Pistols For Two and Other Stories

Hazard

The girl stood under the light of the guttering candles, still as a statue, her hands elapsed in front of her, and no colour in her cheeks. She was dressed in a simple muslin gown with blue ribbons, and wore no ornament save the fillet threaded through her gold hair. She did not look at her half-brother, nor at any one of the five other men who were gathered round the table in the centre of the over-heated room. But she knew who was present; she had seen them all in the one swift glance she had cast at them under her lashes as she had entered the room. There was Lord Amberfield, sprawling over the table with his head pillowed on his arm; Mr Marmaduke Shapley, not so drunk as Amberfield, leaning on his chair and giggling; Sir Thomas Fort, a little blear-eyed, very purple in the face; Mr Lionel Winter, idiotically smiling; and Carlington Carlington with his black curls in disorder, and his exquisite cravat crumpled, his lean cheeks hectically flushed, and a reckless look in his bright eyes.

And there was Half-brother Ralph, in answer to whose peremptory summons she had got up out of her bed, and dressed herself, and come down to this stuffy room in the chill small hours. He was lounging back in his chair, still grasping the dice-box in one hand, while the other sought to refill his empty glass. Some of the wine slopped over on to the baize cloth that covered the table; Sir Ralph cursed it, and thrust the bottle on towards his left-hand neighbour. ‘Fill up, Lionel! Fill up!’ he said, hiccuping. ‘Now, my lord—now Carlington! You want to play on, hey? But I’m done-up, d’ye see? Only one thing left to stake, and that’s m’sister!’ A fit of insane laughter shook him; he made a gesture towards the girl, who stood motionless still, her gaze fixed on a point above Carlington’s handsome head. ‘I’ll set her for my last stake, gen’lemen. Who’ll cover?’

Mr Winter said: ‘Tha’s—tha’s Miss Helen,’ and nodded wisely.

‘Damme, Morland, this—this is not right!’ said Sir Thomas, getting on to his feet. ‘Miss Morland—very obedient servant, ma’am! Amberfield—my lord! ladies present!’

He lurched towards the sleeping Viscount, and shook him by one shoulder. Lord Amberfield moaned, and muttered: ‘Pockets to let: all my vowels in—in Carlington’s hands.’

‘Freddy, my boy, I’m saying it’s not right. Can’t stake a lady.’

Lord Amberfield said: ‘Can’t stake anything. Nothing to stake. Going to sleep.’

Mr Marmaduke Shapley clasped his head in his hands, as though to steady it, and said rather indistinctly: ‘It’s the wine. Confound you, Ralph, you’re drunk!’

Sir Ralph gave a boisterous laugh, and rattled the dice in the box. ‘Who’ll cover?’ he demanded. ‘What d’ye say, Lionel? Will you have my jade of a sister to wife?’

Mr Winter rose to his feet, and stood precariously balancing on his heels. ‘Sir,’ he said, looking owlishly at his host, ‘shall take leave to tell you—no one will cover prepost’rous stake!’

Sir Ralph’s wicked eyes went past him to where Carlington sat, gazing at the girl under frowning, night-black brows. By the Marquis’ left arm, stretched negligently before him on the table, scraps of paper were littered, vowels for the money he had won. There were rouleaus of guineas at his elbow, and more guineas spilled under his hand. Through Sir Ralph’s blurred mind drifted a thought that he had never seen the young Marquis in so wild a humour before. He leaned forward, and said mockingly: ‘Will you cover, my lord, or do you refuse the bet?’

Carlington’s eyes turned slowly towards him. They were not glazed but unnaturally bright. ‘I—refuse?’ he said.

‘There’s the true elbow-shaker!’ crowed Sir Ralph. ‘Cover, Carlington! What’s the jade worth?’

Mr Winter laid hold of his chair-back, and with difficulty enunciated four words: ‘My lord, you’re d-drunk!’

‘Drunk or sober, no man shall set me a stake I won’t cover,’ Carlington answered. His long fingers closed over the heap of vowels, crushing them into a ball. He thrust them forward, and his rouleaus with them.

