The Nonesuch

Lindeth, who had been staring at Tiffany, a queer look in his eyes, and his lips rather tightly compressed, turned from her, and said quietly: “Hand Miss Chartley into your tilbury, will you? I’ll give the boy to her then, and we can be off.”

“Yes, but it will be the deuce of a squeeze,” responded Mr Baldock doubtfully.

“No, it won’t: I’m going to get up behind.” He waited until Patience had climbed into the carriage, and then deposited the whimpering child in her lap, saying gently: “Don’t be distressed! There’s no need, I promise you.”

She was feeling ready to sink, and whispered: “I never thought—I didn’t know—Lord Lindeth, stay with her! I shall do very well by myself. Perhaps you could hire a carriage for me? Oh, yes! of course that’s what I ought to do! If you would direct the coachman to drive to the infirmary—”

“Stop fretting!” he commanded, smiling up at her. “We’ll discuss what’s best to be done presently. Meanwhile, Miss Trent will look after Miss Wield: I am coming with you!” He turned, as Miss Trent came up to give Patience her purse, and told her briefly what he meant to do, adding, in an under-voice: “Will you be able to come to the infirmary, ma’am? I think you should, don’t you?”

“Of course I shall come,” she replied. “Just as soon as I have taken Miss Wield back to the King’s Arms!”

He looked relieved. “Yes, if you please. Then I’ll find Waldo. He’s the man we want in this situation!”

She had been thinking so herself, and although she was surprised that he should have said it she agreed cordially. It was then his lordship’s turn to be a little puzzled, for he had spoken more to himself than to her, and (since Waldo very much disliked having his peculiar philanthropy puffed-off) was already regretting it. Before it could be established that they were talking at cross-purposes, Tiffany, almost beside herself with rage at their continued neglect, stalked up to them to demand in a voice vibrant with passion how much longer Miss Trent meant to keep her waiting.

“Not an instant!” replied her preceptress cheerfully, removing from her grasp the parasol and the various packages with which she was still burdened. Over her shoulder, she smiled reassuringly at Patience. “I’ll join you at the infirmary directly, Miss Chartley. Now, Tiffany!”

“You will not join her at the infirmary!” said Tiffany. “I wish to go home, and it is your duty to stay with me, and if you don’t do what I want I’ll tell my aunt, and have you turned off!”

“Without a character!” nodded Miss Trent, tucking a hand in her arm, and firmly propelling her down the flagway. “And if I were to take you home, abandoning Miss Chartley, her mama would no doubt demand my instant dismissal too, so in either event I must be totally ruined. I am quite sick with apprehension! But if I were you, Tiffany, I would take care how I exposed myself!”

“How I exposed myself?” gasped Tiffany. “When it was that odious Patience Chartley, with her insinuating ways, behaving like a hoyden, just to make everyone think her a heroine—”

“Do, Tiffany, strive for a little conduct!” interrupted Miss Trent. “I am not going to bandy words with you in public, so you may as well keep your tongue.”

This, however, the outraged beauty was far too angry to do, delivering herself all the way to the King’s Arms of a tirade which was as comprehensive as it was absurd. Miss Trent refused to be goaded into retort, but she could willingly have slapped her spoilt charge. She did indeed point out to her that she was attracting the undesirable notice of such passers-by who were privileged to overhear scraps of her diatribe; but although Tiffany lowered her voice she continued to scold.