So the outside world had caught up with them at last.
Their strange little adventure was over.
Outside the Rufus Stone Hotel stood an odd collection of bicycles and tricycles. Dangle and Phipps watched over them with serious expressions, while the driver of the dogcart from Ringwood waited nearby.
In the garden behind the hotel, Mr. Hoopdriver sat on a wooden bench, looking completely exhausted.
Through an open window came the low voices of the people inside. Every now and then, he could hear what sounded like a girl’s muffled sob.
“I still don’t see what Widgery is doing in there,” Dangle said.
“He thinks he’s in charge of everything,” Phipps replied.
“I noticed a few things yesterday and today,” Dangle said thoughtfully.
“Such as?”
“They went to the cathedral together yesterday afternoon.”
Phipps frowned.
“Financially speaking, Widgery wouldn’t be a bad match for her.”
“He’s dull as a brick,” Phipps said.
Inside the private sitting room, the clergyman had quickly taken control of the meeting.
Poor Jessie had been overwhelmed by the number of people who now seemed to be against her. She sat at the end of the table with red cheeks and tears in her eyes.
Mrs. Milton sat beside her and kept reaching out as if she wanted to comfort her.
Jessie did not respond.
Miss Mergle sat opposite Jessie beside the clergyman. She was the educated schoolmistress Jessie had written to for help.
Unfortunately, Miss Mergle had found the clergyman in Ringwood, told him the whole story, and he had immediately appointed himself leader of the rescue operation.
Widgery stood near the fireplace, looking serious and sympathetic.
Jessie explained what had happened during the journey.
She carefully avoided mentioning Bechamel.
She also made it clear that Hoopdriver had not forced her to run away. If anything, she made him sound less responsible than he really was.
Even so, everyone seemed to have already decided that Hoopdriver was a terrible influence.
“My dear young lady,” the clergyman began, “I can only describe this journey as a serious mistake. You clearly have very confused ideas about your position and your responsibilities.”
Jessie wiped her eyes.
“You are still upset,” he continued. “But I suspect your tears come less from genuine regret and more from annoyance that we have finally found you.”
“That’s not fair,” Mrs. Milton said quietly.
Widgery leaned forward.
“But why did she run away in the first place? That’s what I want to know.”
Jessie tried to answer.
“Hush,” Mrs. Milton whispered.
The clergyman continued without waiting.
“I simply cannot understand why so many intelligent young women have become so dissatisfied with their proper place in society.”
“You had a comfortable home,” he said. “You had a respectable woman caring for you.”
“If I really had a mother…” Jessie whispered.
She broke down again.
The clergyman continued more gently.
“You had someone to protect you and guide you. Yet you decided to leave all that behind and enter a dangerous world on your own.”
“I wanted to learn,” Jessie said.
“You wanted to learn,” he replied. “I only hope you don’t end up having to unlearn everything you have learned.”
Mrs. Milton sighed.
“It isn’t fair,” Jessie protested, “for everyone to argue against me at the same time.”
The clergyman ignored the complaint.
“You have clearly been influenced by a certain kind of modern literature. Books that encourage young women to reject their traditional place in society.”
“I don’t completely agree with that,” Miss Mergle said firmly.
Widgery cleared his throat.
Jessie looked around the table.
“And what does any of this have to do with me?”
“The point,” Mrs. Milton said, trying to defend herself, “is that I only wanted what was best for you.”
“All I wanted was to be free,” Jessie said. “I wanted to travel alone. Girls do it in America. Why can’t I do it here?”
“Social customs are different in America,” Miss Mergle said.
“Why should that matter?”
“Because we still have class distinctions here.”
Jessie looked frustrated.
“It’s ridiculous. Why can’t I simply go away for a holiday if I want to?”
“With a strange young man who is socially beneath you?” Widgery said.
Jessie’s face flushed.
“Why not?” she demanded. “Why does it matter who he is?”
“Even American girls don’t behave that way,” Miss Mergle said.
The clergyman raised a hand.
“My dear girl, there are certain basic rules of respectable behavior. One day, when you are older, you will understand why your actions have caused Mrs. Milton so much anxiety.”
“You also have to think about what people will say,” Widgery added.
“Exactly,” Miss Mergle said. “There is no such thing as completely private behavior when you live in society.”
“If people hear about this adventure,” the clergyman said, “it could seriously damage your reputation.”
