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105 pages

English

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When her stepfather dies, Lois Cayley finds herself alone in the world with only twopence in her pocket. Undaunted, the intelligent, attractive, and infinitely resourceful young woman decides to set off in search of adventure. Her travels take her from London to Germany, Italy, Egypt, and India, as she faces various challenges and meets an assortment of eccentric characters. But when her true love, Harold Tillington, finds himself accused of forging a will and faces prison, Miss Cayley will need all her ingenuity to investigate the case, solve the mystery, and save Harold from the diabolical plot! One of the first novels to feature a female detective, Grant Allen's Miss Cayley's Adventures remains as witty, enjoyable, and engaging today as when first published. This version has been specially formatted for today's e-readers by Andrews UK.

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Publié par	Andrews UK
Date de parution	20 juillet 2011
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781849895491
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0224€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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MISS CAYLEY’S ADVENTURES

By
Grant Allen

Publisher Information

This electronic version published in 2011 by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com

This edited version, including layout, typography, additions to text, cover artwork and other unique factors is copyright Andrews UK 2011. No part of this digital publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without written permission of the copyright owner.

The Cantankerous Old Lady

On the day when I found myself with twopence in my pocket, I naturally made up my mind to go round the world.
It was my stepfather’s death that drove me to it. I had never seen my stepfather. Indeed, I never even thought of him as anything more than Colonel Watts-Morgan. I owed him nothing, except my poverty. He married my dear mother when I was a girl at school in Switzerland; and he proceeded to spend her little fortune, left at her sole disposal by my father’s will, in paying his gambling debts. After that, he carried my dear mother off to Burma; and when he and the climate between them had succeeded in killing her, he made up for his appropriations at the cheapest rate by allowing me just enough to send me to Girton. So, when the Colonel died, in the year I was leaving college, I did not think it necessary to go into mourning for him. Especially as he chose the precise moment when my allowance was due, and bequeathed me nothing but his consolidated liabilities.
‘Of course you will teach,’ said Elsie Petheridge, when I explained my affairs to her. ‘There is a good demand just now for high-school teachers.’
I looked at her, aghast. ‘ Teach! Elsie,’ I cried. (I had come up to town to settle her in at her unfurnished lodgings.) ‘Did you say teach ? That’s just like you dear good schoolmistresses! You go to Cambridge, and get examined till the heart and life have been examined out of you; then you say to yourselves at the end of it all, “Let me see; what am I good for now? I’m just about fit to go away and examine other people!” That’s what our Principal would call “a vicious circle” - if one could ever admit there was anything vicious at all about you , dear. No, Elsie, I do not propose to teach. Nature did not cut me out for a high-school teacher. I couldn’t swallow a poker if I tried for weeks. Pokers don’t agree with me. Between ourselves, I am a bit of a rebel.’
‘You are, Brownie,’ she answered, pausing in her papering, with her sleeves rolled up - they called me ‘Brownie,’ partly because of my dark complexion, but partly because they could never understand me. ‘We all knew that long ago.’
I laid down the paste-brush and mused.
‘Do you remember, Elsie,’ I said, staring hard at the paper-board,’ when I first went to Girton, how all you girls wore your hair quite straight, in neat smooth coils, plaited up at the back about the size of a pancake; and how of a sudden I burst in upon you, like a tropical hurricane, and demoralised you; and how, after three days of me, some of the dear innocents began with awe to cut themselves artless fringes, while others went out in fear and trembling and surreptitiously purchased a pair of curling-tongs? I was a bomb-shell in your midst in those days; why, you yourself were almost afraid at first to speak to me.’
‘You see, you had a bicycle,’ Elsie put in, smoothing the half-papered wall; ‘and in those days, of course, ladies didn’t bicycle. You must admit, Brownie, dear, it was a startling innovation. You terrified us so. And yet, after all, there isn’t much harm in you.’
‘I hope not,’ I said devoutly. ‘I was before my time, that was all; at present, even a curate’s wife may blamelessly bicycle.’
‘But if you don’t teach,’ Elsie went on, gazing at me with those wondering big blue eyes of hers, ‘whatever will you do, Brownie?’ Her horizon was bounded by the scholastic circle.
‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ I answered, continuing to paste. ‘Only, as I can’t trespass upon your elegant hospitality for life, whatever I mean to do, I must begin doing this morning, when we’ve finished the papering. I couldn’t teach’ (teaching, like mauve, is the refuge of the incompetent); ‘and I don’t, if possible, want to sell bonnets.’
