‘Trix!’ she uttered, in a strangled voice.
‘Well, that settles it,’ he said, giving the letter back to her. ‘Never been able to make head or tail of her writing! You’d better tell me what it is.’
‘Timothy, it is the most terrible thing! She has eloped with Jack Boynton!’
‘What?’ gasped Timothy. ‘No, hang it, Hetty! Must be bamming you!’
‘No, no, it is the truth! She is not in the house, and she left this note for me. Dawson has this instant given it to me!’
‘Well, I’m dashed!’ said Timothy. ‘Jack Boynton? Y’know, Hetty, I wouldn’t have thought it of him!’
Too well accustomed to Mr Allerton’s mental processes to be exasperated, Henrietta replied: ‘No, indeed! She must have persuaded him to do it: he is so very young! I never dreamed—Good God, I thought that affair had ended months ago! How could she have been so sly? But I might have guessed how it would be? If I had not been so selfishly taken up with my own troub—I mean, pleasures!—it could never have happened! Timothy, I must act immediately, and you must help me!’
He blinked at her. ‘Dash it, can’t do anything in the middle of m’mother’s party!’
‘We can, and we must! They have fled to Gretna Green, and they must be overtaken!’
‘Gretna Green?’ echoed Mr Allerton, revolted. ‘No, really, Hetty! Can’t have!’
‘She makes no secret of it. Besides, where else could they be married, two children under age? She supposed, of course, that I should not receive her letter until too late, but Dawson, good, faithful soul, thought it right to give it to me as soon as she might, and it is not too late! You and I may slip away, and it can’t signify to anyone if our absence is noticed. I have thought it all out, and I have the greatest hope of overtaking them before morning! I am persuaded that boy cannot have scraped together enough money to pay for the hire of more than a pair of horses. You and I may hire four, and change them at every stage. The moon is at the full; we shall come up with them before they have gone thirty miles beyond London! Then we may bring Trix home, and no one need know what happened, not even my poor aunt, for I can trust Dawson to keep the secret, and ten to one my aunt won’t leave her room until noon tomorrow!’
‘Seems to me we’d do better to tell Alan,’ objected Timothy.
‘Upon no consideration! The Grandduchess is still here, and Sussex too! He at least cannot leave the house! Besides, Trix trusts me not to betray her to him, and however dreadfully she may have behaved I could not do so! He would be so angry! Oh, dear, it is all his fault for having postponed her coming-out! I warned him how it would be! Timothy, you must know where we can hire a post-chaise and four good horses!’
He admitted it, but entered a caveat. ‘Thing is, dare say you’re right about Boynton, but I ain’t got the ready to pay for a chaise and four either!’
‘No, but I have! I drew quite a large sum only yesterday, and I will give it to you,’ said Henrietta. ‘I will fetch my cloak, and instruct Dawson in what she must say if she should be questioned, and then we may be off. Do not tell Helmsley to call up a hackney! We will creep out by the door into the yard, and find one for ourselves directly!’
‘But, Hetty!’ protested Mr Allerton. ‘Can’t go driving about the countryside in evening-dress! Must change!’
But long acquaintance with her cousin had made Henrietta too familiar with the exigencies of his toilet to allow him this indulgence. Assuring him that his swallow-tailed coat and satin knee-breeches would be hidden by a driving-cloak, she so admonished and hustled him that within a very few minutes he found himself being smuggled out of the house by way of the back stairs and a door leading from the nether regions into the stable-yard.
5
‘No,’ said Mr Allerton, some five hours later. ‘I won’t tell ‘em to drive on to the Norman Cross inn! And it ain’t a bit of use arguing with me, Hetty, because I’m not going to go another mile on a dashed wild-goose chase, and so I tell you! If you want to go on jolting over a devilish bad road, asking questions at every pike of a set of gapeseeds who wouldn’t be able to tell you whether Cinderella had driven by in a dashed great pumpkin, let alone Trix in a chaise, you do it! We’ve come a cool seventy miles, and never had so much as a whiff of Trix, and I want my breakfast! What’s more, when I’ve had it I’m going back to town! She’s hoaxing you; told you so at the outset!’
