The Duke’s chaise, with his footman and all his baggage, having been despatched by Lord Lionel from Cheyney at an early hour on the following morning, Gilly lost no time, in removing to the Christopher, where he instantly discarded his travel-stained raiment, and gratified Nettlebed by telling him that he might give the olive coat away, since he never wished to see it again. Not to be outdone in generosity, Nettlebed said that another such coat could be ordered from Scott—if his Grace preferred his cut to Weston’s. He then eased the Duke: into a coat of blue superfine, carefully smoothed his nakeen pantaloons, flicked some quite imaginary dust from his Hessians, and added that if his opinion were asked, he would feel himself obliged to say that no one could cut a coat with quite that refinement of taste shown by Weston. The Duke, glancing at the reflection of his trim figure in the mirror, admitted that there was a good deal of truth in what he said, and went off, knowing that he had amply recompensed his servitor for any anxiety he had previously caused him to feel.
He found his footman hovering in the passage, waiting, apparently for no better purpose than to open the door for him into his private parlour. This well-trained individual wore a more than ordinarily inhuman expression, not even permitting himself one furtive glance at his master. But the Duke paused outside the parlour-door, and said smilingly: “I have not thanked you for contriving so very cleverly for me, that day in London, Francis. I am very much obliged to you.”
The footman, bringing his gaze down, found that the Duke was plainly waiting to slide a coin into his hand. He accepted this with becoming gratitude, and the Duke said: “I hope they did not ask you a great many awkward questions!”
“No, your Grace, they never asked me any,” replied Francis, encouraged by the twinkle in the Duke’s eye to relax his quelling rigidity. “And if they had, I wouldn’t have said a word, not if they offered me fifty pounds, I wouldn’t!”
The Duke was a trifle startled by this evidence of devotion. “You are a very good fellow: thank you!” he said.
This unlooked-for courtesy threw Francis quite off his balance. He turned a dull red, and uttered in far less refined accents: “It weren’t nothing! I would be main glad to serve your Grace anyways you might wish!”
The Duke murmured a suitable acknowledgment, and passed into the parlour. Francis, discovering that the coin in his hand was a golden one, instead of the shilling that was his due for any extraordinary service, drew a profound breath, and fell into a blissful reverie.
The Duke found his cousin in the parlour, glancing through the Morning Post, which had just arrived from London by the mail-coach. He said, in an awed voice: “Gideon, the most dreadful thing! I have been quite deceived in that footman of mine!”
Captain Ware lowered the newspaper. “Good God, what has he done?”
“Why, nothing! But I thought he did not care a button what became of me, and I find he is as bad as all the rest! They must have drummed their nonsense into his head, for I never did the least thing to attach him to my interests! It is the most disheartening thing! He will grow old in my service, and become a dead bore to my sons!”
Captain Ware roared with laughter. “Dismiss him instantly, Adolphus, dismiss him instantly!”
“Oh, I couldn’t do so! It would be the unkindest thing!” said the Duke involuntarily.
“Then I fear that until you can bring yourself to do unkind things you must submit to being the idol of your servants. Tell me, would you be content to accept a Rudgeley for your Mudgley?”
“Are you trying to roast me? What do you mean?”
“Only that in obedience to your commands I have been pursuing some few enquiries. I am credibly informed that the receiving-office here has frequently handled letters addressed to a Mr. Rudgeley residing at Little End, Priston. Could Belinda have been mistaken in the name, do you suppose?”
“Oh, very easily! You are the best of good fellows, Gideon! Where is Priston?”
“Somewhere to the southwest, I’m told. Not very far, but off the pike-road.”
“I’ll go there at once. What a curst nuisance it is that my curricle is not yet arrived in Bath! Oh, well! I’ll take my chaise! Francis! Francis! Oh, there you are! Tell them to bring my chaise to the door, if you please! I shan’t need more than a pair, but the postilion must acquaint himself with the road to Priston. Gideon, do you come with me?”
“No, I thank you! I am going to promenade in the Pump Room. I think I shall drive out to dine at Cheyney later, to take dutiful leave of my parent.”
“Oh, no, must you? Do you go back to town so soon?”
