CHAPTER XXXI
The Tidings Confirmed
Rownton was not reached until nearly noon on the following morning, and Bertha’s first care was to discover if the wagon which Bill Humphries had left for repair was finished and ready for her. She must get to Pentland Broads before dark if possible, and when she reached that place she would know whether the bad news had got before her. But Edgar Bradgate, who seemed uncommonly good at getting his own way, told her to go straight to Mrs. Smith’s and get a meal, while he went to see about the wagon, which should be ready at the door of Mrs. Smith’s boarding-house in half an hour if he could compass it.
“You have had no food yourself. Won’t you come to Mrs. Smith’s also?” asked Bertha, who was rather disposed to revolt at having herself arranged for in this summary fashion.
“A cup of coffee, which I can swallow while you are tucking yourself into the wagon, and a piece of bread in my hand, which I can eat en route, will do quite well for me, thank you,” he answered, and then hurried away, leaving her undecided whether to be most relieved or most vexed at being looked after so thoroughly.
However, she was thankful not to be obliged to pick her way along the muddy sidewalks, or rather apologies for sidewalks, in search of her wagon, and as she was desperately hungry, she made the best of her way to Mrs. Smith’s, where she was able to pay some very needful attention to her toilet, while a hasty but substantial meal was prepared for her.
“You are surely not thinking of driving all the way to Pentland Broads to-day!” exclaimed Mrs. Smith, her hands uplifted in horror at the bare idea. “You will get benighted, and then you will have to put up at the halfway house, and that is certainly no place for a girl.”
Bertha smiled happily—she was thinking of the long journey down from Brocken Ridge with that lot of rough and mostly intoxicated men. Not a hint of vexation had been allowed to come near her, thanks to the quiet intervention of Edgar Bradgate, and she knew that she could trust to him to shield her still, if such shielding were necessary.
“I don’t think that there will be any need to put in at the halfway house on this trip,” she replied. “You see, the horse did no work yesterday. Mr. Bradgate is driving over with me too, so if it is nearly dark before I get in it will not matter so much, and I am anxious to get back as quickly as I can.”
“I am sure that you must be,” answered Mrs. Smith, with quiet sympathy in her tone. “I was sure that it must be very uncommonly serious business which took you on a journey to Brocken Ridge, but when I heard about Brown’s Expedition having come to grief, of course I guessed directly that you had gone up there to verify the rumours.”
Bertha turned pale, and a cold chill crept into her heart; but she had the good sense to keep quiet, for she had heard that Mrs. Smith was one of those women who simply cannot help gossiping, and it was something of a comfort to know that for once she had got hold of an entirely wrong impression, and could talk it out to her heart’s content without doing anyone the least harm.