Pistols for Two Page 4

  ‘If she was carrying a bandbox, she has only gone to take back that French cambric half-robe which must be altered,’ said Miss Tresilian prosaically.

  Miss Baggeridge sniffed, but refrained from further comment. Having seen her mistress supplied with fresh coffee and bread and butter, she produced from her pocket a sealed missive, saying, in a grudging tone: ‘There’s a letter from Miss Clara. There was a shilling to pay on it, too. I suppose you’d better have it, but if I was you, miss, I wouldn’t worrit myself with it till you’ve eaten your breakfast.’

  With these sage words of advice she withdrew; and Miss Tresilian, never one to shirk a disagreeable duty, broke the wafer of her sister’s letter, and spread open three crossed pages of complaint.

  While she sipped her coffee she perused these. Nothing could have been more discouraging than the eldest Miss Tresilian’s account of her health, but as her detailed descriptions of the torment she endured from rheumatism, nervous tic, spasm, and insomnia were interspersed with the latest Bath on-dits, and some animadversions on the wretched cards she had held at the whist-table, Miss Elinor Tresilian’s withers remained unwrung. She gathered that Clara was contriving to amuse herself tolerably well; was relieved to read no very serious criticism of the indigent lady engaged to act as companion to the invalid; and got up to place the letter in her writing-bureau. She never did so. No sooner had she raised the lid of the bureau than she found herself staring down at a letter addressed to herself in Lucy’s handwriting. Clara’s missive dropped to the floor, and Miss Tresilian, with a premonition of disaster, snatched up her niece’s letter, and tore off the wafer that sealed it.

  Dear, dearest aunt, she read. This will come as a Shock to you, and I can only implore you to forgive me, and to understand (as I am persuaded you will) the Exigency of my Situation, nothing less than which could have prevailed upon me to act in a manner as Repugnant to me as, alas, it will be to you. By the time your eyes alight on these lines I shall be many miles distant, and when I Cast myself at your feet to beg your Pardon it will be as the Bride of my Adored Arthur. Oh, my dear aunt, believe that I have not reached this Momentous Decision without an Agonizing Struggle, for to Approach the Altar without your Blessing, or your presence to support me at that Solemn Moment, so sinks my spirits that only my Conviction that your Refusal to sanction my Engagement sprang not from your Heart but from your sense of Propriety gives me courage to pursue a Line of Conduct which must Shock you and all the world. My only Comfort (besides the Bliss of being united to the Best and Noblest of men) is that You cannot be held accountable, even by Lord Iver, for what I must call (though my hand shrinks from penning the Dreadful Syllables) my Elopement…

  Stunned by this communication, Miss Tresilian could not for many minutes collect her scattered wits. With every will in the world to spring to instant action she felt as though she had been smitten with paralysis. From this distressing condition she was reclaimed by the sudden opening of the door, and the sound of a harsh, too-well remembered voice saying: ‘Thank you, I’ll announce myself!’

  She raised her head, and stared blankly across the room at Lord Iver.

  He was dressed for travel, and had not stayed to put off his long, many-caped driving-coat of white drab. It was plain, from his blazing eyes and close-gripped lips, that he was in a towering rage, but he did not immediately speak. After a searing moment, his gaze dropped to the letter in her hand, and he said: ‘Mine is an empty errand, I apprehend! Is that from your niece?’

  Hardly knowing what she did, she held it out to him. He rapidly scanned it, and said contemptuously: ‘Very affecting! – if you have a taste for the romantic! I have not!’ His eyes searched her face; he gave a short laugh. ‘Don’t look so tragic! You don’t imagine, do you, that I shan’t stop this crazy project?’

  She pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. ‘Can you do so? Do you know where – Has Arthur written to you?’

  ‘Yes – like the silly widgeon he is!’ he replied. ‘As for knowing where, there was no need to tell me that! Or you either, I imagine!’

  ‘But I haven’t the least notion!’ she said distractedly. ‘Where could they have gone? She’s under age! Even if Arthur has a special licence, no one would marry them! She knows that, and surely he must?’