Miss Clitheroe, who had been ushered by an astonished waiter into one of the private parlours of the Talbot Inn, in Stilton, untied the strings of her cloak and pushed back its hood from her dishevelled curls. Pressing her hands to her tired eyes, she said wretchedly: ‘She would not do such a thing! I know she plays shocking pranks, but she would never do this, only for mischief!’
‘If I know Trix,’ said Timothy, ‘very likely told you she was off to Gretna Green to set you on a false scent!’
Henrietta stared at him in dismay. ‘You mean she may have fled in quite another direction? Timothy, that would be worse than anything! It may be days before we can discover her whereabouts, and where, in heaven’s name, will they find a clergyman to marry them?’
‘Exactly so!’ said Timothy. He added ghoulishly: ‘Won’t be a case of taking her home. Have to get ‘em married in a hurry to save scandal.’
‘No, no, I will not believe it!’ cried Henrietta. ‘They are ahead of us still! We must go on!’
Mr Allerton’s reply was brief and unequivocal, but when he perceived the real distress in his cousin’s face he relented sufficiently to promise that when he had eaten breakfast he would make enquiries at each of the other three posting-houses in the town. With this Henrietta was obliged to be content. The waiter set breakfast before them, listened with polite incredulity to the story, hastily manufactured by Timothy, to account for their appearance in Stilton at eight o’clock in the morning in full dress, of the moribund relative to whose bedside they had been summoned, and withdrew, shaking his head over the reprehensible habits of the Quality.
Mr Allerton then applied himself to a substantial repast. Henrietta, unable to do more than drink a cup of coffee, and nibble a slice of bread and butter, eyed him in growing impatience, but knew better than to expostulate. He finished at last, and, with a kindly recommendation to her not to expect any good outcome, went off to call at the Bell, the Angel, and the Woolpack.
She was left to await his return with what patience she could muster. The time lagged unbearably; when half an hour had passed she could no longer sit still, but got up, and began to pace about the room, trying to think what were best to be done if he failed to obtain news of the fugitives in Stilton.
The sound of a vehicle approaching at a smart pace, and pulling up outside the inn, made her run to the window. The sight that met her eyes was so unexpected and so unwelcome that she caught her breath on a gasp of dismay. Leaning from his own sporting curricle to interrogate one of the ostlers was her cousin Alan, and one glance at his face was enough to inform her that he was quite as angry as she had known he must be, if ever his sister’s escapade came to his ears. As she stared out at him, he sprang down from the curricle, and came striding to the door into the inn.
She retreated from the window, wondering how much Dawson had disclosed to him, and what she should say to mollify him. She could almost wish now that the eloping couple had fled beyond recall, for it seemed to her that young Mr Boynton would be fortunate to escape with his bare life if the Viscount caught him.
The Viscount came in, and cast a swift, searching look round the room. Unlike his brother, he had found time to change his ball-dress for a riding-habit, over which he wore a caped greatcoat with large buttons of mother-of-pearl. He was looking extremely handsome, and singularly unyielding. After that one glance round the parlour, his attention became fixed on his cousin, his pleasant grey eyes so full of wrath that she took an involuntary step backward. Stripping off his gloves, he said furiously: ‘How dared you do this, Henry? How could you?’
It had not occurred t
o her that any part of his anger would be directed against her. She said pleadingly. ‘I suppose it was improper, but it seemed to be the only thing I could do!’
‘Improper?’ he exclaimed. ‘So that’s what you call it, is it? The most damnable escapade!’
‘Alan! No, no! Imprudent I may have been, but what other course was open to me? I would not for the world tell my aunt, and I dared not say a word of it to you, because—’
‘That at least I believe!’ he interrupted. ‘You knew well I would never permit it! You were right, my girl, very right! Where is the fellow?’
‘I don’t know. Oh, Alan, pray don’t be so out of reason cross with me! Indeed I meant it for the best! Alan!’
The Viscount, who had most ungently grasped her shoulders, shook her. ‘Don’t lie to me! Where is he?’
‘I tell you I don’t know! And if I did I would not tell you while you are in such a rage!’ said Henrietta, with spirit.
