Bath Tangle (26 page)

‘Excellent! Then will you go now, and see what you can discover? Inform my groom, if you please, that my plans have been altered. I am going with Miss Laleham to join a picnic party, and since we do not set out immediately he must walk the mare a little, till I am ready for her.’

‘You will not take him with you?’ he suggested tentatively.

‘No, certainly not: he would be a confounded nuisance, for ever trying to persuade me to turn back! I had rather have your escort, Mr Goring!’ she replied, with the flash of a smile.

He stammered that he would be honoured to serve her, and went away to obey her various commands.

Mrs Floore, who had been sitting limply on the sofa, listening to this exchange, a gleam of hope in her eyes, but the lines on her face deeply carven all at once, said, with an effort: ‘I ought not to let you go, my lady. I know I ought not. Whatever will Lady Spenborough say to me?’

Serena laughed. ‘Why, nothing, ma’am! I am going to write to her, and Fobbing shall take the letter to her. I must tell her what has taken me away, I am afraid, but you may rest assured the story is safe with her. May I write at your desk?’

‘Oh, yes, my lady!’ Mrs Floore answered mechanically. She sat plucking restlessly at a fold of her dressing-gown, and suddenly demanded: ‘What did he do to her? Why did he scare her out of her senses? Why did he want to offer for her, if he didn’t love her?’

‘Exactly!’ said Serena dryly. ‘An unanswerable question, is it not? I believe the truth is, ma’am, that he is more in love with her than she can as yet understand. She is very young – quite childish, in fact! – and not, I think, of a passionate disposition. It is otherwise with him, and that, unless I much mistake the matter, is what alarmed her. What can she have known of love, after all? A few discreet flirtations, the homage of a boy like Gerard, protestations, compliments, respectful hand kissings! She would not get such tepid stuff from Rotherham! No doubt her shrinking provoked him! I can believe that he let her see that he is not a man to be trifled with, but as for giving her cause to fly from him, in this outrageous fashion, stuff and nonsense! Of course he should have guessed that it would be necessary to handle her at first with the greatest gentleness! It is unfortunate that he did not, but we may suppose that he has learnt his lesson. He has been careful to keep away from her: another mistake, but from what she has told me I collect he has allowed himself to be ruled in this by Lady Laleham. He would have done better to have visited Emily long since. She would not then have built up this ridiculous picture of him! However, if he is indeed coming here, he will very soon set matters to rights. He has only to show her tenderness, and she will wonder how she came to be such a goose.’

‘There’s a great deal in what you say, my dear,’ agreed Mrs Floore. ‘But it’s as plain as a pikestaff she don’t love him!’

‘She loves no one else,’ Serena replied. ‘It is not unusual, ma’am, for a bride to start with no more than liking.’

‘Well, it don’t appear she likes him either!’ said Mrs Floore, reviving a little. ‘What’s more, my dear, those ways may do very well for
tonnish
people, but they don’t do for me! If Emma don’t love him, she shan’t marry him!’

Serena looked up from the letter she was writing. ‘It would not be well for her to cry off, ma’am, believe me!’

‘
You
did so!’ Mrs Floore pointed out.

‘Yes, I did,’ agreed Serena, dipping the pen in the standish again.

Mrs Floore digested this. ‘Sukey and her dratted ambition!’ she said, suddenly and bitterly. ‘You needn’t tell me, my dear!
I
know the world!
You
could cry off, and no one to say more than that you were rid of a bad bargain; but if Emma did it, there’d be plenty to say that, if the truth was known, it was him, and not her, that really did the crying off!’

‘I did not say it was well for me either, ma’am,’ Serena replied quietly.

Mrs Floore heaved a large sigh. ‘I don’t know what to do for the best, and that’s a fact! If you’re right, my lady, and Emma finds she likes him after all, I wouldn’t want to spoil her chances, because there’s no doubt she has got a fancy to be a Marchioness. At the same time – Well, one thing is certain, and that’s that I’m not letting the Marquis into the house until I have Emma safe and sound here again! The servants shall tell him she’s gone off for a picnic, and very likely won’t be home till late – Oh, lor’, whatever’s to be done if you and Ned don’t find them today? If they go putting up at a posting-house for the night, it’ll be no use finding them at all!’

‘If I know Gerard,’ retorted Serena, ‘he will insist on driving through the night, ma’am! He will wish to put as much ground as possible between himself and Rotherham – and with good reason! But if Mr Goring can discover the road they took, I have no doubt we shall catch them long before nightfall.’