“Tomorrow, if I am not to face a court-martial.”
“Well my uncle always dines early in the country, so you may join us at the Dress Ball later,” said the Duke.
“Yes, if I had provided myself with evening dress I might!” retorted his cousin.
“It is too bad: I shall miss you!” said the Duke absently.
“I hesitate to say it Adolphus, but you are a liar!”
The Duke laughed. “Oh, no!” he protested, and went off tocollect his hat and overcoat.
Nettlebed was assisting him to put on this garment when Francis came to his room with the news that his bailiff had arrived From Cheyney and respectfully begged to see his Grace:
The Duke groaned. “No, no, I cannot! He will keep me kicking my heels for an hour or more! Why could he not carry his troubles to my uncle? Tell him to go to the devil!” He perceived that Francis was about to carry out this command, and added hastily: “No, do not! Tell him that I am very much occupied, and cannot see him until noon, or perhaps even later!”
Francis bowed, and withdrew. Nettlebed said severely: “You shouldn’t have sent him off, your Grace. A very good man is Mr. Moffat, and one as has your interests at heart.”
“Well, I have more important business to attend to,” replied the Duke impenitently.
But he was once more doomed to disappointment. When, after being misdirected twice, he reached Little End, which was a small but respectable house beyond Priston, and was admitted to the presence of its master, he was dismayed to find himself confronting a gentleman greatly stricken in years. A stammering enquiry elicited the information that Mr. Rudgeley was a bachelor, and had no young relatives corresponding even remotely with Belinda’s description of her swain. There was nothing to he done but to extricate himself as gracefully as he could from a situation that had become unexpectedly awkward. Mr. Rudgeley seemed inclined to take his visit in bad part, and the Duke, sinking back in his chaise again, was obliged to wipe a heated brow. He drove back to Bath in a mood of considerable despondency, which was not alleviated by the news that his bailiff was patiently awaiting his pleasure.
“Oh, damn the fellow! I don’t want to sec him!” he said pettishly.
Nettlebed was shocked. “Is that what your Grace wants me to tell him?” he asked, taking his hat and Benjamin from the Duke.
“No, I suppose not,” sighed the Duke. “Is he in the parlour? I’ll go to him. Tell them to send up some wine, and biscuits, will you?”
He was looking rather cross when he entered the parlour but when his bailiff—yet another of those who had known him in his infancy—rose to meet him with a smile of simple affection, he was ashamed of his ill-humour, and shook hands with Moffat, saying: “Well, and how do you do, Moffat? I am sorry to have kept you waiting this age. Sit down, and tell me how you have been going on! And Mrs. Moffat? It is a long time since I saw you last!”
This friendly greeting naturally led to all manner of questions, and reminiscences which stretched back over an alarming number of years. Not until the bailiff had drunk his wine did the Duke feel it to be possible to lead him tactfully to a discussion of the business which had brought him to the Christopher. Moffat apologized for troubling his Grace, explaining that he had not been up to the house since the previous morning, and so had not known of Lord Lionel’s arrival there. “Not but what,” he said, confidentially, “I was wishful to see your Grace in person. It won’t be so very long now before your Grace will be of full age. And right glad everyone will be! Not meaning anything disrespectful to his lordship!” he added hastily. “I’m sure no one could be held in greater esteem! But to see your Grace properly in the saddle, as one might say, is what we are all looking forward to. There will be some changes I dare swear, your Grace—if I may say so—not being set in the old ways, like his lordship and Mr. Scriven, So I made so bold as to bring a few paper I would like fine to have your Grace look over before they go to Mr. Scriven,”
“Do you expect me to override my uncle, Moffat?” asked the Duke, smiling, and drawing up his chair to the table. “I am not in the saddle until the spring, you know! What is it? Roofs again?”
“No, your Grace. Just one or two little matters!” replied Moffat, preparing to expound at length.
The Duke resigned himself, and bent his mind to the problems laid before him. They seemed none of them to be very pressing, and he was obliged to stifle several yawns before Moffat jerked him out of his boredom by saying, with a little hesitation: “The only other thing, your Grace, is young Mudgley’s affair, and I own I should be very glad if you would condescend to—”
“ What? ” exclaimed the Duke, starting up in his chair.
