Prudence and the Romantic Poet (The Three Graces #3)

Chapter 8

8

‘What a very odd thing to have happened!’ exclaimed Miss Kimpshott, as she and Prudence left the house in Kingsmead Street.

‘Remarkable,’ agreed Prudence. ‘Wholly unexpected.’ She longed to get back to Laura Place to talk over this strange discovery with Constance.

‘What a pity he is such a disagreeable man,’ said Miss Kimpshott. ‘If only you could have been reunited with a kind, rich, old great-uncle who would take you as a daughter and leave a great fortune to you. But instead you meet a crotchety old fellow without a feather to fly with.’

‘He is a pitiable man, to be sure.’

‘And it must be your day for attracting pitiable creatures,’ said Miss Kimpshott, ‘for look who is following us!’

Prudence glanced behind to see the little dog trotting along. ‘Oh dear. What in the world am I to do with it?’

They were just passing into Westgate Street when someone hailed them. A curricle drew alongside them with Mr Shelbourne at the reins. He was delighted to see them, or, more accurately, he was delighted to see Miss Kimpshott. On hearing that they were walking home he insisted on driving them. Miss Kimpshott had been kept in town longer than expected, and Prudence was keen to get back to her sister, so the offer was gratefully accepted.

As Prudence seated herself on the bench, she glanced down at the little dog who was stretching up with his paws on the carriage wheels looking up at her. She felt a pang of pity for the creature. She hardly knew what she would do with it, but she could not just leave him there, and doubtless he would follow the carriage, which would be very dangerous for him.

‘Wait, Mr Shelbourne,’ she cried, as he made ready to drive off. She hopped down saying, ‘Would you mind if I put this little fellow on the floor? I fear he will be trampled in the road if I leave him here.’

‘Dirty little thing,’ said Mr Shelbourne, giving the dog a distasteful look. ‘Are you sure you want to take him home?’

‘I am not sure at all that I want to, but I feel obliged.’ She settled herself down on the seat, pushing the dog down as he attempted to jump onto her lap. ‘Miss Grace is having a most extraordinary day,’ said Miss Kimpshott. ‘She has found a stray dog and a stray uncle. And she is such a soft-hearted creature that I think she will allow herself to be greatly inconvenienced by both.’

‘Stray uncle?’ exclaimed Mr Shelbourne. ‘Whatever has happened?’

The story was told and discussed all the way to Laura Place. Prudence climbed down from the carriage, the little dog leaping after her. She made her farewells to her friends; it was merely an adieu , for she would meet them later that evening at the theatre.

Mr Hervey must have seen the curricle draw up, for the door was opened before she reached it. Prudence hesitated, saying, ‘I think I had best go in through the other entrance, Mr Hervey.’

‘Whatever do you mean, miss?’

‘I have brought someone home with me. But I fear he is not fit for the front door.’ She stepped aside to reveal the little dog at her heels.

‘A stray, miss? You have brought a stray back with you?’

‘I cannot shake him off. He has followed me all through town.’

She went round to the entrance where the deliveries were taken to the kitchens. Mr Hervey must have hastened through the house, for he met her as she came through the door. Mrs Hervey, busy preparing dinner, was startled at Prudence’s unexpected appearance.

‘Dear me, miss! How is it you are come in by that door?’

‘I have a little difficulty, Mrs Hervey,’ explained Prudence. ‘It is in the form of a little dog who has followed me home, and I could not turn him away.’

‘A dog?’ Mrs Hervey left her pureeing of vegetables to come and see for herself. ‘Why it’s little more than a pup. But a stray mongrel, miss! Whatever shall be done with it? It can’t come in the house.’

Mr Hervey now joined them. He and his wife stood looking down at the dog with an air of dismay, which Prudence shared. She was usually of a very practical mind, but her thoughts were a little disordered from the unexpected events of the day, and she hardly knew what to do.

Amos came in, saying, ‘You wanted me, Mr Hervey?’

Mr Hervey gave some orders, which Prudence did not hear, for she was asking Mrs Hervey if there was anything that could be used for a makeshift kennel. Amos disappeared into the scullery and returned wearing a work apron and bearing a large pail of water which he carried outside.

‘Bring the dog to me, miss,’ Mr Hervey ordered, opening the door to the yard area outside.

