Snowdrift and Other Stories

by Georgette Heyer

  3

  IF THE VISCOUNT had harboured doubts of his mother’s veracity, these were speedily dispelled. His cousin, far from having been kept in seclusion, seemed to him to be acquainted with all the eligible bachelors upon the town, and with far too many of those whom he did not hesitate to stigmatize as gazetted fortune-hunters. She dispensed her favours impartially amongst these gentlemen, whirled about town under the chaperonage of various not wholly disinterested matrons, and in general conducted herself with such frivolity that her perturbed aunt said that she had never known her to be in such a flow of spirits. She raised hopes in a dozen breasts, but the only suitor for whom she betrayed the smallest partiality was Sir Matthew Kirkham; and it was absurd to suppose (as Lady Allerton assured Alan) that a girl with as much good sense as Hetty would for an instant entertain the pretensions of a penniless roué, past his first youth, and with at least two unsavoury scandals attached to his name.

  Alan could place no such dependence on his cousin’s good sense. It was rarely that he took a dislike to anyone, but he took a quite violent dislike to Sir Matthew, and warned Henrietta to give the fellow no encouragement: an exercise of cousinly privilege which had no other effect than to cause her to wear Sir Matthew’s flowers at the Opera House that very evening.

  He was brought to realize that however obnoxious Kirkham might appear in the eyes of his fellow-men he possessed considerable charm for the ladies: Trix told him so. Trix listened with interest to his trenchantly expressed opinion of Sir Matthew, and then disgusted him by talking of the fellow’s polished manners, and of the distinguishing attentions he had for so long bestowed upon Hetty.

  Sir Matthew was not one of the two hundred guests invited to have the honour of being presented to the Tsar’s sister. This lady had arrived in England some time before the various Kings, Princes, Generals, and Diplomats who were coming to take part in the grand Peace celebrations, and was putting up at the Pulteney Hotel. She was neither beautiful nor particularly amiable, but she was being much courted, and had already created a mild sensation by being rude to the Prince Regent, and by parading the town in enormous coal-scuttle bonnets, which instantly became the rage. Trix, giggling over the story of her having abruptly left the party at Carlton House just as soon as the expensive orchestra provided for her entertainment had struck up, because (she said) music made her want to vomit, prophesied that her departure from Lady Allerton’s ball would be equally speedy; but Lady Allerton, well-acquainted with the Grandduchess, said, No: she only behaved like that when she wished to be disagreeable.

  Trix was not to appear at the ball either. The Viscount had told her that with all the will in the world to do so he was unable at present to find the funds which would enable his mama to launch her into society; and Lady Allerton’s sense of propriety was too nice to allow of her consenting to let her daughter attend a ball of such importance before she was out.

  Trix bore her disappointment surprisingly well, neither arguing with Alan nor reproaching him. Touched by her restraint, he promised her a magnificent début the following spring, if he had to sell every available acre to achieve it. She thanked him, and said that she had made up her mind to help him in his difficulties.

  Such unprecedented docility ought to have alarmed Henrietta, but Henrietta was too much occupied with her own affairs to notice it. It was not until the very evening of the ball, when Trix helped her, in the most selfless way, to array herself in all the elegance of primrose satin and pale green gauze, that it occurred to her that this saintly conduct was as suspicious as it was unusual. But Trix, looking the picture of hurt innocence, assured her that she had no intention of perpetrating some shocking practical joke, and she was obliged to be satisfied. Trix embraced her with great fondness, and she went away to join Lady Allerton feeling that she had misjudged her wayward cousin.

  In this belief she continued until midnight, when she suffered a rude disillusionment.

  4

  MR ALLERTON, SEIZING a respite from his conscientious labours on the floor, stood in the doorway of the ballroom, and delicately wiped his brow. The May night was very warm, and although the long windows stood open scarcely a breath of wind stirred the curtains which masked them, and the heat from the hundreds of wax candles burning in the wall-sconces and in the huge crystal chandelier which hung from the ceiling was making not only the flowers wilt, but every gentleman’s starched shirt-points as well. But this was a small matter. Mr Allerton, a captious critic, was well-satisfied with the success of the ball. Every domestic detail had been perfectly arranged; his mother did him the greatest credit in a robe of sapphire satin lavishly trimmed with broad lace; his cousin was in quite her best looks; and even his brother, although dressed by a military tailor, did not disgrace him. The Grandduchess was in high good humour; besides the flower of the ton, two of the Royal Dukes were lending lustre to the evening; and, to set the final cachet upon a brilliant function, the great Mr Brummell himself was present.

