The Georgian Rake

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  “Of that I am quite aware. Do not imagine that I have spent ten years in your company without understanding you a little.”

  “I wish I understood myself,” replied Amanda, thoughtfully.

  “Which of us does?” asked Miss Brown. “But I do beg of you, Miss Amanda, to put a guard upon your tongue and your actions while you are in Town. Your impetuosity may lead you into sore trouble one of these days, and must frequently be giving a false impression of you to strangers. A young lady of fashion —”

  “That I will never be!” declared her charge, passionately.

  “Who knows? Miss Isabella is changed —”

  “Ye-es; perhaps she is, a little. But I think it is mostly play-acting. Underneath, she is still the same Bella who used to get up to such mad starts!”

  “Mm.” The governess pursed her lips consideringly. “No doubt we shall soon see her wed.”

  “Wed — Bella?”

  “Why, yes. You must surely realise that your Mama had that in mind when she brought your sister to Town.”

  “Poor Mama!” said Amanda. “If that was her only object, then she is wasting her time.”

  The governess raised her brows.

  “Oh, you must know, Brownie,” said Amanda, impatiently, “that Bella means to marry John Webster! He quite dotes on her — anyone may see it — and I know she is fond of him; though, of course, you cannot expect her to own it!”

  “Fond, yes, but whether your sister feels that degree of attachment for Mr. Webster which leads to marriage is quite another matter. I do not think that she would have been so eager to go to London had such been the case.”

  “Oh, I expect she means to have her fling first,” replied Amanda, with a shrug. “You know how it is with Bella, Brownie. She is never so happy as when she is surrounded by admirers! But I am certain that John is really the one for her, and she will settle down happily with him, after being the Toast of the Town for a season!”

  “However that may be, I do not imagine that your Mama views Mr. Webster’s claims with favour,” said Miss Brown, thoughtfully.

  Amanda stared. “Why ever should you say so? Why, John’s father and Papa have been neighbours for close on twenty years, and always on the best of terms! We have known John since we were in leading-strings!”

  “Nevertheless, I fancy that your Mama looks higher than a country squire for a son-in-law,” explained the governess.

  Amanda was silent for a moment, thinking this over.

  “Then she is a great goose!” she said, at last.

  “Child! Remember, you speak of your mother!”

  “Even the best of mothers can be a goose sometimes!” replied the irrepressible girl. “But it makes no odds: Bella will have her own way in the end, that I promise you!”

  Miss Brown shook her head dubiously, but had nothing more to say on that subject, and as she forbore from starting any other, the conversation languished.

  Amanda, deep in thought, stared from the window at the pools of light made on the dark road by the lamps of the coach. They were crossing the heath; shadows of trees and bushes sprang up out of the gloom, briefly illumined by the rays of light. As she watched this shadow play, something of the mood which she had summoned up at the Abbey returned to her. Behind the clip-clop of the horses’ hoofs lay a quiet that was as thick and impenetrable as the night. Their coach was a tiny, lighted world in all that vast expanse of darkness. Outside it lay mystery and silence.

  Suddenly that silence was shattered by a pistol shot.

  There was a pounding of fresh hoofs on the road, and a sickening lurch as the coach drew abruptly to a halt. Through the momentary stillness rang out a hoarse cry: “Stand and deliver!”

  Chapter IV: Amanda is Resourceful

  The two occupants of the coach exchanged startled glances. Only Miss Brown’s arm went out and tightened about Amanda’s waist: for this troublesome young woman, the governess was prepared to give her life, if need be.

  “Let down the winder!” grated a harsh voice.

  Amanda’s pale lips set firmly, and she made no effort to obey.

  “Do as I say, or I’ll knock it in!”

  Once again the two ladies exchanged a brief glance. Then Miss Brown leaned over and lowered the window with a hand which trembled only slightly.

  “That’s better!” said the hateful voice, with a throaty chuckle. “No ’arm’ll come to ye if y’do as I say. Make a ’eap o’ all yer val’ables, an’ pass ‘em through. I’ll give yer two minutes. After that —”

  He left the sentence unfinished, but at that moment he moved into the light of one of the lamps, and the two in the coach saw the black outline of the horse pistol which he held in his right hand, levelled at the open window.

