The Toll-Gate

by Georgette Heyer

  ‘You come and see my horse, old fellow!’ said John soothingly. ‘Cut some ham, Ben, and put the sausages in the pan! I’m only going as far as the barn.’

  Half an hour later, when they re-entered the kitchen, Mr Babbacombe wore the look of one resigned to his fate, and there was a decided twinkle in the Captain’s eye. They were greeted by the pleasant aroma of sausages sizzling over the fire, and the intelligence that Joseph Lydd had passed through the gate not five minutes earlier, driving the gig.

  ‘Driving the gig?’ John said. ‘Where was he bound for? Did he tell you?’

  ‘No. He asked me where you was, and I told him you was up at the barn, and he said as he’d be back presently. And I didn’t say nothing to him about the swell cove,’ added Ben, with conscious rectitude.

  ‘That’s the dandy! Don’t you say anything to anybody about the swell cove! Did Lydd leave any message for me?’

  But Joseph had apparently not seen fit to entrust a message to Ben. With his assurance that he would be back presently, John had to be satisfied. Leaving Mr Babbacombe to superintend the cooking of supper, he went off to make himself presentable, and to speculate upon the nature of the errand that could have taken Lydd, driving the gig, towards Crowford at such an hour. The doctor, as John knew, lived five miles to the east of the gate; he could think of no other person who might be wanted at the Manor.

  He had just arranged his cravat to his satisfaction when the gig returned. He heard Ben go out, and followed him, trying to perceive, in the darkness, who was the man seated beside Lydd. A low-brimmed hat, and a dark cloak, were the only things he could distinguish, until the man turned a little, to look at him, and he saw the gleam of white bands. At the same moment, Joseph spoke.

  ‘You’re wanted up at the Manor, Mr Staple. But I got to drive the Reverend back to Crowford presently.’

  ‘I’ll come,’ John replied curtly. ‘Open the gate, Ben!’

  He did not wait to see this order obeyed, but strode back into the toll-house, where he found Mr Babbacombe, in his shirtsleeves, wincing from the savagery of eggs, spitting furiously in boiling fat.

  ‘Bab – I’m sorry, indeed I am! – but I must leave you in charge here!’ he said. ‘The Squire’s groom has just gone past the pike, with the Vicar, driving him to Kellands. I’m needed there – and even if Joseph had not told me so I must have gone! I fear it can only mean that the Squire is dying.’

  Mr Babbacombe removed the eggs from the fire, and tenderly licked the back of one scalded hand. ‘If that’s so, dear boy,’ he remarked mildly, ‘it don’t seem to be quite the moment for you to be paying him a visit. No doubt you know best, but I shouldn’t do it myself.’

  ‘I think you would. Joseph will come to relieve you if he can, but he will be obliged to remain at the Manor until the Vicar leaves. Ben will attend to the gate, but you’ll get very few calls. I’ll return as soon as I may – but I might be some time.’

  ‘Very well,’ said his long-suffering friend, returning the pan to the fire. ‘It’s to be hoped Ben likes eggs: there are six here, and I never want to see one again!’

  ‘Poor Bab! What a way to treat you! But you will shake the dust of this place from your feet tomorrow, so take heart!’ John said, sitting down to pull on his boots.

  ‘Ah!’ said Mr Babbacombe. He saw that Ben had come back into the kitchen, and said imperatively: ‘Here, boy, come and finish cooking these eggs!’

  Ben took the pan, but gave it as his opinion that the eggs were fried hard.

  ‘Then turn ’em out, or fry some more!’ recommended Mr Babbacombe.

  John lifted his saddle from the top of the beer barrel, where he had laid it when he brought it down from the barn, and went out into the garden, accompanied by his friend. Mr Babbacombe stripped off the rug from Beau’s back, but no sooner had John set the saddle in place than he ejaculated: ‘Chirk! I must warn Ben,’ and went back into the kitchen.

  ‘If,’ said Mr Babbacombe, when he presently reappeared, ‘you’re expecting a visit from your High Toby friend, how should I receive him? I don’t wish to be backward in any attention, but the truth is, Jack, I never entertained a highwayman before, and I can’t but feel that if he did not find me acceptable he might prefer my watch and my money to my company.’

  ‘No such thing! He’s an excellent fellow! But I’ve told Ben to go quietly out to him, when he hears his signal, and to tell him how it is. It won’t do to let him in while you’re here: he would dislike it – and me too, for having told you about him.’