  These agreeable reflections were interrupted. A hand grasped Mr Allerton’s wrist, and his cousin’s voice said urgently in his ear: ‘Timothy, come quickly to my aunt’s dressing-room! I must speak to you alone!’

  A horrible premonition that the champagne had run out and the ice melted away seized Mr Allerton. But the news which Henrietta had to impart to him had nothing to do with domestic arrangements. She was clutching in one hand a sheet of writing-paper, with part of the wafer that had sealed it still sticking to its edge, and this she dumbly proffered. Mr Allerton took it, and mechanically lifted his quizzing-glass to his eye. ‘What the deuce –?’ he demanded. ‘Lord, I can’t read this scrawl! What is it?’

  ‘Trix!’ she uttered, in a strangled voice.

  ‘Well, that settles it,’ he said, giving the letter back to her. ‘Never been able to make head or tail of her writing! You’d better tell me what it is.’

  ‘Timothy, it is the most terrible thing! She has eloped with Jack Boynton!’

  ‘What?’ gasped Timothy. ‘No, hang it, Hetty! Must be bamming you!’

  ‘No, no, it is the truth! She is not in the house, and she left this note for me. Dawson has this instant given it to me!’

  ‘Well, I’m dashed!’ said Timothy. ‘Jack Boynton? Y’know, Hetty, I wouldn’t have thought it of him!’

  Too well accustomed to Mr Allerton’s mental processes to be exasperated, Henrietta replied: ‘No, indeed! She must have persuaded him to do it: he is so very young! I never dreamed – Good God, I thought that affair had ended months ago! How could she have been so sly? But I might have guessed how it would be! If I had not been so selfishly taken up with my own troub – I mean, pleasures! – it could never have happened! Timothy, I must act immediately, and you must help me!’

  He blinked at her. ‘Dash it, can’t do anything in the middle of m’mother’s party!’

  ‘We can, and we must! They have fled to Gretna Green, and they must be overtaken!’

  ‘Gretna Green?’ echoed Mr Allerton, revolted. ‘No, really, Hetty! Can’t have!’

  ‘She makes no secret of it. Besides, where else could they be married, two children under age? She supposed, of course, that I should not receive her letter until too late, but Dawson, good, faithful soul, thought it right to give it to me as soon as she might, and it is not too late! You and I may slip away, and it can’t signify to anyone if our absence is noticed. I have thought it all out, and I have the greatest hope of overtaking them before morning! I am persuaded that boy cannot have scraped together enough money to pay for the hire of more than a pair of horses. You and I may hire four, and change them at every stage. The moon is at the full; we shall come up with them before they have gone thirty miles beyond London! Then we may bring Trix home, and no one need know what happened, not even my poor aunt, for I can trust Dawson to keep the secret, and ten to one my aunt won’t leave her room until noon tomorrow!’

  ‘Seems to me we’d do better to tell Alan,’ objected Timothy.

  ‘Upon no
consideration! The Grandduchess is still here, and Sussex too! He at least cannot leave the house! Besides, Trix trusts me not to betray her to him, and however dreadfully she may have behaved I could not do so! He would be so angry! Oh, dear, it is all his fault for having postponed her coming-out! I warned him how it would be! Timothy, you must know where we can hire a post-chaise and four good horses!’

  He admitted it, but entered a caveat. ‘Thing is, dare say you’re right about Boynton, but I ain’t got the ready to pay for a chaise and four either!’

  ‘No, but I have! I drew quite a large sum only yesterday, and I will give it to you,’ said Henrietta. ‘I will fetch my cloak, and instruct Dawson in what she must say if she should be questioned, and then we may be off. Do not tell Helmsley to call up a hackney! We will creep out by the door into the yard, and find one for ourselves directly!’

  ‘But, Hetty!’ protested Mr Allerton. ‘Can’t go driving about the countryside in evening-dress! Must change!’

