“Might it not be better to postpone your questions, sir? I feel it is of more importance to get Miss Burloyne to Weymouth as swiftly as we may.”
With which, he exhorted his pair to a trot. They had been held to a walk to facilitate the captain speaking to Delia. He made no objection to the change, but signalled to his four men riding behind and put his own mount to the same pace.
Delia spoke low-voiced to the rector. “Thank you, sir. He was flustering me horribly.”
“You did very well, child.” A reassuring smile reached her. “Stick to your two ruffians and you will be fine. You had no further sight of the third man beyond seeing him ride out of the forest, is that not so?”
A trifle overwrought, Delia giggled. “It had better be so. And thank you also for insisting on taking me back yourself.”
“I hardly think the captain could have got you back otherwise. Unless he proposed to mount you before him.”
“I had not thought of that. I dare say he meant to mount me and lead the horse. Two of his men could very well have ridden together, I suppose.”
“Most unsatisfactory. The phaeton is by far more comfortable for you, I don’t doubt.”
“Indeed it is, and I’m glad of the chance to say this much.” She drew an unsteady breath and dropped her voice to a near whisper. “Keep him safe, sir! Don’t let him run his head into danger.”
“I doubt I could stop him, my dear child. He is nothing if not headstrong.”
“That is just what worries me!”
She cast a glance at the captain, fearful of being overheard. But he was riding at a little distance now and she breathed more easily, despite the constriction in her bosom.
Becoming aware presently of an increasing presence in the environment of dwellings and passers-by, a creeping sensation of loss began to invade her. The adventure was coming to its close and the author of it lay helpless in the rectory in Stepleton, and the despicable truth was Delia might never see him again.
Urgency threw her into hasty speech, of necessity in another frantic whisper. “I won’t get the chance to speak of this again, sir. Pray tell him… Tell Giff…”Oh, say it, Delia! To the devil with caution! “Tell him I will never forget. He brought excitement into a very dull life.” She saw the rector’s brows lift and hurried on. “I know it was hideously dangerous and I would not willingly go through it again. You will think it odd of me, sir, but I would not have missed it for the world.”
A dry laugh came and the Reverend Gaunt set one hand on hers where she gripped them in her lap and pressed them. “What it is to be young! But I do trust you will not again be obliged suffer such excitement on my nephew’s behalf.”
Delia’s spirits drooped. “Highly unlikely, since he won’t again cross my path.”
The rector said nothing to this. Delia wondered briefly if he noticed her distress and did her best to suppress it. She must appear relieved and happy to be back among her people, if she was not to invite comment and question. Aunt Gertrude was all too shrewd.
As it chanced, her great-aunt proved to be a good deal debilitated by the knock on the head she’d received and was far from her usual self. She greeted Delia with tearfulness and a convulsive hug, although she did not attempt to rise from the chaise longue where she was lying.
“My poor, dear child, thank heavens you are safe! How in the world would I have explained myself to your mama, if I had lost you forever?”
“But here I am, Aunt, if a little the worse for wear. And thanks to the Reverend Gaunt here, who kindly took me up.”
She was happy to see how Aunt Gertrude, clasping the rector’s hand between both her own, took her story without a blink, giving him effusive thanks and shedding tears again.
The reverend managed to turn her attention with an ease Delia could only admire. “But what of you, dear lady? Miss Burloyne told me you had sustained a severe blow.”
Lady Matterson waved dismissive hands. “Yes, yes, but that was nothing to the dismay I felt when I heard they had left Delia behind. My fault too! For I told her to escape the carriage. Only neither Vowles nor Scoley knew it. And I did not recover consciousness until they had carried me to my bed and brought a doctor to me.” She then begged everyone to be seated and exhorted Delia to ring the bell. “We will have in the Madeira. A little celebration is in order, I think.”
There was limited space in the only parlour provided in Lady Matterson’s lodging, for which she apologised. “Weymouth is always so crowded, one can scarcely move, and my usual lodgings, which are a deal more commodious, were taken. My fault. I dithered too long when I knew my poor Maria could not join me here. My friend, you must know. We have been spending the summer here together for years.”
Looking round, Delia saw nothing amiss with the parlour. It was small but airy, furnished with a couple of armchairs upholstered in chintz to the seats and back in addition to the chaise longue which evidently doubled as a sofa, and a small writing bureau and straight chair set into the window embrasure, which overlooked the Esplanade.
The rector disposed himself in a chair close enough to the chaise longue that he might continue to converse, while the captain perched nearer the door and Delia plonked down on a cushioned stool beside the chaise longue. All were barely settled when her ladyship’s gaunt dresser came in.
“Ah, Pegler! Here she is, the resilient creature, safe and sound.”
“So I see, my lady.” The woman gave Delia a dour smile as she came across the room. She was almost as elderly as her mistress, having been with Lady Matterson from her youth, and was, as Delia knew, more companion to her than maid. There was a hint of apology in her withered features. “I am very glad, miss, and must blame myself for your tardy return.”
Delia stared. “How so, Peggy?”
The nursery name, which she and her siblings had ever used, caused a spasm to cross the woman’s face, but she was evidently labouring under too much emotion to object. “I’m afraid I gave you little thought at first, what with my mistress as near death as made no odds.”