Pistols For Two and Other Stories

A Clandestine Affair

Miss Tresilian surveyed the young couple before her with perturbation in her usually humorous grey eyes. Not that there was anything in the picture presented by Mr Rosely and Miss Lucy Tresilian to dismay the most captious of critics, for a better-looking pair would have been hard to find: the lady was a glowing brunette, the gentleman a fair youth with golden locks, classic features, and a graceful figure. He was dressed very correctly for a morning visit in a blue coat, with fawn pantaloons and Hessian boots; and if the folds of his neckcloth did not aspire to dandified heights it was easy to see that he had arranged these to the best of his ability. Mr Rosely, in fact, was doing justice to a momentous occasion: he had come to make an offer for the hand of Miss Tresilian’s niece.

He said, with a shy smile: ‘It can’t, I fancy, come as a surprise to you, ma’am! You have been so kind that I’m persuaded—that is, I have ventured to indulge the hope that you wouldn’t be displeased.’

No, it had not come as a surprise to Miss Tresilian. It was nearly a year since Mr Rosely had been introduced to Lucy in the Lower Rooms, at Bath; but although Lucy did not want for admirers, and it was scarcely to be supposed that anyone so handsomely endowed in face and fortune as Mr Rosely had not had a great many caps set at him, neither had swerved in allegiance since that date. Nor could Miss Tresilian deny that she had favoured the match: it had seemed so eminently suitable!

‘Of course she’s not displeased!’ said Lucy. ‘You knew from the start how it was, didn’t you, Aunt Elinor?’

‘Yes,’ acknowledged Miss Tresilian. ‘But I didn’t know until I brought you to London, love, that the connection was disliked by Arthur’s family.’

‘Oh, no!’ he said quickly. ‘Only by Iver! My sister likes it excessively!’

‘And Lord Iver is only Arthur’s cousin,’ said Lucy. ‘Removed, too! Scarcely a relation at all!’

He demurred at this, saying diffidently: ‘Well, it’s more than that, for he has been my guardian, you know. I wouldn’t for the world displease him, only that in this case he fancies we are both of us too young—or some such nonsense! He will come about! Particularly if I am able to tell him you don’t frown on the marriage, ma’am!’

‘No, I don’t frown upon it,’ said Miss Tresilian, ‘but I agree with Lord Iver that you are very young. This is Lucy’s first season, you know, and—’

‘How can you, aunt?’ protested her niece. ‘I may not have been regularly presented until last month, but you know you would have brought me to town a year ago if Aunt Clara hadn’t insisted she was too unwell to be left alone! Why, I am nineteen, and have been out in Bath above a twelve-month!’

‘Yes, my dear, but I never knew until just the other day how awkwardly Arthur is situated. Or even that he had a guardian, much less—’

‘No, no, ma’am!’ interrupted Mr Rosely anxiously. ‘Iver isn’t my guardian now that I am of age, but only my trustee! He has no power to prevent my marriage—no authority over me at all!’

‘It appears to me that if he holds your purse-strings until you are five-and-twenty he has a great deal of power over you,’ responded Miss Tresilian dryly.

He looked troubled, but said: ‘He wouldn’t—I know he wouldn’t! People think him tyrannical, but he has never been so to me! The kindest of guardians—and he must have wished me at the devil, for I was only eight when my father died, and he not much above five-and twenty. I wonder he didn’t leave me to be reared in my own house, for I was used to follow him about like a tanthony-pig!’

Miss Tresilian refrained from comment. It seemed to her unlikely that Mr Rosely had ever offered Lord Iver the least pretext for a display of tyranny, for while she could not but acknowledge the sweetness of his disposition she did not feel that resolution was amongst his many virtues. No hint of a strong will was to be detected in his delicate countenance, none of the determination that characterized Lucy.

‘And even if he doesn’t consent, we shall come off all right,’ said Lucy cheerfully. ‘After all, I have quite a genteel fortune of my own, and we can subsist on that, until your stupid Trust comes to an end.’

But at this Miss Tresilian intervened, saying firmly that neither she nor Lucy’s papa could countenance an engagement entered into without Lord Iver’s sanction. Lucy, always outspoken, said: ‘Dearest, you know that’s fudge! All Papa would say is that you must settle it as you think best!’

Miss Tresilian laughed, but said: ‘Well, I can’t settle it, precisely, but I can and must forbid an engagement at this present. I am very sorry for you both, but unless Lord Iver should change his mind I am afraid there is nothing for it but to wait until Arthur’s fortune passes into his own hands.’

