“Oh, yes! And he has the prettiest house, and his mother was kind to me, and now I am sorry that I went with Uncle Swithin, for Mr. Ware didn’t marry me, and he didn’t give me a great deal of money either. I was quite taken in!”
Here the door opened to admit both Tom and the waiter. While the latter laid the covers for dinner, Tom plunged into an animated account of his activities at the Fair, and displayed for the Duke’s admiration the Belcher handkerchief he had won in the sack race. He was with difficulty deterred from knotting this about his neck at once. The waiter set the dishes on the table, and withdrew, and the Duke was again able to touch upon the question of Belinda’s destination. He asked her if Mr. Mudgley lived near Bath. She replied, after her usual fashion: “Oh, yes!” but seemed unable to supply any more detailed information. Tom, surprised, demanded enlightenment, and upon being told that Belinda had forgotten Maggie Street’s married name, said disgustedly: “You are the most hen-witted girl! I daresay she don’t live at Hitchin at all, but at Ditchling, or—or Mitcham, or some such place!”
Belinda looked much struck, and said ingenuously: “Yes, she does!”
The Duke was in the act of conveying a portion of braised ham to his mouth, but he lowered his fork at this, and demanded, “Which?”
“The one Tom said,” replied Belinda brightly.
“My dear child, he said Ditchling or Mitcham! Surely—”
“Well, I am not quite sure,” Belinda confessed. “It was some place that sounded like those.”
The prospect of travelling about England to every place that sounded faintly like Hitchin was not one which the Duke found himself able to contemplate for as much as a minute. He said rather fatalistically: “Mr. Mudgley it must be!”
“Yes, but I dare not go back to Bath,” objected Belinda. “Because, you know, if Mrs. Pilling were to find, me she would very likely put me in prison for having broken my indentures.”
The Duke had no very clear idea of what the laws were governing apprentices, but it had occurred to him that in Bath he would find Lady Harriet. She might not be the bride of his choosing, but she was one of the friends of his childhood, and never in any childish exploit had she failed to lend him a helping hand whenever it had lain in her power to do so. That she might not feel much inclination to extend this hand to Belinda he did not consider. It seemed to him that since he had been forced into the position of Belinda’s protector, and could not find it in his heart to abandon her, he must find for her (failing Mr. Mudgley) a suitable chaperon. He could think of none more suitable than Harriet, and he began to feel that he had been a great simpleton not to have carried Belinda to Bath at the outset. Tom interrupted these meditations with a demand to know whether the proposed trip to Bath would preclude his being taken to London. If, he said, that were so, he thought he should be well-advised to leave the party, and to make his own way either to London, or to some likely seaport. As it was obvious that the merest hint of returning him to his parent would drive him into precipitate flight, the Duke refrained from making this suggestion, but assured him that although he must certainly write to Mr. Mamble from Bath, he should beg to be allowed the pleasure of his son’s company on a visit to the Metropolis. Tom seemed a little doubtful about this, but allowed himself to be overborne. Belinda reiterated her fear of Mrs. Pilling, and the Duke wondered whether his Harriet would also be able to deal with this awe-inspiring lady. He was just about to say that he would hire a post-chaise to take them all to Cheyney on the morrow, when it suddenly occurred to him that his arrival at any one of his houses, accompanied by Belinda, would give rise to more scandalous comment than he felt at all able to face. He decided to seek out the quietest inn in Bath, and to lose no time in calling upon Harriet, in Laura Place.