Like No Other

Chapter 15: In Which Mr. Beaumont Displays Gallantry

        “Am I to understand that you’d just ran off without so much as their leave?” he asked incredulously.

        “Of course! For I wouldn’t be here if they knew, would I?”

        “And left them in a mighty stew, I’m pretty sure of it!” he laughed and shook his head, “Well, that’s a pity, because I am now compelled to return you to them after all. Where are they, exactly? Do you know your way back?” When Miss Davis threw him a blank look, Mr. Beaumont, with a dawning suspicion, exclaimed in disbelief: “Don’t say you can’t remember it!”

        “No, no! That is, I can—but vaguely! Well, I’m sure if I’ll walk down this lane again then turn on a corner to my right…” her brows knitted in uncertainty. “You see, we were on a grove, where an orchestra was giving a concert — not the other Grove, where the Handel statue is—but a small one.” she clarified. “But then, with all those people rushing to and fro, I was barely mindful of my way, and when I’d followed Cedric here —oh! But you must not know that!” she hurriedly amended, looking a little shamefaced.

        “No, that I must not!” Her escort agreed solemnly, but his own lips betrayed an urge to laugh.

        “Since I’ve spilled some of the beans now, that doesn’t signify after all, I think. Besides, you won’t really care a jot about it, will you? I mean, I had a good reason to follow him, you understand, and what’s more I’ve known him for many years, and, come to think of it, you don’t know him even! So that makes it— are you laughing at me?” she demanded.

        “Only because I am thinking what a treasure you are!” he said, chuckling. “Well, it’s no use crying over a spilt milk now, and ten to one they are now bustling around, looking high and low for you. There might still be a chance that we’d run across them along the way, never fear! Shall we?” he offered her his arm.

        The notion seemed to fortify Miss Davis; smiling, she said, taking his arm, “Yes, do let us go, then!”

        For the next few minutes they strolled on a long gravel walk, arrayed with well-lit sycamores and elms. Their promenade was accompanied by a lively conversation, and Mr Beaumont, barely lacking of tales to tell, had for more than once prompted a smile or a giggle from Miss Davis, and had not failed to make her blush on his compliments. With all the unfailing attention lavished on her by such a dashing and personable escort, her present concerns had temporarily vacated her mind.   

        “We are heading for the Rural Downs — that copse you glimpse ahead,” Mr Beaumont began to explain when they reached the extremity of the Gardens, where only a few people milled about. “When we turn on that bend, you’ll see at the corner the hermit’s lodge, and farther still, on the edge of the Downs, stands the statue of our great poet Milton amongst shrubberies and trees. We shall go and pay him a visit.”

        After a fleeting visit at the hermitage, the pair pursued the adjoining lane, and it was on the course of this perambulation that Miss Davis broke into an exclamation: “Oh, I can see St. Paul’s from here! And Westminster too!” 

        “Now we feel that we are truly on the other side of London,” he smiled down at her.

        “Yes, and this part of London is a paradise!” Miss Davis asserted. “I declare the gaieties here are ten times more impressive than the town’s; moreover, everyone is in a state of uninhibited joy that your spirits will soar all night by merely looking at them! And with all the music and dancing— ! I believe I shall retire later with my face still writhing with smile!”