Mr Goring returned to Beaufort Square just before twelve o’clock, and came running up the stairs, with a look of triumph on his face. Serena said, as soon as he entered the drawing-room: ‘You have found out where they went! My compliments, Mr Goring! You have been very much quicker than I had dared to hope.’

‘It was just a piece of good luck,’ he said, colouring. ‘I might as well have gone to half a dozen houses before hitting upon the right one. As it chanced, I got certain news at the second one I visited. There seems to be no doubt that it was Monksleigh who hired a post-chaise early this morning, and ordered it to be in Queen’s Square at ten o’clock. A yellow-bodied chaise, drawn by a single pair of horses.’

‘Well, I must say!’ exclaimed Mrs Floore indignantly. ‘If he had to make off with poor little Emma, he might have done it stylishly! One pair of horses only! I call it downright shabby!’

‘I fancy Master Gerard is none too plump in the pocket, ma’am,’ said Serena, amused.

‘Then he’s got no business to elope with my granddaughter!’ said Mrs Floore.

‘Very true! Where are they off to, Mr Goring?’

‘The chaise was booked to Wolverhampton, ma’am, which makes it seem as though your guess was correct.’

‘
Wolverhampton?
’ demanded Mrs Floore. ‘Why, that’s where all the locks and keys come from! Very good they are, too, but what maggot’s got into the boy’s head to take Emma there? It’s all of a piece! Whoever heard of going to a manufacturing town for a wedding trip?’

‘No, no, ma’am, I don’t think you need fear that!’ Serena said, laughing. ‘It’s as I told you: Gerard is husbanding his resources! Depend upon it, they mean to go on by stagecoach, or perhaps mail, to the Border. Never mind!’ she added soothingly, seeing signs of gathering wrath in Mrs Floore’s countenance. ‘They are not going to reach Wolverhampton, or any place near it, ma’am.’

Mr Goring, who had spread open a map upon the table, said: ‘I bought this, for although I know the country here-abouts pretty well, if we are obliged to ride much beyond Gloucester I might find myself at a loss.’

‘Very well done of you!’ Serena approved, going to his side, and leaning one hand on the table, while she studied the map. ‘They will have taken the Bristol pike road, though it’s longer. We came into Bath from Milverley by way of Nailsworth, but the road is very bad: brings the horses down to a walk in places. How far is it to Bristol?’

‘Twelve and a half miles. They should have reached it in an hour. Bristol to Gloucester is about thirty-four miles: a good pike-road. They must change horses ten miles out of Bristol, at the Ship Inn, or go on to Falfield, fifteen miles out.’

‘They won’t do that, travelling with one pair.’

‘No. The next change, then, will be at the Cambridge Inn, here, about a mile short of the Church End turnpike, and ten miles from Gloucester. If we knew when they set out from Bath – !’

‘We have a fair notion. Gerard ordered the chaise to be in Queen’s Square at ten, and at ten Emily was still in her bedroom which one can’t but feel is precisely what would happen in such an absurd adventure as this. When did you know that she was missing, ma’am?’

Mrs Floore shook her head helplessly, but Mr Goring, thinking the matter over, said: ‘I arrived here about a quarter of an hour before you rode up, Lady Serena, and it had been known then for several minutes, I think.’

‘Then we may take it that they started between – ten or fifteen minutes after ten, and half past ten. My dear sir, we are only an hour and a half behind them! What I wish to do is to overtake them before they reach Gloucester. We can’t but run true on the line up to that point, but once in Gloucester we might be obliged to make several casts. We will take the Nailsworth road as far as Badminton, and the ride cross-country to Dursley – a nice point, that! – and join the Bristol–Gloucester Road
here
!’

He nodded. ‘Ay, the road comes out at the Cambridge Inn.’

‘Where the scent should be hot!’ she said, her eyes dancing. ‘Come, let’s be off!’

‘I am ready, but – it will be a twenty-five mile ride, Lady Serena! Do you think –’

‘Oh, the mare will do it!’ she said cheerfully, pulling on her gauntlets. ‘All we have to do now is to get rid of Fobbing! The worst of a groom who ran beside one on one’s first pony is that he can’t be ordered off without explanation. I’ll tell him our picnic party doesn’t assemble until half past twelve, but that I want my letter carried to Lady Spenborough at once, in case she should be uneasy. Mrs Floore, you will have Emma under your wing again before nightfall, I promise you! Pray don’t tease yourself any more!’

