Snowdrift and Other Stories

by Georgette Heyer

‘Good heavens, Rupert! Could it be – Sir Roland?’

  Mr Morley stared at her. ‘Sale? It can’t be! How should he know of our elopement?’

  ‘Papa must have brought him back with him last night. Oh, this is dreadful! I declare I am ready to sink!’

  Mr Morley squared his shoulders.

  ‘Well, if he is Sale, he shan’t take you back, Bab. He has to reckon with me now.’

  ‘But he is not in the least like Sir Joseph!’ said Miss Paradise numbly. ‘He is quite handsome!’

  ‘What in the world has that got to do with it?’ demanded Mr Morley.

  Miss Paradise turned scarlet.

  ‘Nothing at all!’ she replied. ‘Whoever he is like he is odious. Willing to fulfil – But I never dreamed that he would follow us!’

  At this moment the door was opened again, and a pleasant, slightly drawling voice said: ‘So, have I caught you, my children? I thought I might,’ and the gentleman in the modish surtout walked into the room.

  He paused on the threshold and raised his quizzing-glass. Miss Paradise, who had retreated to Mr Morley’s side, blushed, and gave him back stare for stare.

  ‘But I must humbly beg my apologies,’ said the newcomer, a faintly quizzical smile in his grey eyes. ‘I seem to have intruded. Madam –’

  ‘Yes,’ said Miss Paradise. ‘You have intruded, Sir Roland!’

  The quizzical smile lingered; one eyebrow went up.

  ‘Now, I wonder how you knew me?’ murmured the gentleman.

  ‘I am well aware that you must be Sir Roland Sale,’ said Miss Paradise, ‘but I do not know you, and I do not desire to know you!’

  Sir Roland laughed suddenly and shut the door.

  ‘But are you not being a trifle hasty?’ he enquired. ‘Why don’t you desire to know me?’

  ‘I imagine you must know very well!’ said Miss Paradise.

  ‘Indeed I don’t!’ said Sir Roland. He came further into the room, and laid his hat and his elegant fringed gloves down on the table. He looked thoughtfully from one flushed countenance to the other, and said in a tone of amusement: ‘Is it possible that you are running away from me?’

  ‘Certainly not!’ said Miss Paradise. ‘But I think it only proper to tell you, sir, that this is the gentleman I am going to marry.’

  Mr Morley tried to think of something dignified to add to this pronouncement, but under that ironic, not unkindly gaze, only succeeded in clearing his throat and turning redder than ever.

  Sir Roland slid one hand into his pocket and drew out a snuff-box.

  ‘But how romantic!’ he remarked. ‘Do, pray, present me!’

  Mr Morley took a step forward.

  ‘You must have guessed, sir, that my name is Morley. Miss Paradise has been promised to me these dozen years.’

  Sir Roland bowed and offered his snuff-box.

  ‘I felicitate you,’ he said. ‘But what part do I play in this charming – er – idyll?’

  ‘None!’ replied Miss Paradise.

  Sir Roland, his snuff having been waved aside by Mr Morley, took a pinch and held it to one nostril. Then he fobbed his box with an expert flick of the finger and put it away again.

  ‘I hesitate to contradict you, Miss Paradise,’ he said, ‘but I cannot allow myself to be thrust into the role of a mere onlooker.’

  Miss Paradise replied, not quite so belligerently:

  ‘I dare say you think you have a right to interfere, but you need not think that I will go back with you, for I won’t!’

  Mr Morley, feeling himself elbowed out of the discussion, said with some asperity:

  ‘I wish you would leave this to me, Bab! Pray, do be quiet a moment!’

  ‘Why should I be quiet?’ demanded Miss Paradise. ‘It is quite my own affair!’

  ‘You always think you can manage everything,’ said Mr Morley. ‘But this is between men!’

  ‘What nonsense!’ said Miss Paradise scornfully. ‘Pray whom does he want to marry, you or me?’

  ‘Lord, Bab, if you’re going to talk like a fool I shall be sorry I ever said I’d elope with you!’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry now!’ said Miss Paradise instantly.

  Mr Morley cast her a withering glance and turned once more to Sir Roland.

  ‘Sir, no doubt you are armed with Sir John Paradise’s authority, but –’

  ‘Let me set your mind at rest at once,’ interposed Sir Roland. ‘I am here quite on my own authority.’

  ‘Well, sir! Well, in that case –’

  Miss Paradise entered into the conversation again.

  ‘You can’t pretend that you cared as much as that!’ she said impetuously. ‘You could not have wanted to marry me so very much when you had never so much as set eyes on me!’

