We left a few minutes later, and began walking toward Edgar's Buildings on a mission to see Isabella's new hat. Isabella's comments about Miss Andrews had been rather…well, crass. I must have misunderstood the her representation of the matter completely, for I know Isabella would never speak intentionally ill about anyone.
We were prevented from crossing Cheap street by the approach of a gig. The coachman looked to be a poor driver and had selected the worst patch of pavement to cross. His horse looked to be in a misery.
Isabella stopped me as I tried to go around, and said, "Delightful! Mr. Morland and my brother!"
The coachman saw us then, and checked the horse with such violence the poor beast nearly fell back on his haunches. I looked around, confused, my brother nowhere in sight.
The coachman jumped down from his gig, smiled broadly at Isabella, and began to approach. I swallowed whatever negative remark I had been about to make regarding the coachman, the probability of his identity being that of John Thorpe growing higher by the second, and turned another eye out for James.
Around the front of the gig came a black beauty that looked remarkably similar to my own. I looked a second time, realizing that it was Medusa, and that James was in the saddle.
I was shocked at their sudden appearance, and dashed from Isabella's side—just in time to avoid the coachman—then met James after he dismounted.
I threw my arms around him, startling him, as he had not seen me in pursuit. "Umph. Oh, sister is that you? I had a small hope it might have been some other lady, heh, but I am very pleased to see you."
"Oh James, how can you say so, when I am more delighted than words can express? What in heavens are you doing here, and with Medusa too?"
I stroked Medusa's neck, and we gave knowing looks to one another. She knows what I think, and I would swear it if I could.
"Cathy, we came to see you, of course, and what a famous thing it is meeting like this."
"You only call me Cathy when you're feeling guilty."
His eyes stretched over me to something beyond. I turned and nearly collided with Isabella just behind me. At her side was the coachman.
"Oh my dearest creature, I can't tell you what a shock it gave me to see you standing next to that great beast of a thing. Were you quite run over? Mr. Morland, how could you run over my friend, your own sister? Do give him to a servant or something, he makes me quite uncomfortable."
James, never one to be impolite, bore her sharp words with equanimity and a grin. After handing the reigns to their servant, he said, "And a pleasure to see you again too, Miss Thorpe."
"She's my horse, Isabella—I was quite safe. Don't be hard on James."
The coachman, who by this time I knew for certain was none other than John Thorpe, confirmed as much and introduced himself.
"Upon my soul, what a drive we have had this morning," he said, "How long do you think we have been running it from Tetbury, Miss Morland?"
"I do not know the distance."
"It's twenty-three miles, I do believe," said James.
"Three and twenty!" said Thorpe. "Five and twenty if it is an inch."
"I'm afraid not John, the road-book I consulted this morning stated three and twenty."
"I know it must be five and twenty," said Mr. Thorpe, "by the time we have been doing it. It is now half after one. We drove out of the inn-yard at Tetbury as the town clock struck eleven, and I defy any man in England to make my horse go less than ten miles an hour in harness; that makes it exactly twenty-five."
"You have lost an hour," said James, "it was only ten o'clock when we came from Tetbury."
"Ten o'clock! It was eleven, upon my soul! I counted every stroke. This brother of yours would persuade me out of my senses, Miss Morland; do but look at my horse; did you ever see an animal so made for speed in your life? Such true blood! Three hours and and a half indeed coming only three and twenty miles! Look at that creature, and suppose it possible if you can."
The servant called out for instructions. Medusa, it was determined, would be dropped off first at the Allen's stable, and then the gig could be driven to the shared lodgings of Mr. Thorpe and James.
Mr. Thorpe then rubbed his forehead with such vehemence that I could not but stare. The shine on his forehead had only increased with his efforts.
"And what do you say, Miss Morland?"
I stood there, dumbfounded for another moment, before I recalled his previous question—a ridiculous one at that, and I felt even more sorry for the horse now that I further knew the mind of its owner. I would have nearly laughed if not for the serious look on Mr. Thorpe's face.
As disinterested as possible, I said, "He does look very hot, to be sure."
"Hot! He had not turned a hair till we came to Walcot Church. But look at his forehand, look at his loins; only see how he moves. That horse cannot go less than ten miles an hour: tie his legs and he will get on. What do you think of my gig, Miss Morland? A neat one, is not it? Well hung; town-built; I have not had it a month. It was built for a Christchurch man, a friend of mine, a very good sort of fellow. He ran it a few weeks, till, I believe, it was convenient to have done with it. I happened just then to be looking out for some light thing of the kind, though I had pretty well determined on a curricle too, but I chanced to meet him on Magdalen Bridge, as he was driving into Oxford, last term: 'Ah! Thorpe,' said he, 'do you happen to want such a little thing as this? It is a capital one of the kind, but I am cursed tired of it.' 'Oh! Damn,' said I; 'I am your man; what do you ask?' And how much do you think he did, Miss Morland?"
"I am sure I cannot guess at all."
During the length of Mr. Thorpe's speech, his servant had secured Medusa to the rear, and was now driving off.
He continued, speaking quite rapidly as the gig disappeared down the road. "Curricle-hung, you see; seat, trunk, sword-case, splashing-board, lamps, silver molding, all you see complete. The iron-work as good as new, or better. He asked fifty guineas and I closed with him directly, threw down the money, and the carriage was mine."
"And I am sure," I said, "I know so little of such things that I cannot judge whether it was cheap or dear." Nor could I see the carriage to confirm any of the particulars were worth such a sum.
"Neither one nor t'other; I might have got it for less, I dare say; but I hate haggling, and poor Freeman wanted cash."
"That was very good-natured of you," I said.
