The Country Gentleman by Fiona Hill Read Free Book Online

when I see it in my hand, and not before.” This was said rather grimly. They drove on in silence for some while; then, her tone lightened, “Only fancy what marvellous letter-writers we shall become in our exile,” Anne suggested. “Perhaps we shall learn to talk to rats, as other prisoners are said to do.”
    “In our case, I should think cows would be our chief interlocutors,” replied the other, pleased to encourage even this mild levity.
    “Indeed. And we shall scrawl our names across the walls not in blood, but milk.”
    A fat raindrop streaked over the glass of the window, then another.
    “Rain,” observed Maria, as more drops came faster and faster. Then, gloomily, “Mud,” she added.
    “Quite,” agreed Miss Guilfoyle.
    A new silence fell as each entertained the thought of poor weather and two hundred miles to cover. Drenched coachmen. Stuck wheels. Short evenings. Moonless nights. Still, there was no turning back.
    “‘See how the rain doth wash the flowers,’” Anne began to sing a catch she and Maria had known in childhood.
    After a moment Mrs. Insel joined in, her clear soprano adding a high descant.
    Not until they had arrived at the Lion in Coventry, where they were to pass the night (Mrs. Insel had suggested they stop at Overton instead, which was nearly as convenient and a good deal cheaper, but even in her extremity MissGuilfoyle did not care to ask her uncle for favours), could Anne find the heart to tell Maria what she nevertheless knew she must tell sooner or later. She gathered her courage up through the early removes of the very indifferent supper—mutton sausage and carrot pudding—provided to them by the inn, often looking out the small window at the dreary night, as if courage might be found there. Finally, just after the arrival of a dish of stewed pears, she forced the words to her lips. “Oh, my dear,” she said, with a brave attempt at nonchalance, “did I tell you Ensley is to marry the little Canesford girl?”
    Mrs. Insel, choking on a mouthful of pear, answered, “No indeed. Is he?” She thought it as well not to mention she had been hearing rumours to that effect this past month. Her dark cheeks flamed with sympathy and a kind of embarrassment for her friend, who felt herself obliged to announce news of such significance with an air of insouciance.
    “Yes, in October.” Miss Guilfoyle suppressed an impulse to weep—she could see the pity in Maria’s countenance—and went on, “I fancy she is a good choice. The Canesfords are great breeders” (Lady Juliana was the eldest child of seven) “and Ensley tells me she’s a biddable little thing. He is quite pleased about it.”
    “And how are you pleased?” Maria asked, at the same time advancing her thin hand across the table in case Anne should want it.
    “I? Oh, la, what should it matter to me?” Her cheeks had gone very white, but otherwise she presented a tolerable façade. “So long as she knows what the marriage is for—and she does—Ensley and I shall go on as we always have. Indeed, I think it high time he took a wife.Evidently Denbury has been pressing him, too. He told me so that night at Celia Grypphon’s.”
    Maria surveyed her friend’s pale face. “Indeed? And what did he have to say to your news—the loss of your fortune, I mean?” She had been longing to ask this question, but had not dared till now. Anne could be very bristly indeed when it came to Ensley.
    “Nothing,” said Anne, and took a great spoonful of pear into her mouth. She chewed slowly and swallowed, seeming to enjoy Maria’s stare. Then she added, “For I never told him.”
    “Not tell him? But—where does he suppose you have gone, then?”
    “Oh, I sent round word of our new direction,” the other responded airily.
    “And no explanation?”
    “Not particularly. Why should I? It will do him good to wonder a bit about me,” Anne declared. “He takes me rather for granted, I should say. Should not