It was not to be expected that two young persons deep in love could view with anything but dismay the prospect of waiting more than three years before becoming engaged. Mr Rosely took a dejected leave of the ladies, and went away, saying that he was sure he must be able to prevail upon Iver to relent; and Lucy at once set about the task of convincing her aunt that her attachment to her Arthur was no girlish fancy to be speedily forgotten.

It was unnecessary. Although she had been virtually in her aunt’s charge since her childhood only fifteen years separated them, and the bonds of affection between them were strong. Miss Tresilian knew that her niece was neither volatile nor impressionable. She had been much courted in Bath, but none of her suitors, before the arrival on the scene of Mr Rosely, had done so much as turn her head. But she had fallen in love with Mr Rosely at first sight, and not for the sake of his handsome face. ‘Handsome?’ said Lucy. ‘I suppose he is—oh, yes, of course he is! Everyone says so! But, to own the truth, I don’t in general care about fair men, and try as I will I cannot admire Grecian profiles!’ She added, such a glow in her eyes as Miss Tresilian had never before seen: ‘His nature is by far more beautiful than his countenance. He has so much sensibility—such quickness of apprehension! It is as though we had known each other all our lives. Oh, my dearest aunt, I never dreamed I could be so happy!’

No, Lucy was not likely to fall out of love, nor was it possible to suppose her to be infatuated. She seemed to be aware of the flaw in his character, for when her aunt ventured to suggest that his amiability perhaps made him a trifle too persuadable she replied without hesitation: ‘Exactly so! I don’t mean to say that he could be persuaded to do wrong, for his principles are fixed; but his nature is gentle, and his diffidence leads him to rely more on another’s judgment than his own. That is one reason why I can’t and won’t wait for nearly four years before marrying him!’

‘Lucy dear, could you be happy with a husband who would allow you to rule the roost?’

‘To own the truth,’ replied Lucy mischievously, ‘I have a strong notion that I couldn’t be happy with any other! You know what a detestably managing disposition I have!’ She added, in a more serious tone: ‘Please help me, dear Aunt Elinor! If there were any reason for Lord Iver’s refusal to give his consent I promise you I would respect it! There is none! But Arthur has been so much in the habit of deferring to him that if all must remain at a stand for nearly four years—Oh, aunt, he is the horridest creature, and my enemy besides! I couldn’t mistake! I have met him only once, when Mrs Crewe took me to the Walton’s ball, and Arthur brought him up to me, but he looked at me in such a way! If I had been a shabby-genteel wretch on the catch for a rich husband he couldn’t have been more repelling! But he must know I’m nothing of the kind, for Lady Windlesham does—and if Arthur’s sister likes the match I wish you will tell me what right Lord Iver has—’ She checked herself. ‘Well! Talking won’t pay toll. Think for me, Aunt Elinor! Useless to suppose that Arthur will be able to bring that creature about!’

Even less than her niece did Miss Tresilian believe that Mr Rosely’s efforts would meet with success, and much more astonished than Lucy was she when, two days later, Lord Iver came to call at the slim house in Green Street which she had hired for the season. Indeed, the news that he was awaiting her in the drawing-room startled her into exclaiming: ‘Oh, no! No, no, I cannot—!’ However, she recollected herself almost immediately, sent the servant down again to tell his lordship she would be with him directly, and turned to cast an anxious glance at her reflection in the mirror.

With the buoyancy of youth, Lucy was much inclined to think that Lord Iver had miraculously capitulated, and had come to discuss the marriage settlements. Miss Tresilian, with no such expectation, begged her not to indulge optimism, and trod resolutely downstairs, pledged to support the lovers’ cause.

The visitor was standing with his back to the room, looking out of the window, but when he heard the door open he turned, and stared with hard, challenging eyes at his hostess.

She shut the door, but remained by it, meeting that fierce scrutiny resolutely. For a minute neither spoke, but each scanned the other, the lady perceiving a powerfully-built man, harsh-featured and swarthy, whose close-cropped hair, sporting neckcloth, and gleaming top-boots proclaimed the Corinthian; the gentleman gazing at an uncommonly pretty woman. Miss Tresilian was on the shady side of thirty, but although she had lately taken to wearing a cap over her soft brown curls, and bore herself with the assurance of her years, she retained the face and figure of a much younger woman.