  “Jem!”

  Amanda raised her voice in a desperate appeal.

  “Ain’t no manner o’ use callin’ Jem,” chuckled the masked figure. “’E’s been taken care of. Best get on wi’ it.”

  “If you’ve done Jem a mischief,” said Amanda, vehemently, “I’ll — I’ll —”

  “What’ll ye do?”

  The figure moved nearer to the window, and raised the pistol menacingly.

  “Get on wi’ it — I’m warnin’ ye for the last time, I ain’t a patient man.”

  He thrust his left hand through the open window as he spoke, palm extended almost under Amanda’s nose. Frightened as she now was, the thought of harm having come to old Jem made her blood boil: the temptation proved too much. She bent over the hand, and sank her teeth into it until they reached the bone.

  There followed a startled howl of anguish, and the pistol dropped with a clatter into the road. For a moment the man spun round in agony, nursing his injured hand and emitting loud and violent curses.

  While the first highwayman had approached the occupants of the coach, his companion had held the coachman and stable-lad at bay with a pair of unflinching pistols. It had all occurred too suddenly for them to have time to make any defensive move; the blunderbuss of which Miss Brown had spoken was inaccessible, and they were otherwise unarmed. Now, however, the unexpected outcry made by the first highwayman caused his confederate to relax his vigilance for a second, and turn his head in the direction of the noise.

  The moment’s respite was enough for the groom, a young, active lad. He made a sudden wild leap from the box, landing on top of the second highwayman, and knocking the pistols from his hold. One of the weapons discharged harmlessly into the ditch, but the noise startled the horses. They reared and plunged; Jem was wholly occupied in preventing them from bolting, and unable to lend his companion any aid.

  At the sound of the scuffle, the first highwayman recovered his wits, and stooped quickly to retrieve the weapon he had dropped. He turned to help his confederate, but this worthy was lying prostrate on the ground, temporarily winded by having received the full weight of the stable-lad on his stomach.

  The groom, unhurt and fresh as ever, launched himself fearlessly upon the other man, and proceeded to give a good account of himself by knocking the pistol once more from his opponent’s grasp, and planting him a facer.

  Amanda let loose a cheer, and clenched her fists as she watched Tom’s gallant battle with his heavier opponent. Things might have gone badly with the boy, however, for she noticed that the other man was beginning to struggle to his feet, and Tom could be no match for the two of them; but, at that moment, the sound of a horse approaching at the gallop made everyone turn in the direction of the noise. The moon, appearing briefly from behind a belt of thick cloud, revealed to all the figure of a horseman traveling at breakneck speed, his cloak streaming out behind him as he rode.

  With a last desperate heave, the groom’s opponent flung the lad against the side of the coach, and took to his heels. The second man followed, before Tom could recover sufficiently to prevent it. In a moment they had mounted the horses which had been tethered to the bushes at the side of the road, and were galloping off across country as though the devil we
re at their heels.

  By this time, Jem had the horses under control, and could venture to leave the box for a moment to see how his companion fared. He found Amanda bending over the boy in the road. Tom was sitting up and rubbing his head ruefully.

  “You all right, lad?” asked Jem, anxiously.

  The groom nodded. “They’m got away, though,” he answered dejectedly.

  “That was not your fault!” said Amanda, warmly. “You were splendid, Tom! My father shall know of this, you may be sure!”

  “Thank you, Miss.” The groom’s eyes glowed at the praise. “But I fear all would have been lost without yonder horseman,” he added.

  Amanda turned. The rider was now close upon them; in another moment he had drawn level with the coach and, dismounting hastily, came towards the group standing in the road.

  “Can I be of any assistance?” he asked, a trifle breathlessly. “I trust no one is hurt? I saw that you were waylaid, and made what speed I could.”