  But long acquaintance with her cousin had made Henrietta too familiar with the exigencies of his toilet to allow him this indulgence. Assuring him that his swallow-tailed coat and satin knee-breeches would be hidden by a driving-cloak, she so admonished and hustled him that within a very few minutes he found himself being smuggled out of the house by way of the back stairs and a door leading from the nether regions into the stable-yard.

  5

  ‘NO,’ SAID MR Allerton, some five hours later. ‘I won’t tell ’em to drive on to the Norman Cross inn! And it ain’t a bit of use arguing with me, Hetty, because I’m not going to go another mile on a dashed wild-goose chase, and so I tell you! If you want to go on jolting over a devilish bad road, asking questions at every pike of a set of gapeseeds who wouldn’t be able to tell you whether Cinderella had driven by in a dashed great pumpkin, let alone Trix in a chaise, you do it! We’ve come a cool seventy miles, and never had so much as a whiff of Trix, and I want my breakfast! What’s more, when I’ve had it I’m going back to town! She’s hoaxing you; told you so at the outset!’

  Miss Clitheroe, who had been ushered by an astonished waiter into one of the private parlours of the Talbot Inn, in Stilton, untied the strings of her cloak and pushed back its hood from her dishevelled curls. Pressing her hands to her tired eyes, she said wretchedly: ‘She would not do such a thing! I know she plays shocking pranks, but she would never do this, only for mischief!’

  ‘If I know Trix,’ said Timothy, ‘very likely told you she was off to Gretna Green to set you on a false scent!’

  Henrietta stared at him in dismay. ‘You mean she may have fled in quite another direction? Timothy, that would be worse than anything! It may be days before we can discover her whereabouts, and where, in heaven’s name, will they find a clergyman to marry them?’

  ‘Exactly so!’ said Timothy. He added ghoulishly: ‘Won’t be a case of taking her home. Have to get ’em married in a hurry to save scandal.’

  ‘No, no, I will not believe it!’ cried Henrietta. ‘They are ahead of us still! We must go on!’

  Mr Allerton’s reply was brief and unequivocal, but when he perceived the real distress in his cousin’s face he relented sufficiently to promise that when he had eaten breakfast he would make enquiries at each of the other three posting-houses in the town. With this Henrietta was obliged to be content. The waiter set breakfast before them, listened with polite incredulity to the story, hastily manufactured by Timothy, to account for their appearance in Stilton at eight o’clock in the morning in full dress, of the moribund relative to whose bedside they had been summoned, and withdrew, shaking his head over the reprehensible habits of the Quality.

  Mr Allerton then applied himself to a substantial repast. Henrietta, unable to do more than drink a cup of coffee, and nibble a slice of bread and butter, eyed him in growing impatience, but knew better than to expostulate. He finished at last, and, with a kindly recommendation to her not to expect any good outcome, went off to call at the Bell, the Angel, and the Woolpack.

  She was left to await his return with what patience she could muster. The time lagged unbearably; when half an hour had passed she could no longer sit still, but got up, and began to pace about the room, trying to think what were best to be done if he failed to obtain news of the fugitives in Stilton.

  The sound of a vehicle approaching at a smart pace, and pulling up outside the inn, made her run to the window. The sight that met her eyes was so unexpected and so unwelcome that she caught her breath on a gasp of dismay. Leaning from his own sporting curricle to interrogate one of the ostlers was her cousin Alan, and one glance at his face was enough to inform her that he was quite as angry as she had known he must be, if ever his sister’s escapade came to his ears. As she stared out at him, he sprang down from the curricle, and came striding to the door into the inn.

  She retreated from the window, wondering how much Dawson had disclosed to him, and what she should say to mollify him. She could almost wish now that the eloping couple had fled beyond recall, for it seemed to her that young Mr Boynton would be fortunate to escape with his bare life if the Viscount caught him.

  The Viscount came in, and cast a swift, searching look round the room. Unlike his brother, he had found time to change his ball-dress for a riding-habit, over which he wore a caped greatcoat with large buttons of mother-of-pearl. He was looking extremely handsome, and singularly unyielding. After that one glance round the parlour, his attention became fixed on his cousin, his pleasant grey eyes so full of wrath that she took an involuntary step backward. Stripping off his gloves, he said furiously: ‘How dared you do this, Henry? How could you?’