It was she who broke the silence, saying, as she moved forward: ‘You wished, I think, to see me, sir. May I know why?’

He bowed stiffly. ‘I am obliged to you for receiving me, ma’am. As to my wishes—! I thought it best to come here in person, that there should be no misunderstanding between us.’

‘Pray be seated, sir!’ said Miss Tresilian, disposing herself gracefully in a winged armchair.

He did not avail himself of this invitation, but said abruptly: ‘I imagine you must know what my errand is. If you are indeed your niece’s guardian—but you will permit me to say that I find it incredible that you should be! She has a father, and you are by far too young to be her guardian!’

‘Certainly she has a father,’ replied Miss Tresilian coldly. ‘When he married again, however, it was agreed that his daughter should remain in my charge. Let me remind you that I am no longer a young woman, sir!’

At this point, the conversation, which had been conducted with the appearance at least of formality, underwent a change. ‘I know to a day how old you are, so don’t talk nonsense to me!’ said his lordship impatiently. ‘A more ramshackle arrangement—! Is your sister with you?’

‘No,’ said Miss Tresilian, eyeing him with hostility, ‘she is not! The indifferent state of her health—’

He gave a crack of sardonic laughter. ‘You needn’t tell me! Still suffering spasms and vapours to throw a rub in your way, is she?’

‘Pray, did you come here merely to discuss my sister’s constitution?’ demanded Miss Tresilian.

‘You know very well why I am here! This lamentable affair between your niece and my cousin—which you appear to have encouraged!’

‘I can assure you, however, that had I known of Mr Rosely’s relationship to you, sir, I should have done my utmost to discourage an affair which I dislike quite as much as you do!’

‘A pretty sort of guardian, not to have made it your business to enquire who were Arthur’s relations!’ he said scathingly.

‘And did you make it your business to acquaint yourself with all Lucy’s remote cousins?’ she retorted.

‘It was unnecessary. I knew her to be your niece, and that was enough! In plain words, I don’t wish for the connection, and shall do what I may to put an end to it. Don’t underrate me! you’ll find I can do a great deal!’

‘Do rid your mind of the notion that the connection is any more welcome to me than it is to you!’ begged Miss Tresilian. ‘Nothing could be more repugnant to me than an alliance with any member of your family!’

‘So I should suppose—since you made it plain enough when you jilted me!’

‘If you mean by that that I terminated an unfortunate engagement which you were regretting quite as much as I—’

‘I didn’t come here to discuss ancient history!’ he interrupted roughly.

‘Well, if you came merely to inform me that you don’t wish your precious cousin to marry Lucy you’ve wasted your time!’ she countered.

‘Ah!’ instantly responded his lordship. ‘So you do support them, do you? I might have known it!’

She was about to repudiate this suggestion when it occurred to her that to do so would scarcely be in accordance with her promise to help her niece. It cost her a severe struggle, but she managed to summon up a smile, and to say with creditable composure: ‘Come! It won’t serve for us to rip up at each other, Iver. We may regret this business, but a twelve-year-old quarrel between us doesn’t constitute a bar to these children’s marriage.’

‘Have you told your niece?’

‘No—any more than you, I collect, have told your cousin! Much good would that do! They would say, and rightly, that it was no concern of theirs!’

‘Well, I won’t have it!’ he announced.

‘Now, don’t fly into a pelter!’ she begged. ‘Our differences apart, what is there to be said against the match? Nothing, I dare say, could be more suitable!’ She hesitated, and then added, with a little difficulty: ‘How odiously selfish we should be if we were to let them break their hearts only because we once quarrelled!’

His lips curled disdainfully. ‘Hearts are not so easily broken!’

‘No one knows that better than I!’ she retorted.

‘We need not, then, discuss such an absurdity.’

Realizing, too late, the infelicity of her retort, she tried to recover lost ground. ‘Neither of us is in a position to judge what may be the sufferings of two people who truly love one another! Lucy’s character is unlike mine: her affection is not easily won, and is by far more tenacious than mine.’

‘It could hardly be less!’ he interpolated. ‘Spare me any more moving speeches! She is young enough to recover from her disappointment, and will no doubt transfer her affections soon enough to some other, and, I trust, equally eligible suitor!’

Stung, she retaliated: ‘She might well do that!’

‘Oh, play off no airs for my edification!’ he said angrily. ‘You won’t hoax me into believing that you are not well aware that my cousin is one of the biggest prizes in the Matrimonial Mart! A feather in any girl’s cap!’