  As he stepped into the light cast by the lamps, Amanda recognised him for the gentleman who had so recently come to their aid in the Castle Inn.

  The groom rose from the ground, and coachman Jem touched his cap.

  “All’s well, praise be, y’r honour,” he answered. “Though but for you coming up in the nick o’ time, dear knows what might have happened! What did you do, Miss Mandy, to make yon rogue squeak?” he asked, turning to his mistress.

  “I bit his hand,” she returned, with satisfaction.

  “You what?”

  The gentleman regarded her with incredulous amusement. Jem and the groom broke into a simultaneous guffaw of laughter.

  “I am very glad of it,” said Amanda, decidedly. “I only wish I’d been able to serve his other hand in a like manner!”

  A chuckle escaped the stranger at these words.

  “I make no doubt of it,” he said, gravely. “Well, there is little occasion to inquire if you are hurt, madam. What of the other lady who is travelling with you? I trust she may not be overset by this unfortunate experience.”

  His words brought Miss Brown’s head to the open door, and she was heard to say that she did tolerably well.

  “But we owe you a double debt of gratitude, sir,” she continued. “For, unless I mistake, you are that same gentleman who rendered us a service in the Castle Inn, not an hour since? Please to accept our most heartfelt thanks for your timely intervention in both instances.”

  Amanda echoed these sentiments, but the gentleman waved aside their expressions of gratitude.

  “Pray say no more, I beg: it is fortunate indeed that I chanced to be riding in this direction, as I count myself happy in being able to serve you. Perhaps you will permit me to present myself? I am Roger Thurlston, nephew to my Lord Barsett.”

  The bow that accompanied this announcement was a triumph of politeness; Amanda, oblivious of the dusty road, sank instantly into a curtsy.

  “I am Amanda Twyford, and this is my governess, Miss Brown. We are happy to make your acquaintance, sir, though the circumstances of our meeting might, perhaps, have been better chosen.”

  “Truly,” he said, with a smile that had great charm. “But I am not unacquainted with your name: are you by any chance a connection of my Lord Twyford, who is a great friend of my uncle’s?”

  Amanda exclaimed in delight, “Why, yes! I am his younger daughter! To be sure, I remember now to have heard something of the friendship between your uncle and my father — it was in their young days, was it not?” She turned eagerly to the governess. “How very odd this, Brownie, to be sure!”

  Miss Brown assented quietly. Her features had relaxed a little upon hearing the name of their deliverer: to be sure, one could not quarrel with any gentleman who had twice in one evening come to their rescue, but it was so well to know just who the young man was.

  He was smiling. “It is indeed odd, as you say, Miss Twyford. But I am surprised to learn that my lord has two daughters. I have already had the pleasure of meeting your sister, and thought her to be an only child.”

  “Oh, yes, I quite see how that is,” said Amanda quickly. “You see, I was so foolish as to catch the chicken pox just as Mama had planned to leave for Town, so it was necessary for me to remain in the country until I was quite recovered. And I am now, am I not, Brownie? Not even one little spot remains,” she added, ingenuously.

  Miss Brown gave an admonitory cough. However great a debt one owed to a stranger, it was scarcely necessary — or expedient — to burden him with the more intimate details of one’s history. Amanda took her meaning, and threw her a challenging glance.

  Mr. Thurlston noticed this by-play with some amusement.

  “Well, I must not detain you here any longer,” he said, with another bow. “So long as you have come to no harm you will be wishing to continue your journey.”

  He put out his hand to assist Amanda to mount into the vehicle. She stepped up lightly, seating herself beside the governess. He was about to turn away, having seen her settled, but a thought seemed to strike him all at once, and he paused.

  “Since you are journeying to London, I wonder if you would honour me by accepting my escort? I, too, am bound for Town, and I should deem it a pleasure — nay, a privilege —”

  Miss Brown and Amanda exchanged glances; the governess nodded lightly, and Amanda accepted the offer with alacrity.

