XLIX
Allthe way to Clavering Station George Norris took extremely good care that the tin trunk of Miss Cass did not fall from the back of the dogcart. His task was not difficult, for the box was so comfortably disposed under the seat that it showed not the slightest disposition to do so. But had it been a tin trunk with any spirit of opinions of its own it might easily have achieved a crash to Mother Earth at the sharp turn into the high road by The Laurels gate and at divers trappy places along the route, for there really was a much preoccupied young man in charge of it.
The truth of the matter was that it had almost immediately dawned on George Norris that should the 2:10 Up be punctual it would leave very little time for a proposal in form. Moreover, it would have to take place on the station platform. Such are the inconveniences of a dogcart. In the circumstances of the case it seemed hardly less than a grave oversight on the part of Fate to have omitted to provide a closed brougham, no matter how antiquated, one-horse or otherwise, for such an occasion.
Certainly it meant cutting the whole thing very fine. According to the rate of John Small’s progress they were not likely to reach Clavering station muchbefore two o’clock and that left little time for the business in hand. As a matter of historical fact, it wanted exactly one minute to the hour when they drew up beneath the portico of the station yard.
George had to justify his presence by seeking a porter in the station interior. To do him justice they undoubtedlywerein short supply, but he was able to corral one in something under two minutes and returned with him in triumph to find Miss Cass handsomely tipping John Small for services unwillingly rendered. In fact, when John withdrew, chariot and all, he was quite a changed man. From the moment he had first set eyes on the new governess he had been her enemy, but if anything was meant by the manner of his final exit from the station yard she was almost entitled to look on him now in the light of a friend.
The departure of John left a bare six minutes or so for the all-important matter to be transacted, always providing that the train was punctual. Happily the porter was very reassuring on this point. According to his estimate the 2:10 Up was bound to be anything from twenty to forty minutes late. Moreover, if he was betting on it he would back the second figure rather than the first. So far, so good.
However, there was a dramatic surprise in store for George Norris. Indeed, there was a series of surprises. And they began almost at the moment John. Small and his chariot left the station yard.
“Please label this,” George directed the attention ofthe porter to the tin trunk. “Waterloo or Paddington?” he inquired of its owner.
Then came surprise the First.
“I think it had better be put in the cloak room,” said Miss Cass. “And these, I think, had better go with it.” She indicated the pilgrim basket and another miscellaneous article ranged beside it. “I am not going by this train,” she added quite casually.
The heart of George Norris gave a leap.
“So much the better.” And the young man spoke with the simplicity which made him so attractive.
With quite a sense of relief he saw the luggage of Miss Cass stowed away in the cloak room. And then, like a man of will who has just been confirmed in a great decision, he addressed that lady. “I don’t know what your plans are,” he said, “but if I may, I would like to have a little talk with you.”
The only answer of Miss Cass was a smile. But she made no difficulties about having a talk with General Norris. As intending passengers were now rapidly assembling for the Up train, they crossed the bridge to the deserted Down platform. No one else was there. They took one brief turn and then sat down on a wooden bench thoughtfully provided by the railway company.
This the hour and this the opportunity. There was no beating about the bush. George knew his own mind and proceeded to ensue it. “Ethel,” he said, takingone small gloved hand in his own, “will you marry me?”
It was by no means an easy fence to tackle, but George’s methods were decidedly workmanlike. “There’s only my pay, but I’ve just been offered a good billet in East Africa. The climate is first rate, there’s any amount of things to do and one can live at much less cost than one does here. Of course, there’s no saying exactly how it will pan out, but anyhow, will you chance it?”
It took Miss Cass but a very short time to express her willingness “to chance it.” She too, it seemed, had the valuable faculty of knowing her own mind. Not in anywise immodestly did she rush upon her fate; she was able to display the conventional diffidence of one fully acquainted with the rules of the game, but it was not difficult to set the doubts of George Norris at rest. From the moment he had climbed into the back of the cart she had known that he was hers.
En route to the station there had been an opportunity to weigh the pros and the cons of the matter in her cool and sagacious mind. All the same, it was not coolness nor was it sagacity that had carried the day with her. She liked this young man because she liked him. He was the new, highly efficient type the war had evolved. She knew nothing about him, but instinctively she would trust this man as she would trust few men when it came to a tight place. And there was an air of romance about him.