‘Good God, Charles!’ cried Sir Thomas, catching at his wrist. ‘There’s a matter of twenty thousand pounds there! Have sense, man, have sense!’

Carlington shook him off. ‘A main, Morland, call a main!’ he said.

‘Seven!’ Sir Ralph responded, and cast the dice on to the table.

Carlington laughed, and dived a hand into his pocket for his snuff-box, and flicked it open.

‘Five to seven!’ announced Mr Shapley, peering at the dice.

The girl’s fixed gaze had wavered as the dice rattled in the box, and she had shot a swift glance downwards at the chance, as it lay on the table. Her brother gathered up the dice, shook them together and again threw them. They rolled across the table, and settled into five and ace.

‘Cinque-ace!’ called Mr Shapley, constituting himself groom-porter. ‘Any bets, gentlemen? any bets?’

No one answered; the Marquis took snuff.

The dice were shaken a third time, and cast. ‘Quatre-trey!’ called out Mr Shapley. ‘Carlington, you’ve—you’ve the d—devil’s own luck!’

The girl’s eyes remained fixed for a moment on the four and the three lying on the green cloth; then she raised them, and looked across the table at Carlington.

The Marquis leaped up, and achieved a bow. ‘Ma’am, I have won your hand in fair play!’ he said, and stretched out his own imperatively.

Sir Ralph was staring at the dice, his lower lip pouting, and some of the high colour fading from his cheeks. Without a glance at him Miss Morland walked round the table, and curtsied, and laid her hand in Carlington’s.

His fingers closed on it; he swung it gently to and fro, and said recklessly: ‘It’s time we were going. Will you come, my golden girl?’

Miss Morland spoke for the first time, in a composed, matter-of-fact voice. ‘Certainly I will come, sir,’ she said.

Carlington’s eyes danced. ‘I’m drunk, you know,’ he offered.

‘Yes,’ she said.

He shook with laughter. ‘By God, I like your spirit! Come, then!’

Sir Thomas started forward, lurched heavily against the table, and caught at it to steady himself. ‘Damme, you’re mad! Ralph, this won’t do—bet’s off—joke’s a joke—gone far enough!’

‘Play or pay!’ the Marquis retorted, a smile not quite pleasant curling his lips.

Sir Ralph raised his eyes, and looked sullenly towards his sister. She returned his gaze thoughtfully, dispassionately, and transferred her attention to Carlington. ‘I think,’ she said tranquilly, ‘I had better go and fetch a cloak if we are leaving now, sir.’

The Marquis escorted her to the door, and opened it, and set a shout ringing for his carriage. Miss Morland passed out of the hot room into the hall, and went across it to the stairs.

When she came down again some minutes later, cloaked, and with a chip hat on her head, and a bandbox in her hand, her brother had joined the Marquis in the hall, and was standing leaning against the lintel of the front door, scowling. The Marquis had put on a high-waisted driving-coat of drab cloth with row upon row of capes, and buttons of mother-of-pearl as large as crown-pieces. He had a curly-brimmed beaver, and a pair of York tan gloves in one hand, and his ebony cane in the other, and he flourished another bow at Miss Morland as she trod unhurriedly across the hall towards him.

‘If you go, by God, you shan’t return!’ Sir Ralph said.

Miss Morland laid her hand on Carlington’s proffered arm. ‘I shall never return,’ she said.

‘I mean it!’ Sir Ralph threatened.

‘And I,’ she replied. ‘I have been in your ward three years. Do you think I would not sooner die than return to this house?’

He flushed, and addressed the Marquis. ‘You’re crazy to take her!’

‘Crazy or drunk, what odds?’ said Carlington, and opened the front door.

Sir Ralph caught at his coat. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.

Carlington’s wild laugh broke from him. ‘Gretna!’ he answered, and flung his arm about Miss Morland’s waist, and swept her out of the house into the misty dawn.

