“My Aunt Kezia said that he intended to write to them to say so,” I answered, feeling as though it were about a year since I had received my Aunt Kezia’s letter.
“Really, Sir!” Mrs Crossland began, “the father of these gentlewomen consigned them to my care—”
“And I take them out of your care,” returned my Uncle Charles. “I will take the responsibility to Mr Bracewell.”
“I’ll take all the responsi-what’s-its-name,” said Charlotte, suddenly appearing among us. “Thank you, Mr Desborough; I’d rather not stop here when Hatty is gone. Emily!” she shouted.
Amelia came down-stairs with her bonnet on, and Charlotte’s in her hand. “You can’t go without a bonnet, my dear child.”
“Oh, pother!” cried Charlotte, seizing her bonnet by the strings, and sticking it on the top of her head anyhow it liked.
“One word before we leave, Mr Desborough, if you please,” said Amelia, with more dignity than I had thought she possessed. “I have strong reason to believe these persons to be Popish recusants, and the last to whom my father would have confided us, had he known their real character. They have not used any of us so kindly that I need spare them out of any tenderness.”
“I thank you, Miss Bracewell,” said my Uncle Charles, who also, I thought, was showing qualities that I had not known to be in him. (How scenes like these do bring one’s faculties out!) “I rather thought there was some sort of Jesuitry at work. Madam,” he turned to Mrs Crossland, “I am sure there is no necessity for me to recall the penal laws to your mind. So long as these young ladies are left undisturbed in my care, in any way,—so long, Madam,—they will not be put in force against you. You understand me, I feel sure. Now, girls, let us go.”
So, we three girls walking, and Hatty in the chair, with Dobson and Caesar as a guard behind, we reached Bloomsbury Square.
“Charles, what is it all about?” said Grandmamma, taking a bigger pinch than usual, and spilling some of it on her lace stomacher.