The bailiff was slightly alarmed. “I’m sure I beg your Grace’s pardon, if I’ve done wrong to bring the matter up!” he faltered.
“Did you say Mudgley? ”demanded the Duke sharply.
“Why, yes, your Grace, but indeed I would never—”
“Don’t tell me the man is one of my tenants!”
“Well, your Grace, he is, and then again he isn’t!” said Moffat, looking at him in considerable perturbation.
The Duke dropped his head in his hands. “And I have been hunting high and low for the confounded fellow! Of course, if he lives near Cheyney, his letters must all go to Bristol, not here! No wonder I could discover no trace of him! Good God, and I very nearly said I would not see you!”
“Hunting high and low for young Mudgley, your Grace?” said Moffat, in a stupefied voice. “But—but does your Grace wish to see him?”
“Yes, I tell you! I have come all the way from Hertfordshire for no other purpose!”
Moffat stared at him in great misgiving. “I beg pardon, but—but is your Grace feeling quite well?” he asked, concerned.
The Duke began to laugh. “No, no, I haven’t run mad, I assure you! I can’t explain it all now, but I have most urgent need of the man! Where does he live? You said he was one of my tenants.”
“Not exactly, I didn’t, your Grace. He’s a freeholder, but he rents the Five-acre field from your Grace. It was on account of that I was wishful to speak to your Grace.”
“Where’s the Five-acre field?”
“If you will allow me,” said Moffat, spreading open a map upon the table, “I will show your Grace. Now, it’s right here that Mudgley’s farm lies, hard by Willsbridge.”
“But I don’t own any land west of the river, do I?” objected the Duke, looking at the map.
“Well, that’s just it, your Grace. It isn’t part of the estate and never has been. It came into the family when your Grace’s grandfather acquired it. They do say that he won it at play, but I don’t know how that may be. There was a tidy bit of it when I was a boy, but your Grace’s father, he never set much store by it, and it was cut up, Sir John Marple buying the house, and the demesne, and the rest going piecemeal, all but a few fields and such, of which the Five-acre is one.” He paused, and glanced deprecatingly at the Duke. “If it had been part of Cheyney, I ask your Grace to believe I wouldn’t have thought of such a thing, let alone have mentioned it]”
“But what is it that you want?” asked the Duke.
“It’s young Jasper Mudgley as wants it, your Grace!” said Moffat desperately. “Maybe I shouldn’t be speaking to you of it, seeing that Mr. Scriven won’t hear of letting it go, nor his lordship either, by what Mr. Scriven writes to me, the both of them setting their faces against selling any of your Grace’s land, as is right and proper. But young Mudgley’s father and me was boys together, and I’ve always kept an eye over Jasper, as you might say, since his father was taken. He’s a good lad, your Grace, and the way he’s worked his farm up is wonderful, and things not always easy for him. But he’s by way of being a warm man now, and he’d beright glad to buy the Five-acre off of your Grace, if you’d be willing to sell it. I told him my lord wouldn’t hear of it, but it seemed to me as I might venture just to mention the matter to you.”
“Of course! You did just as you should!” said the Duke enthusiastically. “Only tell me one thing, Moffat! Is he married, or single?”
“Single, your Grace. He lives with his mother, him being her only one.”
“The Five-acre shall be his bride’s dowry!” said the Duke, rolling up the map, and handing it to the astonished bailiff.
“But, your Grace, he’s got no thought of marriage!” protested Moffat.
“Then I must put one into his head,” said the Duke.
“Your Grace won’t do that, by what Jane Mudgley was telling me,” said Moffat. “Seemingly, there was a wench in Bath he fell head over ears in love with back in the spring, but she went off somewhere unbeknownst, and he doesn’t seem to be able to put her out of his mind. Not but what she didn’t sound to me the kind of wench I’d have chosen for a steady young fellow like Jasper.”
“She is the bride I have chosen for him!” said the Duke, his eyes dancing. “Does his mother dislike it excessively? I imagine she might! Do you think I can persuade her to accept the girl? Perhaps I had best see her before I take Belinda to her,”
“But—but—” stammered Moffat.