Rising hastily to her feet, she said: ‘If I have anything to say to it, he won’t be a feather in Lucy’s cap, and that, my lord, you may depend on!’

‘Thank you!’ he replied. ‘You have given me the assurance I sought, and I have nothing further to do here than to take my leave of you! Your obedient servant, ma’am!’

‘Lucy,’ said Miss Tresilian, with determined calm, ‘if your pride doesn’t revolt at the imputation of having snared a rich matrimonial prize, mine does! I am not asking you to put all thought of Arthur out of your head: I am merely saying that until he is in every respect his own master, and you have come of age, I will neither countenance his visits to this house, nor allow you to go where there is the least likelihood of your meeting him.’

The youngest Miss Tresilian said, with a brave attempt to speak lightly: ‘Dearest, do you mean to lock me up? I must meet him at all the ton parties, and at Almack’s too!’

‘I know it,’ said her aunt. ‘And you know I don’t mean to lock you up! I have a much better scheme in mind, and one which I think you must like. Indeed, I know you will, for you have always wished to visit foreign countries, only, of course, while that dreadful Bonaparte was at large it was impossible. Now, however—’

‘Oh, no, no!’ Lucy cried. ‘I don’t care a straw for anything Lord Iver may think! He has no power to forbid my marriage to Arthur, and if he is so spiteful as to cut off Arthur’s allowance we shall contrive to live tolerably comfortably on my inheritance. And no one will think ill of Arthur for doing so, because the instant he is five-and-twenty he may pay me back every groat, if he feels he ought! All we need is Papa’s consent—which is to say yours, my dear aunt!’

‘And you won’t get it!’ said Miss Tresilian, with unusual asperity. ‘Dear child, consider! How can you expect me to behave so improperly as to support a marriage which the person most nearly concerned with Arthur’s affairs has expressly forbidden?’ She saw that her words had struck home, and lost no time in representing to Lucy all the advantages of her scheme. She was listened to in silence, but had the satisfaction, when she had talked herself out of arguments, of being caught into a warm embrace, and tightly hugged.

‘You are the best and kindest of aunts!’ Lucy declared. ‘I do understand what you must feel—indeed, I do! Never would I ask you to do what you think wrong! I had not reflected how impossible it must be for you! Forgive me!’

Much heartened, Miss Tresilian recommended her not to be a goose, and wondered how speedily she could put her plans into execution, and what her exacting elder sister would say when she learned that she meant, instead of returning to her home in Camden Place, to embark on an extended foreign tour.

It could not have been said that Lucy entered into any of the arrangements which occupied Miss Tresilian’s every moment during the follow week, or evinced the smallest enthusiasm for any of the promised treats in store, but she uttered no protests, and that, in Miss Tresilian’s opinion, was as much as could be hoped for in the natural oppression of her spirits. Calculating ways and means, Miss Tresilian paused to consider the likelihood of Mr Rosely’s following his inamorata. Probably Lord Iver would scotch any such scheme, but she determined nevertheless to add her prohibition to his.

In the event, she was denied the opportunity of private speech with Mr Rosely. Returning to Green Street just after eleven one morning, after a protracted appointment in the City she was met by her personal maid, who did not scruple to read her a scold for having sallied forth alone on what this severe critic apparently believed to have been an expedition fraught with peril. ‘And breakfast waiting for you this hour past!’ said Miss Baggeridge, relieving her of her shawl and gloves. ‘Now, you sit down this instant, Miss Elinor! Traipsing all about the town, and knocking yourself up like you are! What your poor mama would have said I’m sure I don’t know!’

Accustomed from her childhood to her henchwoman’s strictures, Miss Tresilian only said, as she removed her becoming hat of chip-straw: ‘Where’s Miss Lucy? I suppose she breakfasted an hour ago.’

‘It’s what anyone might suppose of a young lady of quality,’ said Miss Baggeridge grimly. ‘Though why they should, with you setting her the example you do, miss—’

‘—you are sure you don’t know!’ supplied Miss Tresilian.

Miss Baggeridge fixed her with a kindling eye. ‘Well do I know it’s not my place to utter a word, miss, and far be it from me to unclose my lips on the subject, but when it comes to a young lady gallivanting about the town without so much as the page-boy to escort her, and carrying a bandbox on her arm like a common person, I couldn’t reconcile it with my conscience not to speak!’