  ‘Of course they know it, and also the one place where they may be married, with no questions asked!’ He read bewilderment in her face, and strode up to her, and gave her a rough little shake. ‘They’ve set off for the Border, my innocent! This is to be a Gretna Green affair: a charming scheme, isn’t it?’

  ‘Gretna Green?’ she repeated. The colour rushed up into her face; she thrust him away, exclaiming: ‘How dare you say such a thing? Never would Lucy behave with such impropriety!’

  ‘Then have the goodness to tell me where else she has gone – with a wedding as her acknowledged goal!’

  ‘I don’t know!’ she cried, unconsciously wringing her hands. ‘Unless – Oh, could they have hoaxed some cleric into believing Lucy to be of age?’

  ‘They can hardly have needed a post-chaise-and-four for that fetch! Oh yes, I’ve ascertained that much already – and also that the chaise has been hired for an unspecified time, and the postboys for the first two stages. To Welwyn, in fact, and Welwyn, I would remind you, is on the Great North Road!’

  ‘Oh no!’ she protested. ‘I don’t believe it!’

  ‘Well, that’s of no consequence!’ he said unkindly. ‘I have discharged my duty, at all events, and must now be off. I shall overtake them long before they reach the Border, and will engage myself, to restore your niece to you with as little scandal as may be possible, so don’t fall into despair!’

  ‘Wait!’ she uttered. ‘If this is true – What was it she wrote? – repugnant to her as it must be to me – agonizing struggle – shock the world – Good God, she must be out of her senses! Iver, she left the house before ten o’clock! Can you overtake them?’

  ‘Do you care to hazard a bet on the chance that I shan’t have done so before nightfall? I shouldn’t, if I were you!’

  ‘Then grant me ten minutes, and I’ll be ready to go with you!’ she said, hurrying to the door.

  ‘Don’t be so absurd! I’m not taking you with me on this chase, or anyone! Not even my groom!’

  ‘I should hope you were not taking your groom! But me you are taking, make up your mind to that, Iver! Who is to protect Lucy’s reputation if I don’t! You cannot! – in fact, you would be very much more likely to blast it!’

  ‘Thank you! Let me tell you that I am not travelling in a post-chaise, but in my own curricle!’

  ‘So I should suppose! And let me tell you, my lord, that this won’t be the first time I’ve travelled in a curricle – or driven one, if it comes to that!’

  ‘It will not come to that!’ declared his lordship, flinging these words after her retreating form.

  ***

  The first few miles of the journey were accomplished in silence, since Miss Tresilian was absorbed in her agitating reflections, and Lord Iver’s attention was fully engaged by the task of guiding a spirited team through the noise and bustle of the crowded streets. His curricle was lightly built and well sprung; and since, like every other sporting blood of his day, he had not two but four horses harnessed to it, and was himself a Nonesuch of the first stare, it bowled over the ground, when the streets were left behind, at a speed that allayed one at least of Miss Tresilian’s fears. The June day was bright and warm, the road in excellent condition, and these circumstances helped materially to restore her spirits. When my lord swept through Barnet without a check she asked him where he meant to change horses. He replied curtly that his team was good for two stages. Miss Tresilian relapsed into silence, but, after some twenty minutes, said suddenly: ‘Try as I will, I can’t believe we haven’t come on a wild goose chase!’

  ‘Then perhaps you wil
l tell me why you forced yourself upon me?’

  ‘On the chance that you might be right – but the more I consider it the less do I think you can be!’

  But at Welwyn, where my lord arranged for the stabling of his own horses, and had a fresh team put-to, her optimism was quenched. One of the waiters at the White Hart had had ample opportunity to observe the handsome young gentleman who had jumped down from a chaise to procure a glass of lemonade for his lady; and he described him in terms which left no room for doubt. Miss Tresilian’s rising spirits went into eclipse, and were not improved by his lordship’s saying, as he drove out of the yard: ‘Satisfied?’

  Spurred by this unhandsome taunt, she responded: ‘A very odd notion you must have of me if you suppose I could be satisfied by such intelligence! I was never more shocked in my life!’

  ‘I should hope you had not been! If anything had been needed to prove me right in thinking you wholly unfit for the post of guardian your niece has supplied it!’

