The Passionate Elopement
look 'tes none the less beautiful because the edge of her petals are
gone red wi' the cold March wind. 'Tes a daeisy, the same as before--a
little white daeisy."
Hastily putting the frail flower in Mr. Lovely's hand, the maid ran to
the door. There she stayed a moment.
"And say, will 'ee, that I'm coming to kiss her and hug her and comfort
her as soon as the Wells waggon can bring me."
"That's a good maid--a loyal maid," said Charles to himself when Betty
was gone, and, as he looked at the tender blossom somewhat shrivelled by
captivity, a fallen tear trembled like a dew-diamond on the golden heart
of the gathered flower.
And now the problem of escaping his duns vexed Mr. Lovely more acutely
than before. Daish had been pacified by generous Clare with L50 on
account. The horses were saddled and ready; and by the greatest good
fortune when Charles looked out into the inn-yard, there was not a
snuff-coloured soul in sight.
Blewforth came in with the news of Sheriff's officers, and Clare
appeared in the gallery all buttoned up for the journey: "Where shall I
tell Daish to send our baggage by the Wells' stage waggon? there's a
good inn called _The Basket of Roses_ about twenty five miles away, dy'e
know it?"
"No," said Charles, "is it on the London Road?"
"Yes, on the London Road."
"Then 'twill suit me very well. Shall we set out at once, Tony?"
"No time to lose," shouted Blewforth.
Daish came shuffling in to say the horses were growing impatient of the
cold.
Off went our romantick adventurers: up they got on their horses: down
tinkled a couple of new silver crowns on the cobbles.
"Thank 'ee, yer honours!" shouted Jimmy Trickett the hostler; and the
third detachment of the Love Chase set out amid the thunderous farewells
of Lieutenant Blewforth of the _Lively_, as jolly a sound to put heart
into a pair of handsome young gentlemen on a gallant quest as they were
likely to hear throughout their wanderings.
They were gone when the snuff-coloured crowd pattered back with a
Sheriff's officer in tow, and Mr. Jeremy Daish was a person of
sufficient importance to be able to despise their snuff-coloured
threats. After all he had fifty pounds on account and there wasn't a
brewer amongst them.
As they cantered along the same road which we have already followed
three times, Charles told his friend of Betty's request and Tony was as
urgent as he to do all in his power to thwart Mr. Vernon. Honest Anthony
Clare was very proud of the handsome rider by his side. I do not think
he would have allowed that any one was quite the equal of Mr. Charles
Lovely in accomplishment or bearing. He could not avoid a feeling of
self-congratulation when he saw the maids among the daffodils of narrow
cottage gardens run to lean over their green gates and watch their
course away down the road. What a fine fellow he was in his full trimmed
grey riding-coat and brown buckskin breeches. How well the azure
waistcoat became him; how eagerly his blue eyes danced to the rhythm of
their horses. How far ahead down the billowy road he gazed, as if to
conjure up the vision of the galloping chariot that held his hope of
happiness.
And when they, too, rode into the storm, muffled in their full cloaks of
black Bavarian cloth, what a romantick figure Charles made as he spurred
his iron-grey steed to farther exertions.
There was musick in the south-west wind of that tempestuous twilight. It
sighed through the bare hedgerows and whistled round the broad brims of
their beaver hats. There was musick in the clap of horses' hoofs on the
wet road. There was musick in the big horse-pistols tapping against the
saddle-bows.
They were passing a great barn where a host of yokels were thrashing a
stack that had lain too long, and a rare sight these were, knee-deep in
the amber corn whence the rats fled ceaselessly.
"Shall we catch them, Tony?" asked Charles.
"I think we shall."
"But in time?" Charles dug his spurs in deep to cover the blush that was
flaming over his cheeks.
"And will she turn back? Oh! Tony, Tony, she must, she shall, turn
back."
In Great Cobblebury they stopped to give their horses a feed, and heard
of the accident of the yellow chaise.
"Z----ds, these clumsy vehicles travel fast enough," muttered Charles.
When they started again, the darkness clung round them like a pall. The
blown branch of a tree brushed against Lovely's elbow in a narrow part
of the road and he shuddered, as though an unseen hand were warning him
to pause.
"'Tis a plaguey rough night," he shouted over the wind, clapping his hat
tighter and leaning close to his grey's warm slim neck.
They were crossing Dry Tree Common where Blue Jenkins was swinging in a
shameful cradle, and Clare shouted he could see the lights of a chaise
in front.
"That's Ripple for a hundred," cried Charles spurring on his horse,
"gadslife, what a speed they are making. Hurry, Tony, hurry."
A dazzling flash of lightning seared the sky long enough to illuminate
the ghastly figure on the gallows. Clare's chestnut mare shied violently
and threw her rider head foremost into a large clump of gorse. It was a
matter of some difficulty to catch the frightened animal, but Charles by
mere determination succeeded in doing so, for all the night was now
black before the rising of the moon. By this mishap, Clare was in much
the same state of prickles as the Widow, without the help of
deft-fingered Susan.
"What the plague made you do that?" said Charles fretfully. They had
lost five valuable minutes through the behaviour of the mare. Tony
laughed with great good humour.
When they reached the foot of Long Hill, they could see the lights of
the chaise once again. It was finding the heavy pull very difficult. The
rain was pouring down the ditches on either side with a gurgling sound,
heard all the more clearly, because in the shelter of the slope the wind
was quiet. Just before the summit, the carriage stopped and a bullet
sang between Clare and Lovely who were now a bare twenty yards behind.