Mr Goring opened the door, and held it for her, but before he followed her out of the room, he looked at Mrs Floore and said: ‘I’ll do my best to bring her back, ma’am, but – don’t let them push her into marriage with Lord Rotherham!’

‘You may depend upon it I won’t!’ said Mrs Floore grimly.

‘She isn’t old enough to marry anyone yet!’ he said, and hesitated, as though he would have said more. Then he seemed to think better of it, bade Mrs Floore a curt goodbye, and departed in Serena’s wake.

The start to the elopement was not altogether auspicious, for the bride was tardy, and the groom harassed. What had seemed to Gerard, after watching the first act of a romantic drama, a splendid scheme, he found, upon more sober reflection, to present several disagreeable aspects to his view. For one thing, he had no idea whether the marriage of two minors was any more legal in Scotland than in England, or whether it would be possible for it to be set aside. He told himself that once the knot was tied neither Rotherham nor his mother would choose to cause a scandal by intervening; and tried to think no more of the possibility. Instead, he reckoned up his resources, made a vague guess at the distance to be travelled, totted up post-charges, and, at the end of all these calculations, decided to sell his watch. Elopements to Gretna Green, he realized bitterly, were luxuries to be afforded only by men of substance, for not merely was one obliged to journey over three hundred miles to reach the Border: one was obliged to come all the way back again. This reflection brought another difficulty before him: how, if his pockets were to let, was he to support a wife during the month that must elapse before he received the following quarter’s allowance? The only solution that presented itself to him was that he should convey Emily to his mother’s house, and he could not but see that, fond parent though she was, his mother might not accord his clandestine bride a very warm welcome. And if Rotherham (out of revenge) insisted on his spending another year at Cambridge, Emily would have to remain under his mother’s roof until he came down for good, and it was just possible that she might not like such an arrangement. He wondered if he could install her in rooms in Cambridge, and decided that if he exercised the most stringent economy it could be managed.

These problems nagged at him, but they were for the future, which he was much in the habit of leaving to take care of itself. A far more pressing anxiety was the fear that Rotherham, arriving in Bath to find Emily gone, might guess her destination, and follow her. He had warned her not to tell anyone of her flight, and he could not think that he had given Mrs Floore the least cause to suspect him of being implicated in it; but if she mentioned his name Rotherham would know at once that the flight was an elopement. And then what would he do? Perhaps he would be too proud to chase after an unwilling bride. Gerard could picture his look of contempt, the curl of his lip, the shrug of his powerful shoulders. Unfortunately he could even more clearly picture his look of blazing anger; and when he at last fell asleep his dreams were haunted by the sound of hooves, relentlessly drawing nearer and ever nearer, and by lurid, muddled scenes, in which he was always looking down the barrel of a duelling-pistol. Waking in a sweat, it was a little time before he could throw off the impression of the dream, and realize that whatever else Rotherham might do, he would not challenge his ward to a duel. But Rotherham was a boxer, and whether he would consider himself debarred by his guardianship from wreaking a pugilistic vengeance on his ward was a question to which Gerard could find no answer. Of the two fates he thought he would prefer to be shot.

That Rotherham would be very angry with him, he had no doubt; that Rotherham (and, indeed, several other interested persons) would have every right to be angry, scarcely occurred to him. In general, of course, elopements were condemned; in his case, only an insensate person could fail to perceive the purity of his motive. The thing was not so much an elopement as a rescue. Indeed, only as a last resort had he planned it, when he had failed to induce Emily to be resolute.

He was up betimes in the morning, for he had much to do. The sale of his watch was disappointing; he was obliged, regretfully, to part with his second-best fob, and a very pretty tie-pin as well; and even when these sacrifices had been made the hire of a chaise-and-four to the Border was quite out of the reach of his purse. With post-charges as high as one shilling and twopence per mile for each horse, the hire of a chaise-and-pair only for a journey of over three hundred miles would, he realized, leave him in extremely straitened circumstances. Like Mrs Floore, he felt that to elope in anything less than a chaise and four was odiously shabby, but there was no help for it. Then it occurred to him that to pay off the chaise at some point along the road, and to continue by stage, or mail, would not only be a vast saving, but would throw Rotherham (if he pursued them) off the scent. So he booked a chaise to Wolverhampton, and began to think that in so doing he had performed a masterly stroke.