His post-chaise and four was waiting, drawn up by the steps of the house, with the postilions shivering in their saddles, and one of Sir Ralph’s servants holding the chaise door open.

The sharp morning air had an inevitable effect on the Marquis. He reeled, and had to catch at the footman’s shoulder to steady himself. He was able, however, to flourish another bow in Miss Morland’s direction, and to hand her up into the chaise.

Sir Ralph’s house being situated at Hadley Green, and the Marquis having driven out from London to attend his card-party, the postilions had faced the chaise southwards. Upon receiving their master’s order to drive to Gretna Green they were at first a great deal too astonished to do more than blink at him, but as, assisted by the footman, he began to climb up into the chaise, the boy astride one of the leaders ventured to point out that Gretna Green was some three hundred miles off, and his lordship totally unprepared for a long journey. The Marquis, however, merely reiterated: ‘Gretna!’ and entered the chaise, and sank down on to the seat beside Miss Morland.

The postilions were quite aware that their master was extremely drunk, but they knew him well enough to be sure that however much he might, in the morning, regret having ordered them to drive north he would blame them less for obeying him than for disregarding his instructions, and carrying him safely home. No sooner were the steps folded up than they wheeled the chaise, and set off in the direction of the Great North Road.

The Marquis let his hat slide on to the floor, and rested his handsome head back against the blue velvet squabs. Turning it a little he smiled sweetly upon his companion, and said, still with a surprising clarity of diction: ‘I’ve a notion I shall regret this, but I’m badly foxed, my dear—badly foxed.’

‘Yes,’ said Miss Morland. ‘I know. It doesn’t signify. I am quite accustomed to it.’

That was the sum of their discourse. The Marquis closed his eyes, and went to sleep. Miss Morland sat quite still beside him, only occasionally clasping and unclasping her hands in her lap.

Potter’s Bar, Bell Bar, Hatfield were all passed. Miss Morland paid for the tickets at the turnpikes with some loose coins found in the sleeping Viscount’s pockets. A little more than two miles out of Hatfield the chaise passed through the hamlet of Stanborough, and began the long rise of Digswell Hill. At the Brickwall pike the postilion mounted on one of the wheelers informed Miss Morland that if his lordship desired to press on horses must be changed at Welwyn. An attempt to rouse the Marquis was unavailing; he only groaned, and seemed to sink deeper into slumber. Miss Morland, who had had time to reflect upon the rashness of this flight, to which sheer anger had prompted her, hesitated for a moment, and then desired the postilions to drive to a respectable posting-house in Welwyn, where they might put up for what was left of the night.

In a little while the chaise had drawn up at the White Hart; the landlord had been awakened, and a couple of drowsy ostlers, still in their nightcaps, had lifted the Marquis out of the coach, and carried him up to a bedchamber on the first floor.

No one seemed to feel very much surprise at this strange arrival in the small hours of the morning. The Marquis, who was well-known to the landlord, was obviously drunk, and this circumstance provided a perfectly reasonable explanation for both his and Miss Morland’s presence. ‘Though I must say,’ remarked the landlord, as he once more rejoined his sleepy wife, ‘I didn’t know he was one of them hard topers—not Carlington. Wild, of course, very wild.’

The Marquis did not wake until past nine o’clock. His first sensations were those of supreme discomfort. His head ached, and his mouth was parched. He lay for some time with closed eyes, but presently, as fuller consciousness returned to him, he became aware of being almost completely clad. He opened his eyes, stared filmily upon his strange surroundings, and with a groan sat up in bed, clasping his temples between his hands. He found that with the exception of his neckcloth and his shining Hessians he was indeed fully clad, the kind hands that had relieved him of boots and cravat having failed in their endeavour to extricate him from the perfectly fitting coat of Mr Weston’s cutting.

After another dazed look round the room, the Marquis reached for the bell-pull, and tugged at it vigorously.

The summons was answered by the landlord in person. Carlington, still clasping his aching head, looked at him with acute misgiving and pronounced: ‘I’ve seen your rascally face before. Where am I?’

