delightful,” and her glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes showed that she meant what she said. She did look exceedingly pretty just then.

“What a charming child!” thought Rex. “Quite as plucky as even bold Trixie herself, and so simple and unspoilt and refined. I only hope that two or three weeks hence, if they stay as long, I may be able to say as much of her.” He glanced at her involuntarily, with a certain look of anxiety in his kind eyes.

“I’m all right, thank you,” said Imogen, detecting the glance. “I’m not getting a bit wet.”

“It wasn’t – ” he began, then stammered, and broke off, for he felt himself colouring a little. Imogen’s face expressed some surprise. “It would almost be better for those girls to be uncivil and unkind to her, to the verge of endurance, than for them to ‘take her up,’ and make her like themselves,” had been the parent thought of the misgiving in his face. He turned round to Mrs Wentworth. “I do hope you are not too uncomfortable?” he said. “That back seat, as Miss Wentworth discovered, is a degree better than is often the case, but still it must be rather wretched.”

“No, truly; I am very fairly comfortable,” she replied, “and I almost think you are right, and that the rain is going off.”

Mrs Wentworth had a sweet voice, suggesting the possession of a sweet temper. Major Winchester began to like her better than he had done hitherto. “I should not think her the wisest of women, but a good creature all the same, though the daughter strikes me as having the more character of the two. Poor souls, I do trust they will never have cause to repent their expedition to The Fells. I will do what I can to make their visit pleasant,” he said to himself, with short-sighted chivalry.

And he outdid himself in little kindlinesses of talk and manner during the remainder of the drive, pointing out any objects of interest which they passed, amusing them with little descriptions of the guests and the family at The Fells, into which he endeavoured, so far as loyalty to his hosts permitted, to infuse some slight touches of warning.

“Yes, Beatrix Helmont, my youngest cousin, is the baby – at least, the youngest sister – and as is often the case, I suppose, very fairly spoilt. I don’t fancy you will take to her as much as to Florence, Miss Wentworth. There is a great deal of good in Florence, though she requires knowing.”

“But she is twenty-three or twenty-four – ever so old, isn’t she?” said Imogen, in a disappointed tone.

“Ye-es, quite that; but still, that is not very old, is it?” and he looked round to Mrs Wentworth to have his opinion endorsed.

Mrs Wentworth, however, had not caught his last remarks.

“Are we close to The Fells now?” she asked, eagerly. “I fancy I remember this part of the way. Don’t we come to the lodge at a turn up that hilly road?”

“Yes,” Major Winchester replied. “What a good memory you have! We are regularly on the Fells now. Take care your wraps don’t blow off.”

They were just turning as he spoke. The road came right out on the moorland, and the wind met them straight in the face – the two in the front, that is to say – Mrs Wentworth was protected.

“Oh, how splendid!” said Imogen. “What delicious air! And what a great stretch of country, and those grim rocks. Are those what you call the Fells, Mr – are you Mr – Winchester?”

“Major,” Rex corrected, smiling. “Yes, Grey Fells Hall is just in front of those rocks, but on the other side. You will see in a minute. The gardens and lawn are over there.”

“Oh, I think it’s delightful! Mamma, you didn’t tell me it was half so nice,” the girl exclaimed.

And as they passed through the lodge gates and up the long and rather steep drive, her face grew increasingly radiant.

“What a dear old house! I should love to explore it from top to bottom,” she said. “I do hope the girls won’t be out. I am longing so to see them. Of course, they can’t be looking out for us, as we have come so much too early.”

Major Winchester did not reply. He appeared engrossed with Paddy, for as Imogen uttered the last words, they had driven to the front of the house, and he was preparing to draw up.

“I don’t quite know how best to manage,” he said, after a moment or two, glancing round him doubtfully. “Paddy has been very good, so far; but he will probably begin now to be fidgety, and to long for his stable. So I must not get down to ring. Can – ?”