  Mr Babbacombe paused in the act of tightening a girth. ‘Do you mean to say I’m not to meet the fellow? No, that’s too shabby!’ he said indignantly. ‘What the devil am I going to do with myself while you’re away?’

  ‘Play cassino with Ben!’ said the Captain, unhitching his bridle from the fence.

  Ten minutes later, he was dismounting in the stable yard at the Manor, and handing Beau over to Joseph, who said apologetically: ‘I’d have come back if I could, sir, but the master don’t understand as how you can’t leave Ben, and he would have me fetch Parson.’

  ‘It doesn’t signify: I’ve left a friend of mine at the toll-house. Was it your master who sent for me?’

  ‘Ay, and mighty anxious he is you should come, guv’nor. Mr Winkfield says as he’s been fretting outrageous, all on account of this letter I had to fetch in Sheffield. But it come by today’s mail, and it seems like he’s ready to slip his wind now he’s got it, for nothing would do but he must have Parson sent for, and you too.’ He peered up at John’s face in the faint moonlight, and added pleadingly: ‘If you could set his mind at rest, sir, so as he’ll go easy –’

  ‘You may be sure I will. I’ll go up to the house immediately. Where are Coate and young Stornaway?’

  ‘Mr Henry’s still abed, and Coate’s eating his dinner. There’s no fear you’ll see either of ’em.’

  The Captain strode up the path to the side of the house. The door into the flagged passage was not locked, and a lamp was burning on the chest against the wall. John laid his hat and whip down beside it, and went along the passage to the narrow stairs. At the top, he met Winkfield. The valet greeted him with relief, and with less than his usual impassivity. It seemed for a moment as though he wished to make some kind of a communication. He started to speak, but faltered, and broke off, saying, after a pause: ‘I think, sir – I think I had best take you to my master directly!’

  ‘Please do so! Joseph tells me he has been fretting, and you may be sure I’ll use my best endeavours to soothe him.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I’m sure – Only it seems as if he’s almost taken leave of his senses! If I’d guessed – but he never told one of us! If you should not like it, I hope you’ll pardon me! Indeed, I’d no notion what was in his head!’ Winkfield said, opening the dressing-room door, and ushering John into the room.

  ‘Why should I dislike it?’ John asked, a puzzled frown in his eyes. ‘I collect that he is dying – is he not?’

  ‘I don’t know that, sir. I didn’t think to see him live the day out, but – but he’s in wonderful spirits now! As you’ll see for yourself, sir!’

  He opened the door into the bedchamber, and announced formally: ‘Captain Staple!’

  The Captain stepped into the room, and paused, blinking in the unexpected light of many candles. Two great chandeliers stood on the mantelpiece; two more flanked the bed; and two had been set on a side table, drawn into the middle of the room, and draped with a cloth. Beside this improvised altar was standing an elderly clergyman, whose mild countenance showed bewilderment, disapproval, and uncertainty. The Squire was lying in bed, banked up by many pillows, his eyes glittering, and a smile twisting one side of his mouth. Rose was standing by the window, and Nell at the head of the bed, in her old green velvet gown. Across the room she stared at John, and he saw that her eyes were stormy in her very white face, and her ha
nds tightly gripped together. She said, in a shaking voice: ‘No, no! I won’t! Grandpapa, I beg of you don’t ask it of him!’

  ‘Don’t be missish, girl!’ Sir Peter said, his utterance slow, and very much more slurred than when John had previously visited him.

  ‘Sir Peter!’ said the Vicar nervously. ‘If Miss Stornaway is reluctant, I must and I will be resolute in declining to perform –’

  ‘You hold your tongue, Thorne!’ said Sir Peter. ‘She ain’t reluctant. Nothing but a stupid crotchet! Staple!’

  ‘Sir?’ John responded, going to the bedside.

  ‘Told me you’d marry Nell with or without my consent, didn’t you?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Mean it?’

  John looked steadily down into those overbright eyes. ‘Most certainly!’

  Sir Peter gave a little cackle of laughter. ‘Very well! You shall marry her – now!’

  There was a moment’s astonished silence. ‘Tell him it is impossible!’ Nell said, in a panting undervoice.