The landlord smiled ingratiatingly, and replied: ‘To be sure, my lord, your lordship is in the very best room at the White Hart.’

‘Which White Hart?’ demanded the Marquis irritably. ‘I know of fifty at least!’

‘Why, at Welwyn, my lord!’

‘Welwyn!’ ejaculated Carlington, letting his hands fall. ‘What the devil am I doing in Welwyn?’

This question the landlord, who had had an illuminating conversation with the two postilions, thought it prudent to leave unanswered. He coughed, and said vaguely that he was sure he couldn’t say. He waited for his noble client’s memory to assert itself, but the Marquis, with another groan, merely sank back upon his pillows, and closed his eyes again. The landlord gave another cough, and said: ‘The lady has ordered breakfast in a private parlour, my lord.’

The Marquis’ eyes opened at that. ‘Lady? What lady?’ he said sharply.

‘The—the lady who accompanies your lordship,’ replied the landlord.

‘My God!’ said the Marquis, and clasped his head in his hands again. There was a pause. ‘Oh, my God, what have I done?’ said the Marquis. ‘Where is she?’

‘The lady, my lord, spent the night in the bedchamber adjacent to this, and awaits your lordship in the parlour. Your lordship—er—does not appear to have any trunk or cloak-bag.’

‘I know that, curse you!’ said the Marquis, casting off the coverlet, and setting his stockinged feet to the ground. ‘Damnation take this head of mine! Help me out of this coat, fool!’

The landlord extricated him from it, not without difficulty, and suggested that his lordship might like to be shaved. ‘For I have a very reliable lad, my lord, and should be honoured to lend your lordship my own razors.’

The Marquis had poured a jugful of hot water into the washbasin. ‘Send him up, man, send him up!’ he said. He dipped his head into the basin, but raised it again to say: ‘My compliments to the lady, and I shall do myself the honour of joining her in half an hour.’

Downstairs in the private parlour Miss Morland had ordered breakfast for half-past nine. When the Marquis at last appeared she was drinking a cup of coffee, and looking as neat and as fresh as though she had had her maid with her, and several trunks of clothes.

The Marquis had been shaved, had had the creases pressed out of his coat, and had contrived to arrange his starched but crumpled cravat in decent folds, but he did not look very fresh. He was pale, and the reckless look had gone from his face, leaving it worried, and rather stern. He came into the parlour, and shut the door behind him, and paused with his hand still on the knob, looking across at Miss Morland with a mixture of remorse and bewilderment in his fine eyes.

Miss Morland’s colour rose, but she said calmly: ‘Good morning, sir. A very fine day, is it not?’

‘I have not noticed whether it is fine or not,’ replied Carlington. ‘I have to beg your pardon, ma’am. I have no very clear recollection of what occurred last night. I was drunk.’

‘Yes,’ said Miss Morland, a slice of bread and butter halfway to her mouth. ‘You explained that at the time. May I give you some coffee?’

He came to the table, and stood looking down at her in even greater bewilderment. ‘Miss Morland, drunk I may have been, but was I so drunk that I forced you to accompany me to this place?’

‘I came with you quite willingly,’ she assured him.

He grasped the back of the chair before him. ‘In God’s name, what induced you to commit so imprudent an action?’

‘You won me,’ she explained. ‘I was the stake set by my brother.’

‘I remember,’ he said. ‘I must have been mad, and he—’ He broke off. ‘Good heavens, ma’am, that you should have been subjected to such an indignity!’

‘It was not very pleasant,’ she agreed. ‘It seemed to me preferable to go away with you than to remain under that roof another hour.’ She paused, and raised her eyes to his face. ‘You have always treated me with a courtesy my brother does not accord me. Besides,’ she added, “you assured me that your intentions were honourable.’

‘My intentions!’ he exclaimed.

‘Certainly, sir,’ said Miss Morland, casting down her eyes to hide the gleam of mischief in them. ‘You informed my brother that you would take me to Gretna Green. We are on our way there now.’

