Free Flint and Roses by Brenda Jagger Page A

again, and we had been standing rather a long time. A few flags began to wave; Mrs. Hobhouse took out a sentimental handkerchief and, for reasons unknown, dabbed at her eyes. My sister Prudence, anxious to avoid an invitation from Aunt Hannah to go back to Lawcroft with her—and Jonas—was already whispering a request that I should give up my place to her in the Barforth carriage, when Uncle Joel, instead of boarding the train, came striding towards us, cigar in hand, the crowd, who knew a man in a, rage when it saw one, parting before him as he made directly for his wife.
    â€˜Where’s Blaize?’ he demanded, and Aunt Verity, the only person in the world, I think, who could have met his onslaught with so serene a smile, replied, ‘Darling—I couldn’t say.’
    â€˜He told me he was coming in the landau with you.’
    â€˜Why no, dear. I was to call for Faith and had no room to spare.’
    â€˜And he knew that? Yes, of course he did. So where is he, then?’
    â€˜Joel,’ she said softly, very urgently. ‘Does it really matter?’
    And, responding, it seemed, to her appeal, his jaw clenched suddenly, his whole powerful body stiffening with the effort to hold back his, temper, not out of any consideration for the onlookers, the gossip, the fear of spoiling this great day; but for his wife’s sake.
    â€˜I try Verity,’ he said. ‘Believe me, I try not to let them provoke me—the pair of them—but by God, sometimes, they go too far.’
    â€˜I know, darling. They, seem determined to prove, just how far they can go. Don’t worry about it now.’
    â€˜We’ll wait then,’ he snapped and, striding, back to the engine, exchanged a few words with Mr. Hobhouse who had put his head enquiringly out of a window, and then paced for a moment or two along the platform, glancing first at his watch and then at the brand-new, impudently kicking station clock.
    â€˜We’ll wait.’ I saw his mouth say to the startled railway officials who were now running after him, much concerned with their own watches, pausing apologetically at the windows, every one of which was now filled by an important, impatient Law Valley head, while, on the platform, although the bands continued to play, flags were lowered uncertainly, enquiries made. Had the engine broken down, then, before it had started, which would suit the landlord of the Old Swan if no one else? Had a tunnel caved in somewhere along the line, as a certain wise-woman of Simon Street had predicted it would?—and even if it hadn’t, Mrs. Hobhouse suddenly discovered that she would be easier in her mind if Freddy, obediently installed beside his father, did not go after all. Or was it just Mr. Barforth, as usual, insisting on having everything his own way?
    â€˜Oh dear,’ Aunt Verity murmured, a certain rueful amusement in her voice.
    â€˜What ails the man now?’ Aunt Hannah demanded loudly, taking the opportunity to prove that, however powerful her brother might be, she, at any rate, was not afraid of him.
    â€˜Nicholas.’ Caroline called out imperiously, beckoning him to her side. ‘I expect this is something you’ve cooked up together—you and Blaize—so if you know where he is you’d better say so.’
    â€˜I don’t know anything about it,’ he said flatly and, meeting his angry eyes, I felt a quick upsurge of satisfaction, not only at his closeness but because, if Blaize could not be found, then surely Nicholas would be allowed to go instead.
    It would last, I thought, but a moment longer for even Mr. Joel Barforth in full fury could not be oblivious of that engine steaming and straining at its leash, of the smiles slipping from even the most amiable faces; could not compel a hundred of Cullingford’s most prosperous citizens to postpone their journey while he sent to fetch his eldest son; could not neglect the hundred others,