Bath Tangle

by Джорджетт Хейер

  “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 then 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.

  21

  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. Among the incidental expenses of the journey he had not foreseen the need to bri
be 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 stagecoach! 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 stagecoach 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 inquiries. 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 highroad! 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 hors
es 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!”

  “I knew you would be surprised!” she said, still with that horrid affability. “It is not necessary, after all, for Emily to hurry north: her brother is very much better! Famous news, isn’t it? The letter came too late for anyone to be able to stop you before you left Bath, so I told her grandmother I would ride after you. Mr Goring—do you know Mr Goring?—was so obliging as to give me his escort, and here we are!”

  He uttered in a choked voice: “It’s no concern of yours, ma’am! I—”

  “Oh, no, but I was happy to be of service!” She nodded smilingly at the elderly ostler, who was touching his forelock to her. “Good-day to you, Runcorn! It is some time since you stabled my horses for me, isn’t it? I am glad you are still here, for I want you to take charge of my mare, and Mr Goring’s horse too. Ah, I see Emily staring at me! I must instantly tell her the good news, Gerard! Do you go into the house, and bespeak refreshment for us all! Tell the landlord it is for me, and that I should like a private parlour!”

  “Lady Serena!” he said furiously. “I must make it plain to you—”

  “Indeed, yes! We have so much to say to one another! I in particular! But not, do you think, in the courtyard?”

  She turned away, and walked towards the chaise, where Mr Goring, having relinquished the bridles he had been holding into the ostler’s hands, was already persuading Emily to alight. She seemed to be on the point of bursting into tears, but he took her hand in a firm clasp, and said gravely, but with great kindness: “Come, Miss Laleham! There is nothing to be afraid of: you must not go any farther! Let me help you down, and then we will talk the matter over sensibly, shall we?”