“That was why I wanted to find Mudgley!” explained the Duke. “The girl is under my care, and I have promised that I will find him for her. You may take me out to the farm. How did you come into Bath?”
“I rode in, your Grace. But—”
“Very well: only give me time to change my dress, and I will ride back with you! Francis must find me a horse! Sit down, Moffat: I shall not keep you waiting many minutes!”
“Your Grace!” Moffat, looking extremely worried, made a detaining gesture.
“Yes, what is it?” the Duke said impatiently.
“Your Grace, I don’t know how to say it—and I beg your Grace’s pardon for what may offend you! But I know young Mudgley, and—and he wouldn’t—not for a moment!—he wouldn’t be agreeable to—to—”
The Duke’s puzzled frown vanished. “He wouldn’t take my leavings, eh? Excellent fellow! No, no, Moffat, it’s nothing of the sort, I promise you! She is staying in Bath under Lady Harriet Presteigne’s protection. I do hope Mudgley will believe me! Is he a fine, lusty fellow? Well, I shall depend upon you to guard me from his vengeance, if he doesn’t believe me!”
He vanished leaving his bailiff to start after him in great perplexity.
Nettlebed, upon being summoned to lay out his master’s riding-breeches and coat, demurred at once. He said that his Grace would be quite knocked-up with all this dashing about the country, and a ball on the top of it.
“Help me out of this coat!” ordered the Duke.
“Now, your Grace, do but listen to reason!” begged Nettlebed.
“Nettlebed, do you wish me to run away from you again?” demanded the Duke.
“No, no, you wouldn’t do that, your Grace!” said Nettlebed, quailing.
“That, or engage a new valet,” said the Duke inexorably.
This terrible threat utterly subjugated Nettlebed, and in almost trembling haste he helped to array his master in his riding-dress.
“I am not in the least fatigued,” said the Duke, straightening his cravat.
“No, your Grace!”
“I shall not be knocked up,” said the Duke, walking over to the door.
“No, your Grace!”
“I shall dance into the small hours.”
“Yes, your Grace!”
“And,” pursued the Duke, opening the door, and casting a mischievous look at his cringing servitor, “I shall not engage a new valet!”
“Now, your Grace!” said Nettlebed, in quite a different voice.
But the Duke had gone.
He rode out towards Willsbridge beside his bailiff in a mood of gay good-humour, which much rejoiced that worthy man’s heart. By his request, they gave Cheyney a wide berth, the Duke having no desire to encounter his uncle while going upon an errand of which Lord Lionel would violently disapprove, and Moffat understanding this without the Duke’s having the least need to explain it to him. They reached Furze Farm without meeting anyone with whom the Duke was acquainted, and, tethering the horses to the gateposts, walked across the yard to the open kitchen door. A girl in a cotton apron and a mob-cap, who had stepped out to empty a pail of water, dropped a curtsy to Moffat, and informed him that Missus was in the kitchen, rolling out the pastry. Her voice brought a spare, middle-aged woman to the door. She had a worn, kindly face, and after casting the Duke a doubtful look, smiled at Moffat, and said: “Come you in, Mr. Moffat! Now, if I’d but known you would be passing this way today—!”
“Mrs. Mudgley, ma’am, I’ve brought his Grace to see your Jasper,” said Moffat, indicating his companion.
She gave a gasp, and made haste to curtsy and to wipe the flour from her hands at the same time. “Your Grace! Oh, Mr. Moffat! And me all unprepared, and Jasper out in the fields, and you bringing his Grace to the kitchen, instead of round the front, as it fitting! I do not know what to say, your Grace, but I’m sure I beg your pardon! If you would please to step into the parlour, I will send directly to fetch my son!”
“Will you let me rather come into your kitchen, and talk to you, Mrs. Mudgley?” he said, with his shy smile.
She looked rather wildly at Moffat, faltering that it was not fit. The bailiff said in a heartening tone: “Take his Grace in, ma’am: I’ll warrant he will like it very well!”
She dropped another curtsy, and the Duke stepped over the threshold, and laid his hat and gloves down on a chair, saying, as he looked round the room: “Yes, indeed I do. How comfortable it is! Am I disturbing you?”
