“You ride in the coach, and I will hire a horse and follow you. We are going to the Abbey before anyone realises what you have done.”
Anger surged through her, and Eleanor resented being told what to do. “I am finished with being controlled, dictated to—”
“Look around, Eleanor,” he whispered into her ear as he waved off the servant. “Do you want them all to realise that Miss Tilney is running away to God knows where? You are not as far from home as you think.”
Eleanor suppressed the urge to shout in frustration at being ordered about. If she wanted a man to tell her what to do, she would have stayed at Northanger. But there was no reason now to go on to Belleville. There were postillions, travellers, coachmen, servants, all walking and talking and now casting looks at the woman standing at the open door of a carriage and refusing to get in. Philip was right, and she nodded tightly and stepped in.
She heard him tell the driver to continue on to Northanger once the horses were changed, and to stop just before the lodge while he hired a horse to follow. She supposed they should not be seen leaving together. Eleanor gave a nervous laugh at the ridiculousness of her situation. She had fled, thrown away her dignity in order to elope with a man her father disapproved of, and now that same man was preserving her reputation by sending her home.
Eleanor spent the ride back to Northanger considering what had brought Philip within ten miles of the place. Had he been on his way to visit Henry, or on his way to Bristol or Bath? When she realised how close they were to the Abbey, Eleanor grew angry again. She did not want to step foot in her father’s house, and it was Philip Brampton, of all people, who was dragging her back.
The coach stopped by the great gates of the lodge, and she heard Philip come alongside and dismount.
“Return the horse to the inn, if you please.” This was said to his man on the back of the coach. “And not a word about whom we found in Tetbury.” She heard him climb down, and Philip added, “Before you return to Tetbury, tell the housekeeper I am staying if Miss Tilney will allow me. I saw Miss Tilney walking the grounds, and I decided to walk up to the house with her.”
The door opened, she stepped down, and then the coachman and servant were gone and she was left with only Philip.
“Where were you going?” and “Why are you here?” were cried aloud at the same time.
Eleanor waited for him to answer, but he only stared, clearly waiting for her to explain herself. She refused to yield, and Philip huffed in frustration.
“What might have happened had one of your neighbours seen you getting into a mail coach alone?” he asked, giving her a thunderous look. He sighed and seemed to gather patience. He gestured across the grounds. “Tell me what happened on the way to the house.”
She crossed her arms and shook her head. “I cannot go back into that house, Philip!”
Rather than argue, he simply said, “Then let us walk the grove and you can tell me what happened. And if you still cannot return to the house then, we shall decide what to do.”
She supposed this was as fair a deal as she was to get. They walked across the park toward her grove of Scotch firs in silence. When they were far from the road and the chance of any person hearing them, Philip cried, “Eleanor, what were you doing?”
She started, but before she could retort, he went on. “Were you fleeing your father? You were travelling in the wrong direction if you intended to go to Woodston. Henry is not even there; he is probably in Wiltshire visiting his would-be betrothed. Did he not tell you?” Philip turned to look at her but did not wait for an answer. “Henry won’t defend you against the general. You know I like Henry, but you put too much faith in him. He defied his father for the sake of that girl, but Henry would tell you to bear up a little longer. Or were you only trying to visit your banished brother while your father is away?” He sighed heavily. “Sir Charles has still not come to the point, then? Is he coming to see you after your father returns?”
Philip was rambling. He rarely talked freely in front of others but, with her, his shyness fell away and he talked at length. Although, at this moment, his mind leapt from one thought to the next, and he was hardly making sense. Eleanor watched him stalk ahead a little way toward the narrow winding path through the grove. She had noticed his nervous manner, but only now did she notice his black armband and black gloves.
Before another syllable passed, she asked, “For whom do you wear black?”
He stopped suddenly and gave her a devastated look. “Did you not read it in the papers?” he asked hoarsely. “Not one of your correspondents mention—” He shook his head angrily. “Your father is still keeping some of your letters from you, then?”
“He keeps themallfrom me, and the servants are told to keep all newspapers from me in his absence as well. I have not looked at a single newspaper since Tuesday.”
It was clear that a painful reflection crossed Philip’s mind. The extreme composure of his manner looked absolutely forced. “Eleanor, Vaughan died on Monday. I buried him yesterday.”
She brought her hands to her face with a gasp, and her eyes filled with tears as she heard “influenza,” “Lady Metcalfe,” “violent fever,” and “with his asthma.” It was sudden and unexpected, and Eleanor felt all the grief in not only losing a friend but grief for Lady Metcalfe, her little daughter, and for Philip, who now had no near relation living.
“I am so sorry,” she whispered. “Vaughan was a worthy man, and I know what he meant to you. And you were his closest friend in the world, so dear to him. He loved you like a brother.”
Philip nodded and cleared his throat. When her mind recovered from the first shock of this disaster, she looked closer at Philip. He had not been sleeping well, and this loss would weigh deeply on him. Eleanor gave him a sympathetic look and put her arms around him.
He shuddered, and Eleanor felt a few of his tears as he hugged her back. She wondered how many tears he had already cried for Robert Brampton. “I had no idea, Philip,” she whispered, “none at all. I am so sorry.”
He stepped away, wiping his eyes with his sleeve cuff and staring into the fir trees. She gave him a moment and wondered over his sudden appearance. He had thought she already knew about Lord Vaughan, and he knew Henry was not in the country, so why was he here?
When she asked him, he gave her a long look and then said, “Is Sir Charles soon coming to the Abbey?”
Philip stared at her as though his next breath depended upon her answer. “No.” Relief flooded his countenance. “Sir Charles was furious, to be sure, but not heartbroken.” She forced a smile. “I suspect when we see one another again he will pretend he does not remember me.”
“What?” Philip’s eyes narrowed. “Surely you did not refuse to be Lady Sudbury, if you had the offer?”
“I did.”