The Marquis pulled the chair out from the table, and sank down into it. ‘Gretna Green!’ he said. ‘My dear girl, you don’t know—This is appalling!’

Miss Morland winced a little, but said in a considering voice: ‘A little irregular, perhaps. But if I do not mind that I am sure you need not. You have a reputation for doing odd things, after all.’

He brought his open hand down on the table. ‘If I have, the more reason for you to have refused to come with me on this insane journey! Were you mad, Miss Morland?’

‘Oh, by no means!’ she replied, cutting her bread and butter into thin strips. ‘Of course, it is not precisely what I should have chosen, but you offered me a way of escape from a house in which I was determined not to spend another night.’

‘You must have relatives—someone to whom—’

‘Unfortunately I have no one,’ said Miss Morland composedly.

The Marquis leaned his head in his hand, and said: ‘My poor girl, you do not appear to realize the scandal this escapade will give rise to! I must get you to some place where you will be safe from it’

Miss Morland bit into one of her strips of bread and butter. ‘As your wife, sir, I shall expect you to protect me from slanderous tongues,’ she said blandly.

The Marquis raised his head, and said with a groan: ‘Helen, the notice of my engagement is in today’s Gazette!’

There was just a moment’s silence. The faintest tremor shook Miss Morland’s hand, and she grew rather white. But when she spoke it was in a voice of mild interest. ‘Dear me, then what can have possessed you to accept my brother’s stake?’

He looked at her with a queer hungriness in his eyes, and answered: ‘I have told you that I was drunk. Drunk, I only knew what I wanted, not what I must not do.’ He got up, and began to walk about the room. ‘No use talking of that. We are in the devil of a fix, my girl.’

‘May I ask,’ enquired Miss Morland, ‘who is the lady to whom you are so lately become engaged?’

‘Miss Fanny Wyse,’ he answered. ‘It is a long-standing arrangement. I can’t, with honour, draw back from it. That accursed notice in the Gazette—It is impossible for me to repudiate it.’

She regarded him rather inscrutably. ‘Are you attached to Miss Wyse, sir?’

‘It is not that!’ he said impatiently. ‘Our parents made this match for us when we were in our cradles. It has been an understood thing. Yesterday I made a formal offer for Miss Wyse’s hand, and she accepted me.’

‘I suppose,’ remarked Miss Morland thoughtfully, ‘that your excesses last night were in the nature of a celebration?’

He gave an ugly little laugh. ‘My excesses, ma’am, were an all too brief escape from reality!’

Miss Morland looked meditatively at the coffee-pot. ‘If you do not care for Miss Wyse, my lord, why did you offer for her?’

‘You don’t understand!’ he said. ‘She has been brought up to think herself destined to become my wife! I could do no less than offer for her.’

‘Oh!’ said Miss Morland. ‘Is she very fond of you?’

He flushed slightly. ‘It is not for me to say. I believe—I think she wishes to marry me.’ A somewhat sardonic smile crossed his lips; he added: ‘And God help both of us if ever this adventure should come to her ears!’

Miss Morland poured herself out some more coffee. ‘Do you mean to abandon me, sir?’ she asked.

‘Certainly not,’ replied his lordship. ‘I shall put you in charge of a respectable female, and compel your brother to make provision for you.’

She raised her brows. ‘But you told my brother you would marry me,’ she pointed out.

He paused in his striding to and fro, and said: ‘I can’t marry you! God knows I would, but I can’t elope with you the very day my engagement to Fanny is published!’

She smiled at that, but not very mirthfully, and got up from the table. ‘Calm yourself, my lord. I have only been—punishing you a little. I came away with you because I was a great deal too angry to consider what I was about. What I really wish you to do is to convey me to London where I shall take refuge with my old governess.’ She picked up her hat, and added: ‘I think—I am sure—that she will be very willing to engage me to teach music and perhaps painting in her school.’

He strode over to the window, and with his back to her said: ‘A Queen’s Square boarding-school! Helen, Helen—’ He broke off, biting his lips, and staring with unseeing eyes at a chaise that had just drawn up outside the inn. The chaise door opened, a young lady looked out, and the Marquis recoiled from the window with a startled oath.