This mood of elation was of brief duration. He and the yellow-bodied chaise arrived in Queen’s Square precisely at five minutes to ten, in case Emily should be early, which meant that for twenty-five tense minutes he had nothing to do but walk up and down one side of the square, in fretting impatience, a prey to every gloomy foreboding. And when Emily did appear, carrying two bandboxes, and looking perfectly distracted, she exclaimed breathlessly, and in total disregard of the post-boy: ‘Oh, I am so sorry! I could not escape before, because Betsey was for ever in and out of Grandmama’s room, and she must have seen me! Pray don’t be vexed! Indeed, it was not my fault!’

Nothing could have been more unfortunate, as Gerard was immediately to discover. The postilion, ejecting the straw from his mouth, indicated in unmistakable terms that, being possessed of strong scruples, he could not bring himself, unless greased in the fist, to assist in a runaway marriage. His manner was amiability itself, and a broad grin adorned his homely countenance, but Gerard, grinding his teeth, thought it well to comply with his suggestion, and to untie the strings of his purse. Amongst the incidental expenses of the journey he had not foreseen the need to bribe the post-boys, so it was not surprising that his first words to Emily, when he climbed up into the chaise, and sat down beside her, were more aggrieved than lover-like. ‘What in thunder made you say all that in that fellow’s hearing?’ he demanded. ‘When I had taken care to tell them at the stables that you were my sister! Of course, if you mean to blurt out the truth in that fashion, I shall have no money left to pay the post-boys, or the tolls, or anything!’

‘Oh, I am sorry! Oh, don’t be vexed!’ she replied imploringly.

‘No, no!’ he assured her. ‘Good God, how could I be vexed with you, dearest, sweetest Emily? I only said – well, you must own it was the most totty-headed thing to do!’

Her lip trembled. ‘
Oh
– !’

‘No, not that!’ Gerard said hastily, slipping his arm round her waist. ‘Just a dear little goose! But do take care, my darling! Setting aside all else, if it were known along the road that we were eloping, we should be easily traced, and we don’t want that, do we?’

No, decidedly Emily did not want that. The mere thought of being pursued made her shiver, and turn saucer-like eyes towards him. ‘D-do you suppose M-mama will come after me?’ she faltered.

‘Good God!’ he ejaculated. ‘I had not thought of that! Yes, very likely she might, only I daresay she will not find it convenient to drop as much blunt as a chaise-and-four would need, because you told me yourself your papa don’t often find himself with the dibs in tune, and you’ve no notion what it costs to hire four horses, Emily! You may depend upon it she’d hire a pair only!’

‘Yes, but Grandmama has a great deal of money!’

‘Well, it doesn’t signify. If she isn’t expected to arrive in Bath until the afternoon, we shall have several hours’ start of her. She’d never catch us – even if she knew the way we had gone, which she won’t. The person I was thinking of is Rotherham.’

‘Oh, no! Oh, Gerard, no!’

He patted her shoulder soothingly. ‘Don’t be afraid! Even if he did catch us, I shall not permit him to alarm you,’ he said stoutly. ‘The only thing is that I’d as lief he didn’t come up with us, because of this dashed business of my being his ward. It’s bound to make things awkward. However, there’s no reason to suppose he means to come to Bath today, and in any event I’ve got a precious good scheme for throwing him off the scent! If he’s devilish clever, he might be able to follow us as far as to Wolverhampton, but I flatter myself he’ll throw-up there, because I’ve provided him with a regular stopper! We shall pay off the chaise, Emily, and go on by stage-coach! Depend upon it, he will never think of
that
, particularly as we shall have to change stages at one or two places. I think there are no stages running direct from there to Carlisle, which is where I thought we should change into a chaise again.’

‘But it is horridly uncomfortable on the stage!’ objected Emily.

She was still unconvinced that she would find a complicated journey by stage-coach entertaining when they reached Bristol, and changed horses for the first time. Gerard kept a sharp eye on the extortionate post-boy, alighting from the chaise, and engaging him in talk to prevent his passing the word to the new postilion that he was helping an eloping couple to reach the Border. Meanwhile, the ostlers, adjured to fig out two lively ones, poled up the two most lethargic animals in the stables, and assured Gerard (with a wink at the post-boy) that they would be found to be prime steppers. After a very short distance, it became obvious that they were prime stumblers, and Gerard, letting down the window in the front of the chaise, angrily scolded the postilion, who at once pulled up, and, slewing himself round in the saddle, hotly defended himself. Emily tugged at Gerard’s sleeve, begging him not to argue with the man, and pointing out, very sensibly, that since there was no possibility of changing the undesirable steeds until the next posting-house was reached, it was wasting precious time to quarrel with the postilion. Gerard sat back again, fuming with wrath, and the chaise was set in motion with a sudden jerk that almost flung the passengers on to its floor.