  ‘It ain’t impossible,’ said Sir Peter. ‘I’ve seen to that! Special license,’ he told John, with impish triumph. ‘Thorne’s got it, but I sent for it! Told you I could still keep my horses together!’

  ‘You’re at home to a peg, sir!’ John assured him, amusement quivering in his voice. He looked up, and stretched out his hand across the bed to Nell. ‘But how is this? Won’t you marry me after all, my love?’

  ‘No, no, unthinkable!’ she said, wringing her hands. ‘You are being forced – forced – into marrying me – in such a way!’

  ‘Am I? But how unnecessary! I don’t even need persuading!’

  ‘Told you so!’ said Sir Peter. ‘He don’t suffer from distempered freaks!’

  ‘If we are to talk of distempered freaks – !’ she exclaimed hotly.

  ‘Yes, but we are not going to talk of any such thing,’ John interposed.

  ‘That’s the way!’ approved Sir Peter. ‘Stand no nonsense! You’ll do as you’re bid, miss!’

  ‘No, certainly not!’ said John. ‘She will do as she wishes, now and always!’ He walked round the end of the bed, and took Nell’s tense hand, smiling very kindly at her. ‘You shall tell me just what you wish, dearest. I ask nothing better than to be allowed to marry you here and now. Indeed, it seems to me an admirable scheme! To receive you from the hands of your grandfather is just what I would myself have chosen. But I’ll drag no unwilling bride to the altar, so if your heart misgives you, my love, tell me so!’

  ‘John, John, not my heart!’ she whispered chokingly, her fingers clutching his hand.

  ‘No? Some other consideration, then, which naturally you must explain to me. But we really cannot discuss the matter in public! Let us go into the dressing-room, shall we? We must beg you, Sir Peter, to hold us excused for a short space.’

  He drew Nell’s hand through his arm, as he spoke, and led her to the door, which Winkfield opened, and held. As he shut it again behind them, the Squire said, on a note of satisfaction: ‘Clever in the saddle: he’ll handle her!’

  ‘Sir Peter, loth though I must be to disoblige you, I cannot perform this ceremony unless I am fully persuaded that both parties to it are willing!’ declared the Vicar, looking more harassed than ever.

  ‘Oh, sir, never say so!’ Rose begged involuntarily. She whisked out her handkerchief, and rather defiantly blew her nose. ‘He is so truly the gentleman, and so kind!’ she sobbed.

  ‘Indeed, I must own myself agreeably surprised in him,’ acknowledged Mr Thorne. ‘I do not perfectly understand why he should be taking Brean’s place – in fact, I do not understand it at all! There is something in such eccentric behaviour which one cannot quite like, but I must suppose him to have good and sufficient reason for indulging in what bears the appearance of a mere prank, for there is nothing wild or unstable in his face or in his bearing. But if Miss Stornaway is, I repeat, reluctant, I must decline to perform my office!’

  ‘She ain’t,’ said the Squire. ‘Mere female scruples! She’s head over ears in love with the fellow! Winkfield, my cordial!’

  In the dressing-room, Nell was folded in the fellow’s arms, saying agitatedly: ‘John, I cannot, I cannot!’

  ‘Then you shall not,’ he replied comfortingly. ‘But tell me why you cannot!’

  ‘There are so many reasons – you must perceive! Oh, I couldn’t do it!’

  ‘It’s too sudden? Of course, you have had no time to prepare for it! What a selfish fellow I am! The thing is that I should like a private wedding so much myself that I forgot that you would wish for something in quite a different style. All girls do, I collect, and God forbid I should deny you anything you want, my treasure!’

  This had the effect of making her lift her head from his shoulder. ‘No, no! Oh, how can you think me so stupid?’ she demanded indignantly. ‘As though I care for bride-clothes, or any flummery! Oh, John, how infamous you are!’

  He laughed. ‘But what else am I to think, unless that you mean to cry off?’

  She tried to shake him, gripping the lapels of his coat.

  ‘You know I don’t! Cannot you perceive how wrong it would be in me to marry you like this?’

  ‘No,’ he replied simply.

  ‘How can I be sure that you did not say you were willing only to oblige a dying man?’

  His answer to this left her too breathless to speak, and with a strong suspicion that at least three of her ribs had been broken.

  ‘Have you any more nonsensical questions you would like to ask me, my love?’ asked John, a little unsteadily.

  ‘I d-dare not!’ she said, between tears and laughter.