It was an act of foolhardiness, no doubt, for a girl of position, but she had been made reckless by recent events. Besides, she was “out” for freedom. She had had one brief taste of it, and making due allowance for its drawbacks, her appetite was keen for more. Irksome the experiences of the last ten days had certainly been, yet she was quite determined now to do as she chose with her own life. She asked nothing highfalutin’ nor did she look for it, but she meant, if possible, to escape altogether from the stuffy circle of Castle Carabbas with its hierarchical connections and its feudal ideas. Now was the moment for those autocratic people, her father and mother, to learn once for all the limit of their power.
As there was no one else on the Down platform, they were able to seal the compact in the fashion ordained by nature and custom. “But, do you know,” the young man confessed even at this delicious moment, “if you hadn’t been so much up against it I mightn’t have had the pluck to ask you.”
Such naïveté delighted her. Also, it was very intriguing.
“But why not?” she archly inquired. “I’m only a friendless governess, am I not, with food and house-room provided and a wage of thirty pounds a year?”
“Yes, you are down on your luck,” he frankly admitted. “But I don’t mind betting a shilling that you haven’t been so always. Now tell me honestly, haven’t you once been Top Dog?”
She didn’t try to conceal her amusement even if she masked a proper feminine curiosity. “I don’t know why you should think so,” she said with the smile provocative which yet was a counterfeit of complete indifference.
“There’s something about you”—his naïveté was charming—“that is always giving you away. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if this was your first situation.”
“But didn’t you say the other day”—she would have been less than her sex had she not enjoyed drawing him out—“that you thought I had been abroad in the service of foreign royalties?”
“I’ve had all sorts of theories about you,” he confessed. “But it won’t surprise me at all if none of them meets the case.”
She archly expressed relief, the light of humor in her eye. He was enchanted by the look of her and yet he was a little anxious too. At the back of his mind there was a subtle feeling that “he was having his leg pulled.” The feeling had always been there, even from the first moment he had talked with her. Somehow she was immensely mature for her years. She appeared to have so much in hand. And a word here and there, an odd phrase, a chance inflection of voice, even her way of looking at people and her manner of entering a room were continually giving her away.
Besides, he had seen from the first that the other ladies of the household had regarded her as a naturalenemy. Perhaps it was the sense of their injustice that had first drawn him to her. But from day to day he had increasingly admired the bold and implacable skill with which she had carried the war into the country of her foes. She mightn’t have one shilling to rub against another, this mysterious little lady, but she had rare courage, great will power and infinite resources of her own.
All the same, sitting delightfully close to her on a seat of the deserted Down platform and the great deed done, even at this exquisite moment he was not absolutely sure that she was not laughing at him. And in spite of the elation within this feeling grew upon him as they talked. Somehow, he was less certain of the prize he had won than a victorious suitor should have been. And he had not to look far for reasons.
The 2:10 Up was duly signalled, a full twenty minutes late. Presently it drew up with a prodigious rattle at the platform opposite.
“I suppose you are going up by the next,” said George. “But it’s not so good as this one, you know. It doesn’t start till something past five and it won’t get there until a good bit past one in the morning. I know, because I’ve traveled by it for my sins.”
Ethel—already he had permission to call her Ethel because somehow Girlie didn’t suit her at all!—rejoined that no matter what her sins might be it was not necessary for her to travel to town by the 5:40.
“What, you are staying the night here in Clavering!” His tone was a complex not unpleasing of hope, fear, surprise, bewilderment.
“Ye-es, in the neighborhood, I think, unless I suddenly change my plans.”
“With your mother’s friends, the Lancelots, I suppose?” He couldn’t help laughing as he recalled the audaciously comic turn she had given to the topic of the Lancelots at the family luncheon.
“I’m sure they’ll put me up for a night if I ask them,” she said demurely.
“Oh, I’m sure they will. They’ll be delighted.” But even now he didn’t really know if he was justified in taking her friendship with the Lancelots seriously.
She was a mystery, that was the truth of the matter. And her answer to his next question provided ample confirmation of the fact.
The question itself was a simple one. What were her immediate plans? In his rôle of accepted suitor he felt it incumbent upon him to ask. Had she relations in the district? If she had, might he accompany her forthwith and be presented to them.
Her reply was brief but it was surprising. “Oh, yes, do come with me by all means—to Clavering Park.”
“To Clavering Park!”
“Yes—to meet my father.”
To meet her father! The gaze he fixed upon herwas blankly incredulous. But in the fragment of time necessary for a survey of her expressive countenance the fable of the dead solicitor’s daughter collapsed completely and for ever.