‘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 theworld. 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 underage! 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 post-boys 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 will 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 underrate 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.’

She agreed to this, but when he left her installed in a private parlour she discovered herself to be too anxious to be hungry. She ordered some tea, however, which revived her, though it drew a sharp rebuke from his lordship, when he presently returned to the George. ‘Don’t scold!’ she begged. ‘It was all I wanted, I promise you. And you have eaten nothing.’

‘On the contrary, I had a sandwich and some beer at the Swan.’ His frown deepened. ‘I’ve been unable to get any news of them: they are certainly not in the town. If they changed horses here, no one recalls having seen them—though that’s not wonderful: the ostlers are kept too busy to take particular note of all the travellers who pass through the place.’

Her heart sank, but she said: ‘There’s nothing for it but to go on, then.’

He said roughly: ‘You’ve come far enough! I’ll have that portmanteau of yours carried up to a bed-chamber, and you may remain here. You needn’t be afraid I shan’t catch that pair: I shall, and will bring Lucy to you at once, so don’t argue with me if you please!’

‘I don’t mean to,’ said Miss Tresilian, tying the strings of her bonnet. ‘Nor do I mean to be abandoned in this very noisy inn!’

‘Now, listen to me, my girl!’ said his lordship, in menacing accents.

‘Go and order the horses to be put-to!’ said Miss Tresilian, unimpressed.

No reliable news was to be gained at either of the two first pikes north of Stamford, but at Greetham, where they stopped for a change, an ostler clearly remembered the young lady and gentleman, for he had helped to fig out four lively ‘uns for them, and not so many minutes ago neither. He’d suspicioned all along that there was something havey-cavey about them. Argufying, they were, the young gentleman being wishful to put up for the night, and Miss being that set on going on she was ready to nap her bib. Nothing would do for her but to get to Grantham, so off they’d gone.

‘Having made it plain that they were an eloping couple!’ said Miss Tresilian, as they drove away. ‘How Lucy could be so dead to shame—!’

Lord Iver returned no answer, and she sat staring with unseeing eyes at the fading landscape, lost in the gloomiest reflections. From these she was presently recalled by his lordship’s voice, ejaculating: ‘At last!’

The curricle had swept round a bend, and brought into view a post-chaise and four, bowling ahead at a spanking pace. ‘Hand me the yard of tin!’ commanded his lordship grimly.

‘You look after your horses!’ returned Miss Tresilian, already in possession of the long horn. ‘I can sound this quite as well as you can!’

In proof of this statement, she raised the horn to her lips and produced an ear-splitting blast.

‘That should startle them!’ observed his lordship. ‘Oh, my God, of all the infernal cawkers—!’

This outburst of exasperation was provoked by the sudden widening of the gap between the two vehicles: the post-boys, instead of making way for the curricle to pass, were springing their horses. ‘Hold on tightly!’ snapped his lordship, following suit.

‘Iver, for heaven’s sake—!’ she uttered, as the curricle swayed and bounded alarmingly.

He paid no heed; and one glance at his face showed her that to suggest that he might just as well, and far more safely, drive behind the chaise until the fugitives realized the folly of trying to escape from him would be a waste of breath. This foolish gesture of defiance had thoroughly enraged him: he was going to pass the chaise at the first opportunity that offered.

Feeling sick with apprehension, Miss Tresilian fixed her eyes on the road, and tried not to speculate on what would happen if some vehicle were to come round one of the bends towards them. My lord had swung out to the right, not yet attempting to pass, but obviously ready to open out his leaders. The road was narrow, and the chaise held obstinately to the centre. They rocked round another bend, and Miss Tresilian saw a straight stretch ahead. It was a little broader, but not broad enough yet, she decided. Then she saw his lordship drop his hands, and shut her eyes, realizing that her last hour had come. Rigid with fright, she awaited the inevitable crash.

‘Good girl!’ said his lordship approvingly.

Her eyes flew open. ‘You don’t mean to say you’ve done it?’ she gasped.

‘Of course I’ve done it! What, were you afraid I should lock the wheels? Absurd creature!’ He glanced over his shoulder, saw that the post-boys had reined in their horses to a trot, and checked his own team. In another minute he had brought them to a halt, swinging them across the road to form a barrier. He gave the reins into Miss Tresilian’s hands, and, as the chaise drew up, sprang down, and strode towards it.