  ‘Well, if it comes to that, you’ve made a sad botch of your ward, haven’t you?’ she retorted.

  ‘I have not the smallest doubt that Arthur was cajoled into this escapade by your niece’s wiles!’

  ‘To own the truth,’ said Miss Tresilian frankly, ‘nor have I! Lucy has ten times his spirit! There is a want of resolution in him which I can’t but deplore, even though I perfectly understand the cause of it. Poor boy! It must have been hard indeed to have developed strength of character, bullied and browbeaten as he has been almost from infancy!’

  ‘Bullied and browbeaten?’ echoed his lordship.

  ‘I dare say you never knew you were crushing his spirit,’ she offered, in a palliative tone.

  ‘No! Nor he either, let me tell you! You have only to add that fear of me has driven him into this elopement, and you will have gone your length!’

  ‘Well, of course it has!’ she said, turning her head, in genuine astonishment, to scan his grim profile.

  ‘God grant me patience!’ he ejaculated. ‘So you mean to shuffle off the blame on to my shoulders, do you? Well, you won’t do it! You are to blame, not I!’

  ‘I?’ she gasped.

  ‘Yes, you! With your henwitted scheme to carry the girl out of the country! Of all the cork-brained, ill-judged –’

  ‘This,’ interrupted Miss Tresilian, ‘goes beyond belief! Next you will say that it was I who forbade the marriage!’

  ‘You were the only person with the authority to do so, at all events!’

  ‘Indeed? I collect I merely dreamed that you said you would put an end to the project, and warned me not to under-rate your power?’

  ‘When I said that I gave you credit for having enough sense not to precipitate a crisis which any but a confirmed pea-goose must have foreseen!’

  ‘No, that is too much!’ she exclaimed. ‘And don’t dare to tell me that you are without power, Iver, because I know very well that you hold Arthur’s purse-strings, and can withhold every penny of his fortune from him!’

  ‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’ he said irritably. ‘How could I possibly do so? A pretty figure I should cut!’

  ‘You threatened to do it!’

  ‘Very likely I may have, but if he believed I meant it he’s a bigger gapeseed than I knew! If he was in earnest, there was nothing I could do to prevent the marriage – eligible enough in the eyes of the world, if not in mine! Had you refrained from interfering, I could have handled him: it wasn’t any threat of mine which goaded him into this clandestine start, but your determination to carry the girl out of his reach!’

  ‘Well, of all the wickedly unjust things you have ever said to me, this is without parallel!’ she exclaimed. ‘So I interfered! And for what other purpose, Iver, did you call in Green Street than to prevail upon me to do so?’ She saw a slight flush creep into his lean cheek: a sign of discomfiture which afforded her far more gratification than she was prepared to admit. After a tiny pause, she added severely: ‘If there is any virtue in you you’ll own yourself at fault, and beg my pardon!’

  That drew a disconcerting reply from him. He glanced at her, fire in his eyes. ‘Oh no! Not again! Once I did so – took on myself the blame for a quarrel which was not of my making – begged you to forgive –’ He checked himself, and said bitterly: ‘Even Arthur isn’t as big a gudgeon as I was!’

  He reined in, for they had reached a toll-gate. She was never more glad to be spared the necessity of answering. While he bought a ticket to open the pikes on the next stage she had time to recover her countenance, and was able to say, quite calmly, as the curricle moved forward: ‘If that man is to be believed, we have certainly gained on them, but they must be a great way ahead still. Where do you expect to overtake them?’

  ‘Not short of Stamford, unless they meet with some accident.’

  They were entering Baldock, and neither spoke again until they had proceeded for some way along the road beyond the town. Lord Iver then demanded abruptly: ‘Why did you never answer me? Did you think it cost me nothing to write that letter?’

  She shook her head, a constriction in her throat making it for a moment impossible for her to speak. She overcame it, and said, keeping her eyes lowered: ‘I thought it better not to reply – not to reopen – when it reached me, you see, Mama had suffered the stroke which left her paralysed. You know what our household was at the Manor! My father so dependent on her – Lucy motherless – Clara – well, there can be no need for me to explain why it was useless to suppose that Clara could fill Mama’s place!’