Mr. Ripple believed in the advantage of an offensive campaign.
"Stop! stop!" shouted Charles, "we are not highwaymen."
The Beau recognized the voice, and in accents wherein could be detected
the faintest note of relief said:
"Charles--Mr. Lovely! and why, may I inquire, are you abroad on such an
unpleasant night?"
"Why, sir," called out Charles, "what have you been about? There's a
dead man lying in the road."
"Good G----!" said Mr. Ripple, "a dead man?"
"Bring a lamp," called Clare.
Pridgeon descended from the box and, having tied the horses to a
withered fir-tree, snatched one of the lamps from its socket.
As he came along, Charles observed by the wavering light primroses in
flower.
"Surely, surely," said the Beau, "I cannot have killed this man."
"N! No!" cried Clare who was kneeling beside the body. "He has been dead
some time. Z----ds! 'Tis the little Major."
"The little Major?" echoed Ripple sharply. "So 'tis! So 'tis!"
"All alone in the storm," said Charles in a low voice.
"It may have been highwaymen," said Ripple.
"So it may, so it may," Clare agreed.
"And it may have been Vernon," said Charles, "d--n him."
"Charles," said the Beau, "I owe you an apology. I have been obstinate.
This should never have been allowed to happen."
Charles grasped his hand in the darkness.
After all, Mr. Ripple was not in his kingdom and they were all levelled
by the presence of Death.
"We cannot leave the body here," said Tony.
"It must travel in the chaise," said Charles.
"What about Mrs. Courteen?" questioned Mr. Ripple.
"She is in a swoon."
"You are sure he is quite dead?" asked Charles and wondered at the
futility of the remark.
Nobody troubled to reply.
"Perhaps it would be better to send a waggon," said Clare. "We are not
many miles from Roseland-in-the-Vale."
"Somebody has cut off his epaulettes," said Charles.
"Then it may have been footpads," said the Beau. "No wayfarer would rob
the dead."
"It is a very dark night," said Clare simply.
"He fought at Fontenoy. Let us lift him out of the mud," said Mr.
Ripple, vaguely recalling long stories which the dead soldier had poured
into his ears.
"He gave his life for her. We must certainly lift him out of the mud,"
said Charles.
"A dead body is dangerous to horses," said Clare, "I will take his
head."
Just then the widow screamed again.
"Say nothing of this to Mrs. Courteen," said Mr. Ripple to the
diminutive coachman.
"I knew something 'd 'appen," replied the latter. "I knew something 'd
'appen when I see'd as how somebody had stuck a bunch of primmerroses in
Blue Jenkins's toes."
_Chapter the Thirty-fourth_
OLD ACQUAINTANCE
Charles said he would ride on to the _Basket of Roses_ and bid the
landlord prepare a supper against the arrival of the rest. Clare stayed
behind to protect the Beau from the hysterical excitement of Mrs.
Courteen, who would not be pacified by anything less formidable than an
armed escort. She had made up her mind that highwaymen were abroad,
refused to allow the chaise to drive fast lest they might gallop unaware
into a thieves' ambush, and alarmed herself with so many imaginary
bogies that she almost succeeded in making Mr. Ripple fire point blank
at Mr. Anthony Clare's shadow looming huge in the hedgerow.
Charles reached the _Basket of Roses_ not long after the departure of
the lovers, and on hearing the news immediately spurred his grey horse
to pursuit. For a couple of miles he plunged along a road that was
almost a swamp, fired to greater exertions each minute by the sight of
the ruts made by the chariot in front. Suddenly his horse began to go
lame; the road grew worse; the ruts proved to be those of a country
waggon. He was riding in the wrong direction, so he turned his grey
round and walked her back to the inn. While he was inquiring into the
possibility of securing a fresh mount, a voice from the parlour called
out to know if any person was inquiring into the whereabouts of a young
woman.
"She supped alone with the old gentleman," whispered Mrs. Tabrum.
Charles was not proof against a natural curiosity, and decided to wait
at the inn till the arrival of the others. He ascertained that Vernon
had changed horses so it was evident that he intended to post as fast
as possible Eastward. His own horse must be tended if they were to
proceed that night. There was no other in the stables, and as he was
sure of catching the chariot before morning, he felt there would be no
harm in learning why Phyllida had supped at a wayside inn, alone with an
elderly gentleman. What was Vernon about meanwhile? Why had he not
accompanied her? Charles ordered supper and stepped into the Travellers'
Room.
"You were asking about a certain young woman," said Sir George, fixing
him with deep set eyes of cold steel.
"I was indeed, sir," answered Mr. Lovely pulling forward an armchair
into the blaze and stretching his damp legs towards the genial warmth.
"My name is Repington," said the old gentleman.
"Eh! What?"
"Sir George Repington."
Charles stared at him.
"And mine, sir, is Lovely, Charles Lovely."
"My nephew--humph--'tis your existence which has attracted me so many
miles West."
"I did not think you knew of my existence," said Charles half sneering.
"You never condescended to inform your uncle of your movements."
"Sir," said the nephew, a smile of bitter recollection twisting the
corners of his mouth. "I did not flatter myself that any attention on my
side was welcome."
"What! you remember our only interview?"
"I was eight years old, sir."
"Is that a date in youth's short calendar that breeds a specially
sensitive disposition of mind?"
"You turned me out of your house."