‘As a milliner’s girl?’ Elsie asked, with a face of red horror.
‘As a milliner’s girl; why not? ‘Tis an honest calling. Earls’ daughters do it now. But you needn’t look so shocked. I tell you, just at present, I am not contemplating it.’
‘Then what do you contemplate?’
I paused and reflected. ‘I am here in London,’ I answered, gazing rapt at the ceiling; ‘London, whose streets are paved with gold - though it looks at first sight like muddy flagstones; London, the greatest and richest city in the world, where an adventurous soul ought surely to find some loophole for an adventure. (That piece is hung crooked, dear; we shall have to take it down again.) I devise a Plan, therefore. I submit myself to fate; or, if youprefer it, I leave my future in the hands of Providence. I shall stroll out this morning, as soon as I’ve “cleaned myself,” and embrace the first stray enterprise that offers. Our Bagdad teems with enchanted carpets. Let one but float my way, and, hi, presto, I seize it. I go where glory or a modest competence waits me. I snatch at the first offer, the first hint of an opening.’
Elsie stared at me, more aghast and more puzzled than ever. ‘But, how?’ she asked. ‘Where? When? You are so strange! What will you do to find one?’
‘Put on my hat and walk out,’ I answered. ‘Nothing could be simpler. This city bursts with enterprises and surprises. Strangers from east and west hurry through it in all directions. Omnibuses traverse it from end to end - even, I am told, to Islington and Putney; within, folk sit face to face who never saw one another before in their lives, and who may never see one another again, or, on the contrary, may pass the rest of their days together.’
I had a lovely harangue all pat in my head, in much the same strain, on the infinite possibilities of entertaining angels unawares, in cabs, on the Underground, in the aërated bread shops; but Elsie’s widening eyes of horror pulled me up short like a hansom in Piccadilly when the inexorable upturned hand of the policeman checks it. ‘Oh, Brownie,’ she cried, drawing back, ‘you don’t mean to tell me you’re going to ask the first young man you meet in an omnibus to marry you?’
I shrieked with lau ghter, ‘Elsie,’ I cried, kissing her dear yellow little head, ‘you are impayable . You never will learn what I mean. You don’t understand the language. No, no; I am going out, simply in search of adventure. What adventure may come, I have not at this moment the faintest conception. The fun lies in the search, the uncertainty, the toss-up of it. What is the good of being penniless - with the trifling exception of twopence - unless you are prepared to accept your position in the spirit of a masked ball at Covent Garden?’
‘I have never been to one,’ Elsie put in.
‘Gracious heavens, neither have I! What on earth do you take me for? But I mean to see where fate will lead me.’
‘I may go with you?’ Elsie pleaded.
‘Certainly not , my child,’ I answered - she was three years older than I, so I had the right to patronise her. ‘That would spoil all. Your dear little face would be quite enough to scare away a timid adventure.’ She knew what I meant. It was gentle and pensive, but it lacked initiative.
So, when we had finished that wall, I popped on my best hat, and popped out by myself into Kensington Gardens.
I am told I ought to have been terribly alarmed at the straits in which I found myself - a girl of twenty-one, alone in the world, and only twopence short of penniless, without a friend to protect, a relation to counsel her. (I don’t count Aunt Susan, who lurked in ladylike indigence at Blackheath, and whose counsel, like her tracts, was given away too profusely to everybody to allow of one’s placing any very high value upon it.) But, as a matter of fact, I must admit I was not in the least alarmed. Nature had endowed me with a profusion of crisp black hair, and plenty of high spirits. If my eyes had been like Elsie’s - that liquid blue which looks out upon life with mingled pity and amazement - I might have felt as a girl ought to feel under such conditions; but having large dark eyes, with a bit of a twinkle in them, and being as well able to pilot a bicycle as any girl of my acquaintance, I have inherited or acquired an outlook on the world which distinctly leans rather towards cheeriness than despondency. I croak with difficulty. So I accepted my plight as an amusing experience, affording full scope for the congenial exercise of courage and ingenuity.
How boundless are the opportunities of Kensington Gardens - the Round Pond, the winding Serpentine, the mysterious seclusion of the Dutch brick Palace! Genii swarm there. One jostles possibilities. It is a land of romance, bounded on the north by the Abyss of Bayswater, and on the south by the Amphitheatre of the Albert Hall. But for a centre of adventure I choose the Long Walk; it beckoned me somewhat as the North-West Passage beckoned my seafaring ancestors - the buccaneering mariners of Elizabethan Devon. I sat down on a chair at the foot of an old elm with a poetic hollow, prosaically filled by a utilitarian plate of galvanised iron. Two ancient ladies were seated on the other side already - very grand-looking dames, with the haughty and exclusive ugliness of the English aristocracy in its later stages. For frank hideousness, commend me to the noble dowager. They were talking confidentially as I sa