  ‘Good! Because I think we should not keep the Vicar waiting, or your grandfather either. And if the only qualms you have are on my behalf there is no reason why we should. Can you wear this signet ring of mine?’

  ‘John, I am persuaded I ought not to do this!’

  ‘If you feel that I shall turn out to be the devil of a husband, undoubtedly you ought not,’ cordially agreed John, sliding his ring on to her finger, and off again. ‘This is too loose, but it will have to serve until I can buy a wedding ring. If, on the other hand, you mean to abide by our engagement, I shall think you have less than commonsense if you cannot recognize the advantages attaching to this charmingly unusual wedding.’

  ‘And if I have less than commonsense I daresay you will cry off?’ she murmured, snuggling her cheek into the hollow of his shoulder.

  ‘Very likely. Now, consider, my love! If we are to wait until your grandfather is dead, how awkward in every respect must be our situation! You will then scruple to marry me until you are out of your blacks, and what the deuce are we to do for a whole year? Where will you go? How will you support yourself? With so many scruples you would never permit me to do that!’

  ‘No, indeed! I hope I have a little more propriety than that! Perhaps I could take a situation as a governess, or some such thing,’ she said doubtfully.

  ‘No one in possession of her senses would engage you,’ he assured her. ‘Besides, I have a great deal of pride, and it would not suit me to marry a governess!’ A stifled gurgle sounded. ‘You may laugh!’ he said severely. ‘But I have some pretty stiff notions of what is due to my consequence, let me tell you!’

  ‘I wonder what can have put it into my head that you had none?’

  ‘There is no telling that. Well, my darling? Shall we go?’

  She lifted her head, and looked up at him. ‘Yes, John. But afterwards?’

  ‘Are you afraid I mean to carry you off to the toll-house? You will remain here, of course, while you are needed.’

  ‘I must, you know,’ she said, a little wistfully.

  ‘Yes, I know. If I were living in a palace, I would not ask you to leave your grandfather now. But henceforth I shall have the right to protect you. Come, l
et us go and tell Sir Peter that we are very willing to oblige him!’

  The Squire was lying with closed eyes, watched intently by Winkfield, and in pity and doubt by the Vicar; but he roused at the sound of the opening door, and turned his head slightly on the pillow. The Vicar, rising to his feet, and looking anxiously at Nell, was astonished to see that the rigid and decidedly wrathful young Amazon had vanished. She was leaning on the Captain’s arm, one hand lost in his larger one, her face softly glowing, and the tenderest of smiles hovering round her mouth as she glanced up at him.

  ‘Well?’ said Sir Peter.

  ‘We are very happy to obey you, sir,’ John replied.

  ‘Is this indeed so, Miss Stornaway?’ the Vicar asked.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ she sighed. ‘If you don’t think it wrong of me!’

  ‘Wrong? Why should he?’ said the Squire snappishly. ‘Let’s have no more time wasted! I’m tired!’

  So Miss Helen Stornaway and Captain John Staple were made man and wife in that candlelit bedroom, watched by a dying man, and attended by a nurse and a valet. The Vicar had to look up to their faces, and thought he had never married a more splendid couple, though the lady’s dress was shabby, and the gentleman’s leathers were stained. They made their responses firmly; and they looked so happy that Rose (as she afterwards explained) could not help crying a little, and even Winkfield admitted that it was a very touching ceremony.

  When it was over, they kissed, and John led Nell back to the bed. Everyone could see that already the Squire’s face had altered subtly. The sharpened look had been smoothed, and the eyes had lost some of their unnatural glitter; he looked more peaceful, but when he lifted his right hand, it was with an effort, and it shook perceptibly. Nell hung over him for a minute; he smiled at her; and said indistinctly: ‘You’ll do now!’

  Then he ordered Winkfield to bring wine and glasses, so that the bride’s and groom’s healths could be duly pledged. ‘I feel as though I shall sleep sound tonight,’ he remarked. His gaze fell upon the Vicar, and a gleam of amusement shone in it. ‘Much obliged to you, old friend! Thought you was here on a different errand, didn’t you? You should have guessed I’d surprise you yet! Don’t look so glum: I know what I’ve done, and, damme, it’s the best deed of my life, and atones for a deal of past folly! Whatever happens now, my girl’s safe. I’ll bid you good night now. I want a word or two with this new grandson of mine before I go to sleep, and I’m tired, very tired.’