  It had not occurred to her that any part of his anger would be directed against her. She said pleadingly: ‘I suppose it was improper, but it seemed to be the only thing I could do!’

  ‘Improper?’ he exclaimed. ‘So that’s what you call it, is it? The most damnable escapade!’

  ‘Alan! No, no! Imprudent I may have been, but what other course was open to me? I would not for the world tell my aunt, and I dared not say a word of it to you, because –’

  ‘That at least I believe!’ he interrupted. ‘You knew well I would never permit it! You were right, my girl, very right! Where is the fellow?’

  ‘I don’t know. Oh, Alan, pray don’t be so out of reason cross with me! Indeed I meant it for the best! Alan!’

  The Viscount, who had most ungently grasped her shoulders, shook her. ‘Don’t lie to me! Where is he?’

  ‘I tell you I don’t know! And if I did I would not tell you while you are in such a rage!’ said Henrietta, with spirit.

  ‘We’ll see that!’ said the Viscount grimly. ‘I’ll settle with him when I’ve settled with you! Had you chosen an honest man I would have stood aside, whatever it cost me, but this fellow –! No, by God! If you are determined to marry a fortune-hunter, Henry, let him be me! At least I love you!’

  Shock bereft her of the power of speech; she could only gaze up into his face. He dragged her into his arms, and kissed her with such savagery that she uttered an inarticulate protest. To this he paid no heed at all, but demanded sternly: ‘Do you understand me, Henry? Give you up to Kirkham I will not!’

  ‘Oh, Alan, don’t give me up to anyone!’ begged Henrietta, laughing and crying together. ‘Oh, dear, how odious you are! Of all the infamous notions to – Alan, let me go! Someone is coming!’

  The door opened. ‘Told you no good would come of it,’ said Mr Allerton, with gloomy satisfaction. ‘Not a trace of ’em to be –’ He broke off, staring at his brother. ‘Well, upon my word!’ he said, mildly surprised.

  ‘What the devil are you doing here?’ exclaimed the Viscount.

  ‘Came with Hetty,’ explained Timothy. ‘Said it was a stupid thing to do, but she would have it we should overtake ’em.’

  ‘Came with Hetty? Overtake –?’ repeated the Viscount. ‘In heaven’s name, what are you talking about?’

  Mr Allerton raised his quizzing-glass. ‘You been in
the sun, old fellow?’ he asked solicitously.

  ‘Timothy, he doesn’t know!’ Henrietta said. ‘That is not what brought him here! Alan, a dreadful thing has happened. Trix has eloped! I can’t think what made you suppose that I had! Timothy and I came in pursuit, and oh, I was so hopeful of catching them, but we can discover no trace of them!’

  ‘Quite true,’ corroborated Timothy, observing that the tidings had apparently stunned his brother. ‘Eloped with Jack Boynton. At least, that’s what she said.’

  ‘Are you mad?’ demanded the Viscount. ‘Trix is at home!’

  ‘Alas, Alan, she is not!’ said Henrietta. ‘She slipped out in the middle of the party, leaving a letter, which her maid gave me at midnight. She wrote that she had gone with Boynton to Gretna Green, but I very much fear that she was deceiving me, and that is not her destination.’

  The Viscount, who had listened to this with an arrested expression on his face, drew an audible breath. ‘Most certainly she was deceiving you!’ he said, in an odd tone. ‘I see! The – little – cunning – devil!’

  ‘He is cut, Hetty!’ said Timothy.

  A rueful smile was quivering at the corners of the Viscount’s mouth. He paid no heed to this brotherly remark, but said: ‘Let me tell you, my love, that an hour after you had left Grosvenor Square, I also received a billet from Trix!’

  ‘You?’ said Henrietta incredulously.

  ‘Yes, I! It summoned me with the utmost urgency to join her in Mama’s dressing-room. There she disclosed to me that you had slipped out of the house, to elope to the Border with Kirkham. She said that you had bound her to secrecy, but that her conscience misgave her, and she felt it to be her duty to betray you to me.’