Miss Morland was tying the strings of her cloak, and merely looked an enquiry.

‘Fanny!’ the Marquis ejaculated. ‘Good God, what’s to be done?’

Miss Morland blinked at him. ‘Surely you must be mistaken!’

‘Mistaken! Do you think I don’t know my promised wife?’ demanded his lordship savagely. ‘I tell you it is she! Someone must have sent her word—that meddling fool, Fort, I dare say!’

‘But surely Miss Wyse would not pursue you?’ said Miss Morland, rather aghast.

‘Wouldn’t she?’ said Carlington grimly. ‘You don’t know her! If she does not have hysterical spasms we may count ourselves fortunate!’ He looked round the room, saw a door at the opposite end of it, and hurried across to open it. A roomy cupboard was disclosed. ‘Go in there, my dear,’ commanded Carlington. ‘I must get hold of that landlord, and warn him to keep his mouth shut.’ With which he thrust Miss Morland into the cupboard, closed the door on her, and went quickly towards the other leading into the coffee-room.

He was not, however, in time to warn the landlord. As he stepped out of the parlour that worthy was escorting Miss Wyse into the coffee-room.

Carlington, realizing that it would be useless now to deny his extraordinary elopement, greeted his betrothed with biting civility. ‘Good morning, Fanny,’ he said. ‘An unexpected pleasure!’

Miss Wyse was a plump little lady, just nineteen years old, with huge, soulful brown eyes, and a riot of dark curls. When she saw Carlington she let fall a very pretty muff of taffeta, and clasped her hands to her bosom. ‘You!’ she gasped, with a strong suggestion of loathing in her voice. ‘Carlington!’

The Marquis grasped her wrist in a somewhat cavalier fashion, and said angrily: ‘Let me have no vapours, if you please! Come into the parlour!’

Miss Wyse uttered a throbbing moan. ‘How could you, Granville? Oh, I wish I were dead!’

The Marquis fairly dragged her into the parlour, and shut the door upon the landlord’s scarcely-veiled curiosity. ‘You do not waste much time, Fanny,’ he said. ‘Is this a sample of what I am to expect in the future? The very day our engagement is announced!’

‘Do not speak to me!’ shuddered Miss Wyse, who seemed to have a leaning towards the dramatic. ‘I am so mortified, so—’

‘I know, I know!’ he interrupted. ‘But you would have done better to have stayed at home.’

Miss Wyse, who had tottered to the nearest chair, sprang up again at this, and said: ‘No! Never! Do you hear me, Carlington? Never!’

‘I hear you,’ he replied. ‘So, I imagine, can everyone else in the place. There is a great deal I must say to you, but this is not the moment. My whole object now is to avert a scandal. Explanations—oh yes, they will be hard enough to make!—can come later.’

‘I don’t care a fig for scandal!’ declared Miss Wyse stormily. ‘People may say what they please: it is nothing to me! But that I should find you here—that you should have—Oh, it is cruel of you, Carlington!’

‘I’m sorry, Fanny,’ he said. ‘You’ll find the truth hard to believe, but I promise you you shall hear the truth from me. I beg of you, be calm! I will myself escort you back to town—’

‘Do not touch me!’ said Miss Wyse, retreating. ‘You shan’t take me back! I won’t go with you!’

‘Don’t be such a little fool!’ said the Marquis, exasperated. ‘I warn you, this is no moment to play-act to me! I shall take you home, and there shall be no scandal, but help you to create a scene, I will not!’

Miss Wyse burst into tears. ‘I dare say you’re very angry with me,’ she sobbed, ‘and I know I have behaved badly, but indeed, indeed I couldn’t help it! I meant to be sensible—really, I did Carlington!—but I couldn’t bear it! Oh, you don’t understand! You’ve no s-sensibility at all!’

Rather pale, he answered: ‘Don’t distress yourself, Fanny. Upon my soul, there is no need! This escapade means nothing: I will engage to give you no cause for complaint when we are married.’