“Oh, no, indeed, your Grace!” she assured him. She saw how young he was, and suddenly felt less nervous. She set a chair for him, whisked her pastry up into a damp cloth, and said diffidently: “If your Grace would partake of a little refreshment after the ride? Just a cup of my cowslip wine, belike?”
“Thank you: you are very good!” he said, hoping that it would not disagree with him as much as he feared it would. “Moffat, while I am talking to Mrs. Mudgley, will you be so good as to find her son for me?”
Mrs. Mudgley looked a little scared at being left without support, but by the time she had poured out a glass of her wine for the guest, and he had tasted it, and said how good it was, and had asked her how it was made, she began to forget his exalted status, and even allowed herself to be persuaded to sit down in a chair opposite him.
He said: “Moffat has been telling me about the Five-acre field, I am sorry my agent would not let your son buy it, but, you see, he has had to be so very careful while I was a minor.”
She murmured something about her son’s being able to give a fair price for it.
“Well, I think I shall not sell it to him,” said the Duke. “I should like to give it to his bride for her dowry.”
“She looked at him in a puzzled way. “Your Grace is very good but—”
“Mrs. Mudgley, I didn’t come for that reason, but to ask you if you recall a girl named Belinda?”
She jumped. “Belinda!” she exclaimed. “Yes, and indeed I do, your Grace! Jasper was that taken with her he’ll not look at another wench! Poor thing, it wasn’t what I wished for him, sir, but seeing him so set on her, and him no more changeable than his father was before him, I would have let him wed her, and said naught, for she was so pretty you couldn’t but compassion her, and good-natured besides, even if she hadn’t much sense in her head, which dear knows she hadn’t! But she ran off from the woman she was apprenticed to, and try as he would my boy could never discover what had become of her. Why, sir, it couldn’t be that you know where she is?”
“Yes, I do know,” he replied. “She fell into the hands of a plausible rogue, who wished to use her for his own ends, and I think she has been very unhappy since she ran away from Bath, But although she has been drifting about the country, and is a very silly girl, I am quite sure she is still quite an innocent girl.” He paused. “I think I ought to tell you all I know of her,” he said, meeting her startled blue eyes candidly. “You won’t judge her harshly. I believe, and—and it would not be right not to tell you!”
She looked anxiously at him, but said nothing. But as he gently unfolded Belinda’s story to her the anxiety faded. She shook her head over it often, and clicked her tongue in censure, but at the end sighed, and said: “It all comes of her being a foundling, your Grace, and no one to bring her up right. Not that they don’t do their best at the Foundling Hospital, I’msure, but it’s not the same, and never could be. It’s like as if the poor children don’t have the feelings they would with homes of their own, and folks to care for them. It always seemed to me that Belinda was just like that leaf that’s just blown in through the door, sir, cast about she didn’t know where, and nothing to hold to, if your Grace takes my meaning.” He nodded. “I never thought she was a bad girl, for all the silly notions she had in her head.”
“No, that I know she is not,” he replied. “But she has the most dreadful way of going off with anyone who offers to give her silk dresses, or trinkets, I can’t deny!”
“Ah, but they did say at the Foundling Hospital, where my father went to ask if they had no news of her, that her father was Quality, which would account for it, sir, the Quality being very easy in their ways,” explained Mrs. Mudgley simply. “A love-child, she was. I wouldn’t be telling the truth if I was to tell your Grace I’m wishful my son should wed with her, but see him in the dumps like he’s been ever since he lost her, I can’t. She won’t go trapesing off once she’s got a home of her own, and babies, and I daresay I shall be able to show her the way she should go on, for she was mightily taken with the farm, and they did teach her to bake and make at the Foundling Hospital, that I will say!”
“Yes” he said, looking round. “She would be happy here. She is not happy in Laura Place, I think. It’s strange to her, and she is a little afraid of Lady Ampleforth. And she thinks a great deal of your son, and of you.” He smiled. “You were very kind to her, she told me, finding it strange that any woman should show her kindness.”