The post-boys eyed him in some trepidation, but he paid no attention to them. He lifted a hand to wrench open the door of the chaise, but before he could grasp the handle the door was thrust open from within, and a fresh-faced youth, not waiting to let down the steps, jumped out, saying, in an impetuous, rueful voice: ‘I beg your pardon, sir! I didn’t mean—at least, I—oh, by Jupiter, sir, how you did give us the go-by! It was the most bang-up thing I ever saw in my life! But I’m afraid you’re very vexed!’ he added, gazing up in dismay at Lord Iver’s countenance.

His lordship was, in fact, thunderstruck, but his expression was certainly alarming. The unknown youth said contritely: ‘We shouldn’t have done so—indeed, I am very sorry! We were only funning—that’s to say-well, I dare say you know how it is, sir, when one is in spirits, and—and—’ His voice petered out unhappily, for he perceived no understanding at all in the eyes that stared so fiercely at him.

At this point, there was an intervention. A damsel, clad in the demure raiment suitable for a school-room miss, peeped out of the chaise, and said, with, an engaging mixture of mischief and penitence: ‘It was all my fault! Because I wouldn’t put up at Stamford, and so we came on, because it is a whole year since I was at home, and I couldn’t have slept a wink, and it’s not so very much farther! Only when we changed horses at Greetham Jack said the light had begun to go, and Papa would say we shouldn’t have come on, but I said we might easily reach Grantham if we drove fast, and give them all such a surprise, for they don’t expect to see us until tomorrow. So Jack said: “Oh, very well!” but we should have everyone thinking we were eloping to Gretna Green, which sent us both into whoops, of course! And that was what put the notion into our heads!’

‘I should explain, sir, that she’s my sister,’ interpolated the youth, anxious to throw light upon dark places. ‘She has been at school, you see.’

‘Yes, but Mama let me come away before any of the others, so that Jack could bring me home. Isn’t that famous?’ rapturously exclaimed his sister. ‘Because Jack, you know, is my particular brother, just as Ned is Cecy’s!’

His lordship, stunned as much by all these whirling words as by the shock of finding that he had waylaid two complete strangers, could think of nothing to say but: ‘Oh!’ and that in a blank voice which made it necessary for Miss Tresilian, deeply appreciative of the scene, to take her underlip firmly between her teeth.

Frowning down his sister’s irrelevance, the young gentleman embarked manfully on an explanation of his conduct. ‘The thing was, sir, that I always meant to spring the horses, if the road was clear, because we have still more than twenty miles to go before we reach home, and my father—Oh, I should have told you that Father is Sir John Holloway, and we live near Grantham! Well—well, we were joking each other about being a runaway couple when you blew up to pass us, and I shouted to the post-boys to put ‘em along—just cutting a lark, you know! But, of course, I shouldn’t have done so!’ he added hastily. ‘And I didn’t mean to keep it up. Only—well, when you gave chase it was so exciting—and when I saw you were going to make the attempt—well, I do beg your pardon, sir, but I wouldn’t have missed it for anything! You drove to an inch!’

‘I see,’ said his lordship. ‘Well, when next you try your hand at racing on the road, don’t do it in a post-chaise, and don’t take your sister with you! Tell me, have you come from London?’

‘Oh no! From Oxford, sir. One of the old tabbies at Bella’s school brought her up from Bath—Oh, I should have told you that I’m at Magdalen!’

‘Are you? Well, if you are to reach home before dark you’d best lose no more time. Up with you!’

‘Thank you!’ said Mr Holloway, greatly relieved. ‘I’m excessively obliged to you for not—Oh, you go first, sir!’

‘No, I should only hold you up: I’m not going to drive at your hell-for-leather pace!’

Laughing heartily at this, Mr Holloway, after fervently shaking hands with his lordship, hoisted himself into the chaise, and it moved forward, Miss Tresilian having by this time drawn the curricle to the side of the road. His lordship, heavily frowning, walked back to it. He observed that Miss Tresilian had succumbed to her emotions, and regarded her balefully.

‘Oh, don’t look at me like that, Iver!’ she begged, wiping her streaming eyes. ‘If you could but have seen your own face—!’

‘Much help you were!’ he said, with a reluctant grin. ‘Yes, it’s all very well for you to laugh yourself into stitches, my girl, but where the devil are those pernicious brats?’

‘I said we had come on a wild goose chase! Have we all the time been pursuing that enchanting couple?’