‘I can’t!’ said Miss Wyse desperately. ‘You shan’t escort me home!’

He regarded her with a kind of weary patience. ‘Then perhaps you will tell me what you do mean to do?’ he said.

Miss Wyse lowered her handkerchief and looked boldly across at him. ‘I’m going to Gretna Green!’ she announced. ‘And nothing you can say will stop me!’

‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’ he demanded. ‘There’s no question of going to Gretna! And if there were what in the name of heaven could possess you to go there?’

‘I’m going to be married there!’ said Miss Wyse in a rapt voice.

‘Oh no, you are not!’ replied the Marquis forcibly. ‘Though it is just like you to do your best to turn everything to dramatic account! If you go to Gretna, you’ll go alone!’

Miss Wyse gave a shriek at this. ‘Good God, what do you mean to do?’ she cried, running forward, and clasping her hands about his arm. ‘Granville, I implore you, have mercy!’

The Marquis disengaged himself, looking down at her in the liveliest astonishment. Even supposing her to be on the verge of a fit of strong hysterics her behaviour seemed to him inexplicable. He was just about to inquire the reason for her last outburst when the door into the coffee-room was thrust open, and a young man in a bottle-green coat strode into the parlour, and checked on the threshold, staring in a challenging way at Carlington.

His bearing, though not his dress, proclaimed the soldier. He was about five-and-twenty years old, with a fresh, pleasant countenance, and a curly crop of brown hair brushed into the Brutus style made fashionable by Mr Brummell.

Carlington, turning his head to observe the newcomer, said somewhat irascibly: ‘This, my good sir, is a private room!’

Miss Wyse released Carlington’s arm, and sped towards the intruder, upon whose manly bosom she seemed more than half inclined to swoon. ‘Henry!’ she cried. ‘This is Carlington himself!’

Henry said in a grave, rather conscious voice: ‘I apprehended that it could be none other. I beg of you, however, not to be alarmed. My lord, I must request the favour of a few words with you alone.’

‘Oh no, he will kill you!’ quavered Miss Wyse, grasping the lapels of his coat.

The Marquis put a hand to his brow. ‘Who the devil are you?’ he demanded.

‘I do not expect my name to be known to your lordship, but it is Dobell—Henry Dobell, Captain in the—the Foot, and at present on furlough from the Peninsula. I am aware that my action must appear to you desperate; of the impropriety of it I am, alas, miserably aware. Yet, my lord, I believe that when it is explained any man of sensibility must inevitably—’

The Marquis checked this flow of eloquence with an upflung hand. ‘Captain Dobell, have you ever been badly foxed?’ he said sternly.

‘Foxed, sir?’ repeated the Captain, quite taken aback.

‘Yes, foxed!’ snapped the Marquis.

The Captain gave a cough, and replied: ‘Well, sir, well—! I must suppose that every man at some time or another—’

‘Have you?’ interrupted the Marquis.

‘Yes, sir, I have!’

‘Then you must know what it is to have a head like mine this morning, and I beg you’ll spare me any more long-winded speeches, and tell me in plain words what you’re doing here!’ said Carlington.

Miss Wyse, finding herself out of the picture, thought it proper at this moment to interject: ‘I love him!’

‘You need not hang upon his neck if you do,’ replied the Marquis unsympathetically. ‘Is he a relative of yours whom you have dragged into this affair?’

‘Relative! No!’ said Miss Wyse, affronted. ‘He is the man I love!’

‘The man you—?’ The Marquis stopped short ‘Good God, is this an elopement?’ he demanded.

‘But—but you know it is!’ stammered Miss Wyse.

The Marquis, who had almost reeled under the shock, recovered himself, and came towards them. ‘No, no, I’d not the least idea of it!’ he said. ‘I thought—well, it’s no matter what I thought. You must allow me to offer you my most sincere felicitations! Are you on your way to Gretna Green? Let me advise you to lose no time! In fact, I think you should set forward again at once. You may be pursued, you know.’