To persons anxious to put as much space between themselves and Bath as possible, and in the shortest time, the slow progress over the next nine miles was agonizing. Emily soon became a prey to agitating reflections. Against all reason, she fancied that they were already being pursued, and every time an imperative blast on a horn gave notice that some faster vehicle was about to pass the chaise, she clutched Gerard’s arm, and uttered a shriek. However, at the Ship Inn they fared better, being supplied with two strengthy beasts, and a youthful post-boy, who, on being urged to spring ’em a bit, obeyed with such enthusiasm that the body of the chaise rocked and lurched so violently that Emily began to feel sick. Gerard had to request the post-boy to abate the pace, but he felt that a good deal of lost time had been made up, and applied himself to the task of assuaging Emily’s fears, and directing her thoughts towards a halcyon future. By dint of skimming lightly over the next year or two, and dwelling on the time when he should have become an important member of Lord Liverpool’s administration, he succeeded pretty well. By the time the Cambridge Inn was reached, twenty-three miles out of Bristol, Emily had temporarily forgotten her fears in discussing the rival merits of Green Street and Grosvenor Square as possible localities for the house of a rising politician.

A couple of miles farther on, a slight contretemps occurred, at the Church End turnpike, where the pike-keeper made a spirited attempt to overcharge one whom he took to be a greenhorn. But from this encounter Gerard came off triumphant, which pleased him so much that he began to feel more confident; and for the next four miles boasted to Emily of all the occasions when ugly customers, trying to cheat him, had found themselves powerfully set down.

It was at about this time that Serena and Mr Goring, after a splendid cross-country gallop, dropped into a narrow lane, leading to the village of Dursley from the Bristol to Gloucester pike-road.

‘By Jove, Lady Serena, you’re a devil to go!’ Mr Goring exclaimed, in involuntary admiration.

She laughed, leaning forward to pat the mare’s steaming neck. ‘I like a slapping pace, don’t you?’

‘I should have called it a
splitting
pace!’ he retorted. ‘Neck or nothing! My heart was in my mouth when you rode straight for that drop fence!’

‘Was it indeed? It didn’t seem to me that you were precisely hanging back, Mr Goring!’

He smiled. ‘Why, if
you
chose to take the fence, what could I do but follow?’

‘Very true! Pitting that peacocky bay of yours against my mare, you could do nothing else – but you did your best to get ahead of me, I thought!’ she said, throwing him a quizzical look. ‘Confess that you enjoyed that last point as much as I did! For myself, I could almost forgive Gerard and Emily their iniquities: I haven’t liked anything so well since I came to Bath. What is the time?’

He pulled out his watch. ‘Twenty minutes to two. We should come up with them before they reach Gloucester, I think.’

In another few minutes they were on the pike-road, and with the Cambridge Inn in sight. Here, Serena permitted Mr Goring, who knew the house well, to make the necessary enquiries. He returned to her presently with the intelligence that the yellow chaise had changed horses there about twenty minutes previously. ‘They were sweating badly,’ he added, as he hoisted himself into the saddle again, ‘so no doubt young Monksleigh is making the best speed he can.’

‘In that case, we won’t jaunter along either,’ said Serena.

‘What do you mean to do when we sight the chaise?’ asked Mr Goring. ‘Am I to hold it up?’

‘Good God, no! We want no dramatic scenes upon the high-road! We shall follow discreetly behind, to see which inn they mean to patronize. Leave it to me, then! I know Gloucester as you know Bristol. I shall be better able to carry it off smoothly than you. Yes, I know you would like to have a turn-up with Gerard, but it’s my ambition to emerge from this imbroglio without kicking up any dust!’

Thus it was that Gerard, jumping down from the chaise at the Bell Inn, Gloucester, to inspect the horses that were being led out, received an extremely unpleasant shock. ‘How glad I am to have caught you!’ said an affable voice. ‘You need not have the horses put to!’

Gerard spun round, hardly believing his ears. But they had not deceived him: it was the Lady Serena who had spoken. She was standing just behind him, a pleasant smile on her lips, but her eyes glinting. His own eyes starting at her, he stood transfixed, and could only stammer: ‘L-Lady Serena!’