‘We’ll see that!’ said the Viscount grimly. ‘I’ll settle with him when I’ve settled with you! Had you chosen an honest man I would have stood aside, whatever it cost me, but this fellow—! No, by God! If you are determined to marry a fortune-hunter, Henry, let him be me! At least I love you!’
Shock bereft her of the power of speech; she could only gaze up into his face. He dragged her into his arms, and kissed her with such savagery that she uttered an inarticulate protest. To this he paid no heed at all, but demanded sternly: ‘Do you understand me, Henry? Give you up to Kirkham I will not!’
‘Oh, Alan, don’t give me up to anyone!’ begged Henrietta, laughing and crying together. ‘Oh, dear, how odious you are! Of all the infamous notions to—Alan, let me go! Someone is coming!’
The door opened. ‘Told you no good would come of it,’ said Mr Allerton, with gloomy satisfaction. ‘Not a trace of ‘em to be—’ He broke off, staring at his brother. ‘Well, upon my word!’ he said, mildly surprised.
‘What the devil are you doing here?’ exclaimed the Viscount.
‘Came with Hetty,’ explained Timothy. ‘Said it was a stupid thing to do, but she would have it we should overtake ‘em.’
‘Came with Hetty? Overtake—?’ repeated the Viscount. ‘In heaven’s name, what are you talking about?’
Mr Allerton raised his quizzing-glass. ‘You been in the sun, old fellow?’ he asked solicitously.
‘Timothy, he doesn’t know!’ Henrietta said. ‘That is not what brought him here! Alan, a dreadful thing has happened. Trix has eloped! I can’t think what made you suppose that I had! Timothy and I came in pursuit, and oh, I was so hopeful of catching them, but we can discover no trace of them!’
‘Quite true,’ corroborated Timothy, observing that the tidings had apparently stunned his brother. ‘Eloped with Jack Boynton. At least, that’s what she said.’
‘Are you mad?’ demanded the Viscount. ‘Trix is at home!’
‘Alas, Alan, she is not!’ said Henrietta. ‘She slipped out in the middle of the party, leaving a letter, which her maid gave me at midnight. She wrote that she had gone with Boynton to Gretna Green, but I very much fear that she was deceiving me, and that is not her destination.’
The Viscount, who had listened to this with an arrested expression on his face, drew an audible breath. ‘Most certainly she was deceiving you!’ he said, in an odd tone. ‘I see! The—little—cunning—devil!’
‘He is out, Hetty!’ said Timothy.
A rueful smile was quivering at the corners of the Viscount’s mouth. He paid no heed to this brotherly remark, but said: ‘Let me tell you, my love, that an hour after you had left Grosvenor Square, I also received a billet from Trix!’
‘You?’ said Henrietta incredulously.
‘Yes, I! It summoned me with the utmost urgency to join her in Mama’s dressing-room. There she disclosed to me that you had slipped out of the house, to elope to the Border with Kirkham. She said that you had bound her to secrecy, but that her conscience misgave her, and she felt it to be her duty to betray you to me.’
‘Oh!’gasped Henrietta. ‘The little wretch! She—she deserves to be flogged!’
‘Well, yes, I suppose she does,’ admitted the Viscount. ‘You cannot, however, expect me to flog her, for she has put me deep in her debt! Besides, you must own her strategy has been masterly!’
‘Abominable!’ scolded Henrietta, trying not to laugh.
‘Told you she was hoaxing you,’ said Timothy. ‘Good notion, as it chances. What I mean, is, if you are going to marry Hetty, Alan, we shall be all right and tight. The thing that’s worrying me is that you must have left home before the ball was over. Dashed improper, y’know! That dish-faced Grandduchess! Half the ton invited to have the honour of meeting her, and you walk off in the middle of the party!’
‘Well,’ said the Viscount impenitently, ‘they had the honour of meeting her, and I have the honour of asking Henry to be my wife, and so we may all be satisfied!’ He held out his hands as he spoke, and Henrietta put hers into them.
‘Yes, I dare say,’ said Mr Allerton, ‘but it ain’t the thing. What’s more,’ he added severely, ‘it ain’t the thing to kiss Hetty in a dashed inn parlour, and with me watching you, either!’