  He had listened to her in thunderstruck silence, but at this he said, with suppressed violence: ‘And equally useless for me to tell you that nothing ever ailed Clara but jealousy, and a selfishness I have never seen surpassed! We have quarrelled enough on that head!’

  She smiled. ‘We have indeed! Must I own that you were right? Perhaps you were – though it would be unjust to deny that her constitution was always sickly.’

  ‘I told you years ago that she would spoil your life, if she could do it! I learn now that she spoiled mine as well, thanks to your blind, obstinate refusal to credit me with more wit than you had!’

  ‘Nonsense!’ said Miss Tresilian. ‘You know very well that no two persons could have been less suited than we were! As for spoiled lives, I hope you don’t mean to tell me you’ve been wearing the willow for the past twelve years, because I know very well you haven’t! In fact, if only half the tales I’ve heard are true you’ve never lacked consolation!’

  ‘Is that what the Bath quizzes say of me? No, I haven’t worn the willow, but one tale you’ve never heard: that I was hanging out for a wife!’

  ‘Very true, and I think you are wise to remain single. I am persuaded you must have a much more amusing time as a bachelor.’

  A muscle quivered at the corner of his mouth. ‘You haven’t altered! How often have I wanted to wring your neck for just such a remark as that!’

  ‘No doubt! But there is nothing to be gained by discussing what you very rightly called ancient history. We have a more important matter to decide. What’s to be done with those abominable children when we do catch them?’

  ‘Wring their necks!’

  ‘Quite impractical! I have no fancy for Newgate, if you have!’

  He laughed, but said: ‘You may at least depend upon my giving Arthur the finest trimming of his life!’

  ‘I do, and shall be strongly tempted to do the same to Lucy! But it won’t answer, Iver: we shall be obliged to give our consent, and with as good a grace as we may.’

  ‘Oh, why stop at that? Let us escort them to the anvil!’

  She regarded him with misgiving. ‘Iver, don’t, I implore you, get upon your high ropes! You said yourself that you could not stop the marriage if Arthur was in earnest! You can hardly want more proof of that!’

  ‘I can want no
more proof that he hasn’t outgrown his puppyhood! Good God, only a scoundrel or a paper-skulled schoolboy would do such a thing as this!’

  ‘It’s very bad, of course, but –’

  ‘And if he, or your hoydenish niece, think they can force my hand, they will very soon learn to know me better!’

  ‘Yes!’ said Miss Tresilian bitterly. ‘I might have guessed you’d turn mulish, might I not? You always did make bad worse, and you always will!’

  ***

  By the time Stamford was reached, Miss Tresilian was herself so weary that she could only suppose her companion to be made of iron. More than eighty miles had been covered, often at a pace which demanded the strictest concentration, and in six hours of fast driving he had allowed himself only two brief respites. During one of these Miss Tresilian had found the time to swallow a mouthful of ham, and a few sips of scalding coffee, and on this meagre fare she had been obliged to subsist, encouraged by a disagreeable reminder from his lordship that he had warned her how it would be if she insisted on accompanying him. She forgave him for that: he sat as erect as at the start of the journey, his hands as steady and his eyes as watchful, but she knew, without the evidence of the crease between his brows, how tired he must be. No conversation had been held during the past hour; Miss Tresilian, in fact, had fallen into an uneasy doze, and woke up in the yard of the George, demanding to know where she was.

  ‘Stamford,’ replied Lord Iver, looking down at her. ‘Quite done up?’

  ‘A little tired – nothing to signify!’

  ‘I’ll say this for you: you were always full of pluck! Our runaways are not here, but there are two other posting-houses in the town, and several smaller inns. They may well be racking up at one of them for the night.’

  ‘But it is still daylight!’

  ‘It will be daylight for some hours yet, but it is nevertheless past six o’clock. If they knew they were being followed no doubt they would go on, but I’ve no reason to believe that they do. They have been travelling at a fair rate, but with no suggestion of flight. Come, let me help you down! You will have time to dine while I am making enquiries at the other houses.’