‘But did you not come in pursuit of us, sir?’ asked the astonished Captain.

‘No, no, nothing of the sort!’ replied the Marquis, grasping his hand, and wringing it fervently. ‘You have nothing in the world to fear from me, my dear fellow. I wish you every imaginable happiness!’

‘Every imaginable happiness?’ cried Miss Wyse indignantly. ‘Have you forgot that I am engaged to you, Carlington?’

‘You will be much happier with Henry,’ the Marquis assured her.

‘The advertisement will be in today’s Gazette?

‘Don’t let that weigh with you! Is a mere advertisement to stand in the path of true love?’ said the Marquis. ‘I’ll repudiate it immediately. Leave everything to me!’

‘Don’t you want to marry me?’ gasped Miss Wyse.

‘Not in the—Not when your heart is given to another!’ said his lordship, with aplomb.

‘But Mama said—and your Mama too—and everybody—that I must accept you because you were desperately in love with me, and it had been understood for so many years! Only when I had done it I knew all at once I couldn’t bear it, and I sent for Henry, and—’

‘Very right and proper,’ approved his lordship. ‘I could wish, of course, that you had sent for Henry before I wrote the advertisement for the Gazette, but never mind that now. The thing is for you to waste no time upon this journey.’

The Captain, who had been gazing upon his lordship in a bemused way, said in a much-moved voice: ‘Sir, your generosity does you honour! An explanation of conduct which you must deem treacherous indeed is due to you.’

‘No, no, pray don’t explain anything to me!’ begged the Marquis. ‘My head is none too clear, you know. Let me take you out to your chaise!’

The Captain, finding himself propelled towards the door, hung back, and said: ‘We stopped here to partake of breakfast, sir!’

‘Not to be thought of!’ said Carlington firmly. ‘At any moment you may be overtaken, and Fanny wrested from your arms. You must make all possible speed to Gretna.’

The mere thought of being wrested from the Captain’s arms caused Miss Wyse to add her entreaties to his lordship’s. Captain Dobell, still faintly protesting, was swept out of the inn, informed that this was no time to be thinking of food and drink, and pushed up into his chaise. He made a second attempt to explain his elopement to Carlington, but at a sign from the Marquis the post-boys whipped up their horses, and the chaise bowled off down the street, with the Captain hanging out of the window and shouting a final message to the Marquis, the only words of which to reach him were ‘everlasting gratitude’ and ‘eternally obliged’.

The Marquis turned back into the inn, and strode across the coffee-room to the parlour. Miss Morland had emerged from the cupboard, and was standing by the table, trying hard not to laugh. The Marquis said: ‘Did you hear, Helen?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. I couldn’t help hearing,’ she answered, a slight quaver in her otherwise solemn voice.

‘We must go back to London at once,’ said the Marquis.

‘Yes,’ agreed Miss Morland.

‘For one thing,’ said the Marquis, ‘I want a change of clothes and for another this Gretna scheme was a piece of nonsense. I am not going to be married in company with that pair. We must have a special licence.’

‘But we are not going to be married,’ said Miss Morland. ‘It was all a jest. I was mad—I never meant to come with you!’

‘You had to come with me,’ retorted the Marquis. ‘I won you, and you’re mine.’

Miss Morland was trembling a little. ‘But—’

‘I have been in love with you for months, and you know it!’ said the Marquis.

‘Oh!’ said Miss Morland on the oddest little sob. ‘I did think sometimes that you were not—not indifferent to me, but indeed, indeed this is impossible!’

‘Is it?’ said the Marquis grimly. ‘We’ll see!’

It seemed to Miss Morland that he swooped on her. Certainly she had no time to escape. She was nipped into a crushing embrace, and kissed so hard and so often that she had no breath left to expostulate. The Marquis did at last stop kissing her, but he showed not the least inclination to let her go, but looked down into her eyes, and said in an awe-inspiring voice: ‘Well? Are you going to marry me?’

Miss Morland, quite cowed by such treatment, meekly nodded her head.