Her heart was touched; she said: “Poor little dear! Do you bring her to me, sir, and don’t let her fear to be scolded, for it’s no manner of use scolding a pretty silly creature like her!”
A shadow darkened the doorway; the Duke looked up, and saw a sturdy young man confronting him, in breeches, and leggings, and with his shirt-sleeves rolled half-way up his tanned arms. He had a stolid, open countenance, in which a pair of widely set grey eyes squarely met the Duke’s. His mother jumped up, and went to him, chiding him for not having put on his coat and washed his hands before coming into the house, but he put her gently aside, saying, with his eyes still fixed on the Duke: “Mr. Moffat told me his Grace of Sale had news of Belinda, Mother.”
“Yes, yes, but make your bow, Jasper, do!” she adjured him. “His Grace has been so kind, you would not believe!”
“Has he?” said Mr. Mudgley heavily.
“Jasper, will you mind your manners? I don’t know what his Grace must be thinking of you, standing there like a gowk! And him giving the Five-acre to Belinda, as he will!”
The lines about Mr. Mudgley’s jaw seemed to harden. “I don’t care for that,” he said. “Nor I don’t rightly know why he should do any such thing, Mother.”
The Duke rose. “Not for any such reason as you have in your head,” he said. “Walk out with, me: we shall do better to talk this over alone.”
“I’m agreeable,” said Mr. Mudgley, in a level tone, and stood aside for him to pass out of the kitchen.
“Oh, deary me!” said Mrs. Mudgley to Moffat, who had slipped quietly into the house behind his young friend. “I do hope my Jasper won’t offend his Grace! You know what he is, Mr. Moffat! As stiff-necked as his father, and move him you can’t, once he’s taken a notion into his head! Whatever will become of us if he should say something which his Grace might take amiss?”
“His Grace won’t take offence,” Moffat said. “He’s not like his uncle, high in the instep, as the saying is. I’ve known him since he was a sickly boy, hardly out of short-coats, ay, helped him out of trees when he got stuck, and taught him to handle a gun, and there never was a lad with a sweeter nature, that I’ll swear to! What’s more, ma’am, he’s got a way with him, for all he’s not to much to look at, and if he don’t have your Jasper out of his high ropes I shall be fair astonished!”
He was not destined to suffer astonishment. After walking up and down the lane for long enough to make Mrs. Mudgley feel very uneasy, the two men came in, apparently on the best of terms. Mrs. Mudgley saw that the set look he had worn for so long had vanished from her son’s face, and shed tears, which she dried hastily, however, explaining that she didn’t know whether she stood on her head or her heels. None of the three men found this very comprehensible, but they were relieved to see that she had stopped crying, and encouraged her in their several ways, her son patting her on the shoulder, Moffat saying There, there! in a helpless way, and the Duke announcing that it had been decided that he and Lady Harriet would bring Belinda out to Furze Farm as soon as was possible.
Mrs. Mudgley then poured out cowslip wine all round, and after he had heroically swallowed his portion, the Duke took his leave of his hosts and rode back to Bath, feeling that a weight had dropped from his shoulders.
He had been invited to dine in Laura Place, before attending the Dowager and Lady Harriet to the Assembly Rooms, and when he reached the Christopher he found that his cousin had driven out to Cheyney some time earlier. He walked upstairs, to be met by Nettlebed, who took his hat and gloves from him, expressing the hope that he would rest before he changed his dress.
“Yes, perhaps I will,” he said yawning. “What’s this?” He picked up a letter from the table as he spoke, and saw that it was addressed to him in Lord Gaywood’s dashing handwriting.
“My Lord Gaywood’s man left it here for your Grace, not half an hour ago,” responded Nettlebed disparagingly. “He said there was no answer expected. And a fly-by-night fellow he is! I wonder his lordship would have such about him.”
The Duke broke the wafer, and spread open the letter. It was quite brief.
“ Dear Sale, ” it ran. “ Don’t put yourself to any more trouble over your fair Cyprian, for I’m taking her off your hands. It would be a curst sin to tie such an out-and-outer up to some Somerset bumpkin. You may fob Harriet off with what tale you please, and believe me, Your devilish obliged servant, Gaywood. ”