  Mr. Thurlston closed the door of the coach; Jem and Tom had already returned to their stations on the box, and Amanda, leaning from the window, now gave the order to start. Mr. Thurlston remounted his horse, and stationing himself close to the window of the coach, kept pace as the vehicle moved off along the dusty road which glimmered white in the light of the now unclouded moon. The hoofs of the horses beat out a rhythmical pattern of sound in the quiet of the night.

  Amanda presently turned a sparkling look upon her governess.

  “Do you know what, Brownie? I think we have had a most splendid adventure!”

  Miss Brown did not positively sniff, because it was unlady-like to do so; nevertheless, she came as near to it as a gentlewoman might with propriety.

  “If you call it a splendid adventure to have your life threatened by highwaymen, I suppose you may say that we have,” she answered, dryly.

  “To be sure, that was an unpleasant moment,” admitted her charge; “but it was soon over, and only think how romantic it is to be saved from an unpleasant situation for the second time by such a handsome gentleman! You will not deny that he’s handsome, I hope, Brownie?”

  “He’s a very well-looking gentleman, certainly,” allowed the governess, grudgingly.

  “Pray, Brownie, temper your enthusiasm with a little moderation!” mocked the girl.

  “I am neither so young nor so impressionable as you,” Miss Brown reminded her. “And I beg that you will curb your tendency towards the romantic. It is true that this gentleman has rendered us a signal service — though unwittingly, in the last instance, at any rate — but there is no need on that account to assume that he is the embodiment of all the virtues. I should allow yourself a longer acquaintance before you make a final pronouncement on his character. There is grave danger in yielding to hastily formed opinions.”

  “Oh, Brownie!” sighed Amanda, wearily. “Not for anything would I be possessed of your cautious disposition!”

  “I pray Heaven,” replied the governess, in a serious tone, “that you may never have occasion to be. We would not have you changed, Miss Amanda.”

  The girl made no reply, but leaned back in her corner, sunk in reverie. The rhythm of the hoofs, the gentle swaying of the coach, the peace of the night after the excitement that had so far attended their journey, all combined to lull her into a state bordering on sleep.

  The vehicle rolled onwards, through the village of Hammersmith with its bustling inn where the Bath coaches changed horses, out through open country on the bumpy road to Kensington. Gradually her head drooped forward.

  There was a sudden jolt as
the coach found a pothole in the road. The jerk brought her wide awake, and conscious for the first time of the drumming of rain on the roof of the coach. She looked about her: water was streaming down the window, and by the light of the lamps she could see great puddles standing in the road.

  “Our poor Mr. Thurlston!” she exclaimed in dismay. “He will be quite drowned!”

  The governess assented, and clucked her tongue.

  “I think we must ask him inside,” continued Amanda. “What do you say, Brownie?”

  The governess hesitated for only a second.

  “If you desire it. He has, after all, been of inestimable service, and the weather is very severe.”

  “He may tie his horse to the back of the coach,” went on Amanda, and rapped loudly on the window for Jem to stop.

  The change was soon effected, and the unfortunate Mr. Thurlston, having divested himself of his dripping cloak and hat, seated himself in the opposite corner to Amanda. She glanced approvingly at the impeccable cut of his clothes. He had a decided air of fashion, without betraying anything of the dandy.

  The conversation turned at first, naturally enough, upon the weather. Such a subject is at all times inclined to be soporific. Taking into account the fact that Miss Brown had travelled a long way and endured a good many trials with fortitude that day, it is scarcely surprising that she presently began to nod. Amanda noticed this with pleasure, for she had a question burning on her lips that could not be put to Mr. Thurlston in the hearing of the governess.

  She waited until she was certain that Miss Brown slept, then leaned forward in a conspiratorial way.

  “Are you by any chance at all acquainted with the village of Medmenham, sir?” she began, in a low tone.

  He shot her a keen glance, and confessed that he knew it a little.

  “Then have you managed to come at a solution of the mystery of the Abbey?” she whispered, eagerly.

  “The Abbey?” Consternation sounded in his voice, muted as it was. “What do you know of that?”

  “Little enough,” she confessed, ruefully. “I was hoping that you might tell me more.”