"Oh! Damn it, when one has the means of doing a kind thing by a friend, I hate to be pitiful."
I was in agony for the rest of the conversation. There were very few things of which I felt confident in my good sense, but horses were at the top of the list. I listened to him go on and on, bragging of what I considered cruelty and neglect. But I must make allowances for his being Isabella's brother, and I will treat him kindly if I die trying.
Two things of interested happened before we parted. First, Mr. Thorpe asked me for the first dance set at the Upper Rooms tonight. I could do nothing but accept, though I thought I might rather not have danced at all than be subjected to more of Mr. Thorpe's conversation.
Secondly, after we left the Thorpes and walked on to the Allen's, my brother and I were finally able to speak privately.
"Well, Catherine, how do you like my friend Thorpe?"
I pursed my lips. Should I respond honestly to my brother? Again I felt myself in unknown waters, and I said, "I…like him very much. He seems very agreeable." Or he is the most unpleasant person I've ever met.
My brother smiled, and said, "He is as good-natured a fellow as ever lived; a little of a rattle; but that will recommend him to your sex, I believe. And how do you like the rest of the family?"
I was confident in my next answer. "Very, very much indeed—Isabella particularly."
"I am very glad to hear you say so. She is just the kind of young woman I could wish to see you attached to; she has so much good sense, and is so thoroughly unaffected and amiable. I always wanted you to know her, and she seems very fond of you. She said the highest things in your praise that could possibly be, and the praise of such a girl as Miss Thorpe even you, Catherine," taking my hand with affection, "may be proud of."
"Indeed I am," I said. "I love her exceedingly, and am delighted to find that you like her too. You hardly mentioned anything of her when you wrote to me after your visit there."
"Because I thought I should soon see you myself. I hope you will be a great deal together while you are in Bath. She is a most amiable girl, such a superior understanding! How much she must be admired in such a place as this—is not she?"
"Yes, very much indeed, I fancy; Mr. Allen thinks her the prettiest girl in Bath."
"I dare say he does; and I do not know any man who is a better judge of beauty than Mr. Allen. I need not ask you whether you are happy here, my dear Catherine. With such a companion and friend as Isabella Thorpe, it would be impossible for you to be otherwise. And the Allens, I am sure, are very kind to you?"
"Yes, very kind. I'm surprised by Mr. Allen's kindness. I'm afraid I am still nervous to be around him sometimes, but he has surpassed every expectation."
"Why should you be nervous around him? He is a great friend of fathers."
We were treading on new ground—I'd been afraid to ever have this conversation with James.
We had stopped, but now moved to the side of the street. A great tree stood over us, though the sun still shone through the bare branches.
"The day you shot his dog. Have you not always been afraid of him since then?"
His eyebrows crinkled, he appeared genuinely perplexed. I began to wonder if my own conclusions had been mistaken—but James had said—
"That was ages ago." He put his head in his hands.
"He was furious. He dragged you off alone with him after that, and when you returned your coat was gone, your sleeve cut and you were bleeding profusely. I know you still bear a scar. I've seen it."
James looked up, a horrified look on his face. "And what did you think happened?"
"I didn't think anything at all at first, not until after you'd been cleaned up and your cut seen to. You told me that Mr. Allen had taught you a lesson you would never forget. Those were your exact words—did he not hurt you somehow, in retribution? I've always believed he gave you that scar." I gestured to his left arm.
James didn't reply at first. His was looking at nothing in particular, and seemed lost in thought.
At length, he spoke.
"I'm so sorry Cathy. I did blame Mr. Allen for that scar, for many years. But it was not his doing. He gave me the worst set down of my life. Father's talks are nothing compared to Mr. Allen. Father is like a babbling brook, but Mr. Allen is the opposite. He didn't touch me, but he did make me feel like I was the scum of the earth.
"He was right, though. I'd taken a gun without permission, and used it without supervision. And I'd killed a helpless animal. Believe me, he had every right to be angry, and I felt every bit of it. I expected to get a sound walloping. But he is a man of great restraint."
His eyes looked red, and he was clearly distraught. I squeezed the hand I had taken up a few moments earlier.
"I'm so sorry James, I didn't know. I wish I hadn't said anything now."
"I'm not. I won't have you thinking Mr. Allen is going to hit you if you do something wrong. That is a great injustice."
He was right. I felt terrible, and my curiosity about his scar all these years—I shuddered to recall all I imagined Mr. Allen capable of. How he came by the scar was not my business.
"Lets go home then James."
He smiled, a piece of home that lifted my spirits. "I've missed you Catherine. I wish we were still young and could spend our days running and looking for frogs."
I knocked him lightly on the head. "You said you'd never tell anyone what we were doing! I'm going to hold you to that promise."
The breeze had warmed up and we sat for a while on the bench, looking at the people passing by.
"Now lets go see the Allen's. I hope you haven't been too severe on Mr. Allen. I'm quite ashamed I gave you the wrong impression so many years ago. It was quite unconsciously done. I hope you have been happy with them, all the same."
"I have been happy. But now you are come it will be more delightful than ever; how good it is of you to come so far on purpose to see me."
He hesitated. "Indeed, Cathy, I love you dearly."
We made it all the way home and were just about to go inside when he stopped me.
"Wait, I nearly forgot. I have a letter for you."
He had just placed it into my hand when the door swung open and Mr. and Mrs. Allen stood before us. In their exclamations over James's sudden arrival, I was able to peek at the seal and letter backing. I hurriedly folded it back up and slipped it into my pocket.
The seal had been unrecognizable, and the script unfamiliar, though the initials HVT were scrawled just above the wax.
I smiled to myself as I went to join the others in the sitting room. It seemed Sir Harry Vane-Tempest had not forgotten me after all.