‘What are you going to do?’ said Prudence, alarmed at the grim determination on the face of the butler.

Amos put the pail down and Mr Hervey reached for the dog by the scruff of the neck and dunked him in the water.

‘Oh no!’ cried Prudence, horrified. ‘Oh, Mr Hervey, you cannot drown the poor little thing—indeed you can’t!’ But the dog was not completely submerged; his head was above water, and Mr Hervey was calling to his wife for soap and rags.

‘He’ll need dosing with wormwood before he comes in too,’ said Mrs Hervey, as she helped her husband scrub the dog clean and rub him down with cloths.

‘Thank you, Mrs Hervey,’ said Prudence, her shock turned to gratitude. ‘Let me dry him off while you find the tincture. Thank you, Mr Hervey. How kind you both are!’

She felt ridiculously grateful to have the animal spared. He was only a stray, but it mattered a deal to her to see such kindness and mercy shown to what others would consider nothing but a nuisance and inconvenience.

The little black dog proved to have some white patches on his paws and belly once the mud of the street was washed from him. Prudence left him curled up on a rug at the kitchen fireplace, exhausted by his adventures. She hastened away to change into a clean gown, for she was splashed with dirty water and paw prints. As she changed she thought of all she had to share with Constance about their long-lost great uncle.

There were voices in the drawing room when she descended again – a man’s voice. Perhaps Mr Shelbourne had called after taking Miss Kimpshott home; but, no, it was not the youthful voice of Mr Shelbourne. She pushed open the door to see her sister caught up in a hearty embrace.

‘Oh! Finn!’

‘Hello, Elfling,’ called her brother-in-law, releasing his wife to greet Prudence with a hearty handshake and a kiss on the cheek. ‘I thought I’d surprise you all by turning up early!’

There now followed lots of happy chatter. An order was sent for refreshments for the travel-weary arrival. Amos came in with a tray and narrowly missed dropping it when a blur of black fur hurled through his legs to reach Prudence on the sofa.

‘Sorry, ma’am!’ said Mr Hervey, coming in looking flustered. ‘It woke up and dashed through the open door before I could stop it!’

Exclamations and questions abounded, and Prudence tried to explain to Finn how the dog had come to be under the sofa where he was evading the grasp of Mr Hervey and Amos, and reassuring Constance that the dog had been thoroughly washed and dosed with wormwood and did not pose an unsanitary threat.

‘Well!’ said Finn, when the worst of the confusion was over. ‘And I thought my wife had come to be quiet and sedate in Bath. Instead I arrive to find you all in a hullaballoo.’

Prudence apologised profusely for bringing trouble upon the house. Dinner was announced, and the dog was borne away to the kitchens for a dish of scraps.

Constance was wholly absorbed with her husband at dinner, eager to hear every minute detail regarding their daughter, so Prudence deemed it not the right time to bring up such monumental news as a found relative. She let Finn dominate the conversation, giving all the news of Lindford and the village, in response to his wife’s questions.

After dinner Prudence suggested she cancel her engagement to go to the theatre in Mrs Codd-Phelp’s carriage on account of Finn’s early arrival, but neither Finn nor Constance would hear of this, and urged her to go and enjoy herself. Prudence suspected the couple would enjoy an evening alone after several weeks apart, and so she left them to go and get ready.

The evening was pleasant; the play amusing. Mrs Codd-Phelps was in high alt when Lord Carlyle accepted her invitation to join their party. He took his place at the front of the box, his hands crossed over his chest, his torso and head turned at a precise angle, and a brooding look in his eyes. Prudence was unsure whom he was enacting and wondered that he could hold an attitude for so long.

Mr Shelbourne, on joining the box, was able to enlighten her. ‘It’s Kemble as Coriolanus,’ he said, in accents of disgust. ‘He always puts on the Shakespearean attitudes at the theatre.’

‘I wonder why he does it,’ mused Prudence, who liked to observe her fellow beings and understand their ways.

‘For the attention,’ replied Mr Shelbourne. ‘Was always like it.’

‘You have known him long?’

‘Since our salad days.’

Prudence hid her smile, thinking that Mr Shelbourne was still at least half in his salad days, especially when he had that pettish look about him as he did now, giving him the look of a sulky schoolboy.

‘Were you at school together?’ she enquired .

