‘I see that I have come to the proper person!’ said the Major.
Sir Richard raised one languid hand. ‘I beg you will acquit me of all responsibility, sir. My part is merely to remove my cousin from the care of a tutor who has proved himself wholly incapable of controlling his – er – activities, and to convey him to his mother’s home.’
‘But what are you doing in Queen Charlton, then?’ demanded the Major.
It was plain that Sir Richard considered the question an impertinence. ‘I have acquaintances in the neighbourhood, sir. I scarcely think I need trouble you with the reasons which led me to break a journey which cannot be other than – er – excessively distasteful to me. Pen, make your bow!’
‘Pen?’ repeated the Major, glaring at her.
‘He was named after the great Quaker,’ explained Sir Richard.
‘Indeed! Then I would have you know, sir, that his behaviour scarcely befits his name!’
‘You are perfectly right,’ agreed Sir Richard. ‘I regret to say that he has been a constant source of anxiety to his widowed parent.’
‘He seems very young,’ said the Major, scanning Pen critically.
‘But, alas, old in sin!’
The Major was slightly taken aback. ‘Oh, come, come, sir! I daresay it is not as bad as that! One must make allowances for young people. To be sure, it is very reprehensible, and I do not by any means exonerate my daughter from blame, but the springtime of life, you know, sir! Young people take such romantic notions into their heads – not but what I am excessively shocked to learn of clandestine meetings! But when two young persons fall in love, I believe –’
‘In love!’ interpolated Sir Richard, apparently thunderstruck.
‘Well, well, I daresay you are surprised! One is apt to fancy the birds always too young to leave the nest, eh? But –’
‘Pen!’ said Sir Richard, turning awfully upon his supposed cousin. ‘Is it possible that you can have made serious advances towards Miss Daubenay?’
‘I never offeredmarriage,’ said Pen, hanging her head.
The Major seemed to be in danger of suffering an apoplexy. Before he could recover the power of speech, Sir Richard had intervened. Upon the Major’s bemused ears fell a description of Pen’s shameless precocity that caused the object of it to turn away hastily to hide her laughter. According to Sir Richard’s malicious tongue, Bath was strewn with her innocent victims. When Sir Richard let fall the information that this youthful moral leper was without means or expectations, the Major found enough breath to declare that the whelp ought to be horsewhipped.
‘Precisely my own view,’ bowed Sir Richard.
‘Upon my word, I had not dreamed of such a thing! Penniless, you say?’
‘Little better than a pauper,’ said Sir Richard.
‘Good Gad, what an escape!’ gasped the Major. ‘I do not know what to say! I am aghast!’
‘Alas!’ said Sir Richard, ‘his father was just such another! The same disarming air of innocence hid a wolfish heart.’
‘You appal me!’ declared the Major. ‘Yet he looks a mere boy!’
Pen, feeling that it was time she bore a part in the scene, said with an air of innocence which horrified the Major: ‘But if Lydia says I offered marriage, it is not true. It was all mere trifling. I do not wish to be married.’
This pronouncement once more bereft the Major of speech. Sir Richard’s forefinger banished Pen to her corner, and by the time the outraged parent ceased gobbling, he had once more taken charge of the situation. He agreed that the whole affair must at all costs be hushed up, promised to deal faithfully with Pen, and finally escorted the Major out of the parlour, with assurances that such depravity should not go unpunished.
Pen, who had been struggling with an overwhelming desire to laugh, went off into a peal of mirth as soon as the Major was out of earshot, and had, in fact, to grasp a chair-back to support herself. In this posture she was discovered by Mr Luttrell, who, as soon as Sir Richard and the Major had passed through the entrance-parlour, oblivious of his presence there, bounced in upon Pen, and said through shut teeth: ‘So! You think it damned amusing, do you, you little cur? Well, I donot!’
Pen raised her head, and through brimming eyes saw the face of her old playmate swim before her.
Mr Luttrell, stuttering with rage, said menacingly: ‘I heard you! I could not help but hear you! So you didn’t intend marriage, eh? You – youboastof having t-trifled with an innocent female! And you think you c-can get off scot-free, do you?I’llteach you a lesson!’
Pen discovered to her horror that Mr Luttrell was advancingupon her with his fists clenched. She dodged behind the table, and shrieked: ‘Piers! Don’t youknowme? Piers, look at me! I’mPen!’
Mr Luttrell dropped his fists, and stood gaping. ‘Pen?’ he managed to utter. ‘Pen?’
ELEVEN