“But I haven’t done anything wrong,” Jessie protested. “Why should I be responsible for what other people think?”
“Because the world is not very forgiving,” Mrs. Milton said.
“For girls,” Jessie replied bitterly.
“Yes,” Mrs. Milton admitted.
The clergyman leaned forward.
“Let’s stop arguing and be practical. Whether you believe you did anything wrong or not, this journey could cause you serious trouble if people hear about it.”
He paused.
“It would also cause your family great pain. So the sensible thing is to return home immediately.”
Jessie stared at him.
“And pretend nothing happened?”
“No. Of course not.”
“But that’s exactly what you’re suggesting.”
“I understand that people currently believe you have been staying with friends,” he said. “There is no need to correct every misunderstanding.”
Jessie’s fingers tightened around her handkerchief.
“I won’t go back to the way things were,” she said.
“What do you want?” Mrs. Milton asked.
“I want a room of my own. I want the freedom to read what I choose. I want to go out alone. I want to study. I want to teach or write or do something useful.”
“Anything reasonable,” Mrs. Milton said.
“But will you promise?”
Widgery immediately objected.
“You can’t dictate terms to your mother.”
“She isn’t my mother,” Jessie said. “She’s my stepmother. And I’m not trying to dictate anything. I simply want clear promises before I return.”
“This is becoming unreasonable,” the clergyman said.
“Then I won’t return,” Jessie said firmly.
She swallowed another sob.
“I can’t spend the rest of my life doing nothing.”
“Let the girl have what she wants,” Widgery said.
Jessie looked at Mrs. Milton.
“I want my own room. And I don’t want to spend half my life downstairs listening to all your male friends talking.”
“My dear child, I’ll do anything if it means keeping you safe,” Mrs. Milton said.
“But you have to keep your promise.”
The clergyman sighed.
“Then I think the matter is settled. You will return home.”
He glanced toward the tea things.
“And perhaps we should have some tea. Tea is much easier to digest when the tannin has been neutralized.”
Widgery pulled a timetable from his pocket.
“There is a train from Lyndhurst at seventeen minutes before six. We have perhaps thirty or forty minutes.”
The clergyman turned to Miss Mergle and began explaining something about gelatine and tannin in tea.
Jessie suddenly noticed Hoopdriver sitting outside in the garden.
She stood.
“While you have tea, Mother, I need to tell Mr. Hoopdriver what we’ve decided.”
“I don’t think that is necessary,” the clergyman began.
“No,” Jessie said sharply. “I don’t care what you think.”
“Jessie, surely you’ve already—”
“You are already breaking the agreement,” she interrupted.
Widgery looked at the clock.
“How long will you need?”
“Every minute,” Jessie said from the doorway.
She looked back at them.
“He has treated me very well.”
“There is tea here,” Widgery reminded her.
“I’ve already had tea.”
The clergyman frowned.
“He may not have behaved badly, but he is certainly an astonishingly weak man to allow a foolish young girl to lead him into such a situation.”
Jessie ignored him.
She closed the door and walked into the garden.
Hoopdriver was sitting alone in the sunlight.
It was over.
The wonderful journey that had changed his life was coming to an end.
Only now did he fully understand what those few days had meant to him.
Of course they would take Jessie home.
Once she returned to her old life, she would become the distant young lady she had been before.
He wondered whether they would even allow him to say goodbye.
It had all been so extraordinary.
He remembered the first time he had seen her riding along the road, the sunlight behind her.
He remembered their night at Bognor.
He remembered the way she had called him brave.
He remembered the kindness in her eyes the next morning.
Perhaps he should have encouraged her to return home then.
Instead, they had continued riding together.
Now her family had come to take her away as if he had no right to be near her.
Perhaps they were right.
What was he compared with her?
She seemed so graceful, so intelligent, so completely herself.
He thought about her smile, her voice, the way she looked at him.
He finally understood what he felt.
Love.
But even that word seemed too bold.
It felt more like worship.
If only he could speak to her one more time.
Just once.
He wanted to tell her everything he had never been able to say.
He would find the words somehow.
He was suddenly aware of how small and insignificant he felt beside her.
Then the garden door opened.
Jessie stepped into the sunlight.
“Come away from here,” she said.
Hoopdriver stood up.
“I’m going home with them,” she continued. “We have to say goodbye.”
Hoopdriver’s face changed.
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Then he simply stood there, silently, waiting for her.