‘Yes. Under Dr Forsythe. Decent fellow. Appreciated the arts. Carlyle would have done better at Harrow or Eton. That would have knocked all the dandy nonsense out of him.’

Prudence smiled again to herself, not liking to voice aloud that high romanticism would not likely have been tolerated at a public school any more than theatrics. She resolved to do Mr Shelbourne a favour. ‘Poor Miss Kimpshott,’ she said with an exaggerated sigh.

That drew Mr Shelbourne’s attention from his rival. ‘What do you mean? Is she unwell? Is she in sorrow?’ He looked over at the lady.

‘She is perfectly well. But here she is, in the company of two young men, and one of them is more concerned with having himself looked at than attending to her, and the other is more concerned with looking at the other man than attending to her.’

Mr Shelbourne looked startled. ‘Heavens! You have the right of it, Miss Grace! What a blockhead I am!’

Mr Shelbourne hastened to Miss Kimpshott’s side. When the interval began, he solicited the honour of escorting her to the refreshment room. Prudence noted with quiet approval that he showed his muse every attention for the rest of the evening. Mrs Codd-Phelps did all that was in her power to rouse Lord Carlyle from his Romeo at the Balcony preoccupation, but in vain. Lord Carlyle was in fine theatrical form that night.

‘It is not uncommon,’ confided Mrs Codd-Phelps to Prudence, ‘that where the lineage is very pure there can be a danger of consanguinity resulting in defects either bodily or mentally. Or both.’ As Lord Carlyle was looking decidedly King Lear in the Storm at that moment, Prudence concluded that her companion was referring to him .

‘Perhaps such a one would not make a good choice of partner,’ suggested Prudence.

‘Not at all,’ replied the lady. ‘In such cases one would pair the creature up with a healthy specimen from a wholly unrelated breeding line to correct any defects.’

‘Is there no danger of the defects being reproduced?’ said Prudence. ‘Is it not better to only breed with two healthy animals?’

‘Defects can be bred out as well as in,’ was Mrs Codd-Phelps’ verdict.

Mr Shelbourne escorted Miss Kimpshott back to their box. ‘They make a handsome pair,’ said Prudence as the young couple entered. She thought that Miss Kimpshott’s sensible manners would be good for Mr Shelbourne’s overly romanticised mind. ‘Surely the most important thing a breeder would wish for is that both natures are amiable, and their unique characteristics are complementary and compatible?’

Mrs Codd-Phelps told her she knew nothing about it. Good bloodlines must be preserved, or the world would be overrun with mongrels. Prudence replied that it was a very good thing that such standards were not imposed on humans, as with dogs and horses, and left it at that.

The household at Laura Place had retired for an early night when Prudence returned home. Only Lizzy was waiting up for her. But, no, there was another soul waiting patiently for her. She almost tripped over the small dog curled up by the door.

‘The little thing wouldn’t move from the door he saw you go out of,’ said Lizzy. ‘He’s been waiting for you to come back through it ever since.’

‘You foolish little thing,’ said Prudence, bending to pet the creature, who was now sat on her shoes. ‘What am I to do with you? You cannot come upstairs to my bed. That would be pushing the boundaries of kindness a little too far.’

It was not easy to persuade the dog to leave. Finally, Amos took charge and bore him away, saying, ‘The little pipsqueak can come in with me, miss.’

Prudence enjoyed a reasonable night’s sleep, for she was not one for tossing and turning, even when she did have the concern of an invalid relation weighing upon her. As she dressed next morning she resolved to speak to Constance at breakfast. There must be no more delay.

‘I have something important to tell you,’ she began, when her sister and brother-in-law were both at table.

‘As do we,’ said Constance, glowing from over the coffee pot.

Prudence would not quell her sister’s good news with her own more serious piece, so she encouraged her to speak first.

‘Finn says he is not at all fatigued from the journey, and so we are to return to Lindford tomorrow. Is that not good news?’

Prudence’s face fell. Constance was buttering a roll and did not notice. But Finn looking up from his coffee, said, ‘It’s not good news, is it, little sis?’

‘Oh… that is…’ said Prudence, who was a little flustered at this unexpected turn of events. ‘It is good… that is to say…’ She had the attention of both now. ‘That is to say – I cannot go.’