‘Certainly not! Didn’t you hear the boy say they had come from Oxford? They can never have been on our road until they entered Stamford. I have not the smallest doubt that when we entered Stamford we were hard on the heels of our own pair.’

That sobered her. She said, in dismay: ‘Do you mean that they are ahead of us still?’

‘No, I don’t,’ he said decidedly. ‘They haven’t passed any of the pikes. From Stamford we have been following the Holloways.’

She was disturbed, but could not resist quizzing him. ‘Flying from a scent, Iver? You?’

He smiled, but absently, and remained for some moments in frowning silence. He said suddenly: ‘If the line was crossed in Stamford—Good God, why didn’t I think of that before? He has taken the girl to Grantley, of course!’ He saw that Miss Tresilian was bewildered, and added impatiently: ‘Windlesham’s place, beyond Market Deeping! You’ve met Arthur’s sister, haven’t you?’

‘Lady Windlesham! Yes, but what could he hope to achieve by that?’

‘Depend upon it, he has a special licence in his pocket, and means to be married under Caroline’s aegis.’

‘But she has no authority to sanction Lucy’s marriage!’

‘Much she would care for that! Arthur can bring her round his thumb any time he chooses to do it: she dotes on him! She’s of a romantic disposition, what’s more, and to judge by the impassioned entreaties she addressed to me on this subject has confused that precious pair with Romeo and Juliet.’

‘Iver, she could not be so unprincipled as to—’

‘Nothing of the sort!’ he interrupted. ‘She knows that Arthur is his own master, and if she doesn’t know already that you liked the connection well enough until you discovered that I was Arthur’s guardian, it wouldn’t, I assure you, take Arthur more than five minutes to convince her that if only the knot could be tied without your knowledge you would be more likely to fall on her neck than to try to overset the marriage!’

He climbed into his seat again as he spoke, and took the reins from her. She relinquished them unheedingly. ‘If that is indeed so, I can’t deny that it is a great deal better than a flight to the Border, but a marriage performed in such circumstances must give rise to the most odious gossip! I cannot allow it!’

‘There’s no need to fly into high fidgets,’ said his lordship, possibly to soothe alarm, but with a sad lack of sensibility. ‘Caroline is a pretty ninnyhammer, but Windlesham is a man of excellent good sense, and can be depended on to put his foot down on such a scheme.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Oh, for God’s sake—!’ he exclaimed. ‘Can’t you think of anything but that addle-brained pair? For my part, they may go to the devil. I’m sick and tired of both, and have been thinking them a dead bore for the last three hours!’

Jerked by this sudden violence from her preoccupation, she realized that the horses had been set in motion. ‘Pray, where are we off to?’ she demanded. ‘If Arthur has taken Lucy to his sister’s house we have no need to proceed farther north! How can you be so idiotish, Iver?’

‘I’m not idiotish,’ he replied, with an odd laugh. ‘We set out for Gretna Green, and to Gretna Green we’ll go! Our immediate destination, however, is Coltersworth. We shall spend the night at the Angel, and tomorrow, unless you should very much dislike it, we will resume our journey to the Border.’

‘I should dislike it excessively,’ said Miss Tresilian, after a little pause.

He halted his team and turned, laying his hand on one of hers, and strongly grasping it. ‘Nell!’ he said, in quite another voice. ‘So many years wasted—so much bitterness—! Nell, my dear love, don’t say it’s too late! You must marry me—you shall!’

Her fingers clung to his, and there was the sparkle of tears in her smiling eyes, but she replied with great dignity: ‘I have every intention of marrying you, but not, I promise you, in such a clandestine fashion as that! Iver, for heaven’s sake—! There’s an Accommodation coach coming towards us—George!’

But as his lordship, with his usual top-lofty disregard of appearances, paid no heed whatsoever to this warning, and Miss Tresilian was powerless (even had she made the attempt) to free herself from his embrace, the roof passengers on the coach were afforded a shocking example of the decay of modern manners, one moralist going so far as to express his desire to see such shameless persons set in the stocks. ‘Kissing and hugging on the public highway!’ he said, craning his neck to obtain the last possible glimpse of the disgusting spectacle. ‘Calling themselves Quality, too!’

But in this he was wrong. With her cheek against his lordship’s, Miss Tresilian said, on a choke of laughter: ‘What a vulgar couple we are, love!’

‘Well, who cares a rush for that?’ he demanded. ‘Oh, my darling, what fools we have been!’