Night at the Inn
1
There were only three persons partaking of dinner at the inn, for it was neither a posting-house, nor a hostelry-much patronized by stage-coaches. The man in the moleskin waistcoat, who sat on one of the settles flanking the fireplace in the coffee-room, gave no information about himself; the young lady and gentleman on the other side were more forthcoming.
The lady had been set down at the Pelican after dusk by a cross-country coach. Her baggage was as modest as her appearance, the one consisting of a bandbox and a corded trunk; the other of brown curls smoothed neatly under a bonnet, a round cashmere gown made high to the neck and boasting neither frills nor lace, serviceable half-boots, and tan gloves, and a drab pelisse. Only two things belied the air of primness she seemed so carefully to cultivate: the jaunty bow which tied her bonnet under one ear, and the twinkle in her eye, which was as sudden as it was refreshing.
The gentleman was her senior by several years: an open-faced, pleasant young man whose habit proclaimed the man of business. He wore a decent suit of clothes, with a waistcoat that betrayed slight sartorial ambition; his linen was well-laundered, and the points of his shirt-collar starched; but he had tied his neckcloth with more regard for propriety than fashion, and he displayed none of the trinkets that proclaimed the dandy. However, the watch he consulted was a handsome gold repeater, and he wore upon one finger a signet-ring, with his monogram engraved, so that it was reasonable to suppose him to be a man of some substance.
He was fresh from Lisbon, he told the landlord, as he set down his two valises in the tap-room, and had landed at Portsmouth that very day. Tomorrow he was going to board a coach which would carry him within walking-distance of his paternal home: a rare surprise for his parents that would be, for they had not the least expectation of seeing him! He had been out of England for three years: it seemed like a dream to be back again.
The landlord, a burly, rubicund man with a smiling countenance, entered into the exile’s excitement with indulgent good humour. Young master was no doubt come home on leave from the Peninsula? Not wounded, he did hope? No, oh, no! Young master had not the good fortune to be a soldier. He was employed in a counting-house, and had no expectation of getting his transfer from Lisbon for years. But—with offhand pride—he had suddenly been informed that there was a place for him at headquarters in the City, and had jumped aboard the first packet. No time to warn his parents: he would take them by surprise, and wouldn’t they gape and bless themselves at the sight of him, by Jupiter! He had meant to have put up at the Swan, in the centre of the town, but such a press of custom had they that they had been obliged to turn him away. The same at the George: he hoped he was going to be more fortunate at the Pelican?
The landlord, gently edging him into th
e coffee-room, reassured him: he should have a good bedchamber, and the sheets well aired, a hot brick placed in the bed, and a fire lit in the grate. The gentleman from Lisbon said: ‘Thank the Lord for that! I have had my fill of tramping from inn to inn, I can tell you! What’s more, I’m devilish sharp-set! What’s for dinner?’
He was promised a dish of mutton and haricot beans, with soup to go before it, and a dish of broccoli to accompany it. He rubbed his hands together, saying boyishly: ‘Mutton! Real English mutton! That’s the dandy! That’s what I’ve been longing for any time these three years! Bustle about, man!—I could eat the whole carcase!’
By this time he had been coaxed into the coffee-room, a low-pitched apartment, with shuttered windows, one long table, and an old-fashioned hearth flanked by high-backed settles. On one of these, toasting her feet, sat the young lady; on the other, his countenance obscured by the journal he was perusing, was the man in the moleskin waistcoat. He paid no heed to the newcomer; but the lady tucked her toes under the settle, and assumed an attitude of stiff propriety.
The gentleman from Lisbon trod over to the fire, and stood before it, warming his hands. After a slight pause he observed with a shy smile that these November evenings were chilly.
The lady agreed to it, but volunteered no further remark. The gentleman, anxious that all the world should have a share in his joy, said that he was quite a stranger to England. He added hopefully that his name was John Cranbrook.
The lady subjected him to a speculative, if slightly surreptitious, scrutiny. Apparently she was satisfied, for she relaxed her decorous pose, and said that hers was Mary Gateshead.
Pistols For Two and Other Stories Page 12