  ‘Of course not,’ agreed Sir Roland. ‘Until I set eyes on you I had not the least desire to marry you.’

  ‘Then why did you write that odious letter to Papa?’ asked Miss Paradise reasonably.

  ‘I never write odious letters,’ replied Sir Roland calmly.

  ‘I dare say you may think it was very civil and obliging of you,’ said Miss Paradise; ‘but for my part I have a very poor notion of a man allowing his marriage to be arranged for him, and when it comes to writing that you are willing to fulfil your – your obligations –’

  A muscle quivered at the corner of Sir Roland’s mouth.

  ‘Did I write that?’ he asked.

  ‘You must know you did!’

  ‘I am quite sure I wrote no such thing,’ he said.

  ‘Well, what did you write?’ she demanded.

  He walked forward till he stood quite close to her and held out his hand. He said, looking down at her:

  ‘Does it signify what I wrote? After all, I had not seen you then. Now that we are acquainted I promise I will not write or say anything to give you a disgust of me.’

  She looked at him uncertainly. Even though his fine mouth was perfectly grave his eyes held a smile which one could hardly withstand. A little colour stole into her cheeks; the dimple peeped again; she put her hand shyly into his, and said:

  ‘Well, perhaps it does not signify so very much. But I am going to marry Mr Morley, you know. That was all arranged between us years ago.’

  Sir Roland still kept her hand clasped in his. ‘Do you never change your mind, Miss Paradise?’ he asked.

  Mr Morley, who had begun in the presence of this polished gentleman to feel himself a mere schoolboy, interrupted at this moment and said hotly: ‘Sir, I deny any right in you to interfere in Miss Paradise’s affairs! She is under my protection, and will shortly be my wife. Bab, come with me! We should press on at once!’

  ‘I suppose we should,’ agreed Miss Paradise rather forlornly.

  Mr Morley strode up to her and caught her wrist. Until the arrival of Sir Roland he had been regarding his approaching nuptials with mixed feelings, but to submit to a stranger’s intervention, and to see his prospective bride in danger of being swayed by the undeniable charm of a man older, and far more at his ease than he was himself, was a little too much for him to stomach. There was a somewhat fiery light in his eyes as he said: ‘Bab, you are promised to me! You know you are!’

  Miss Paradise raised her eyes to Sir Roland’s face. ‘It is quite true,’ she said with a faint sigh. ‘I am promised to him, and one must keep one’s word, you know.’

  ‘Bab!’ said Mr Morley sternly, ‘you wanted to elope with me! It was your notion! Good heavens, you could not turn back now and go meekly home!’

  ‘No, of course I couldn’t,’ said Miss Paradise, roused by this speech. ‘I never heard of anything so flat!’

  ‘I knew you would never fail!’ said Mr Morley, casting a triumphant look at Sir Roland. ‘Let us be on our way immediately.’

  Sir Roland flicked a grain of snuff from his wide cuff. ‘Not so fast, Mr Morley,’ he said. ‘I warned you, did I not, that I could not allow myself to be thrust into the role of mere onlooker?’

  Mr Morley’s eyes flashe
d. ‘You have no right to interfere, sir!’

  ‘My dear young man,’ said Sir Roland, ‘anyone has the right to do what he can to prevent two – er – young people from committing an act of the most unconscionable folly. You will not take Miss Paradise to Gretna today – or, in fact, any other day.’

  There was a note of steel in the drawling voice. Miss Paradise, realizing that the adventure was becoming even more romantic than she had bargained for, clasped her hands in her muff and waited breathlessly.

  Mr Morley laid a hand on his sword-hilt. ‘Oh?’ he said. ‘Indeed, sir?’

  Sir Roland, observing the gesture, raised his brows in some amusement.

  Mr Morley said through his teeth: ‘We shall do better to continue our discussion outside, sir, I believe.’

  Miss Paradise caught her muff up to her chin, and over it looked imploringly at Sir Roland. He was not attending her; he seemed to be considering Mr Morley. After a moment he said slowly: ‘You are a little impetuous, are you not?’

  ‘Sir,’ said Mr Morley dramatically, ‘if you want Bab you must fight for her!’

  Miss Paradise’s mouth formed an ‘O’ of mingled alarm and admiration.

  There was a slight pause. Then Sir Roland smiled and said: ‘Well, you have plenty of courage, at all events. I am perfectly prepared to fight for her.’

  ‘Then follow me, sir, if you please!’ said Mr Morley, striding to the door.

  Miss Paradise gave a cry and sprang after him. ‘Oh, Rupert, no!’

  She was intercepted by Sir Roland, who laid a detaining hand on her arm. ‘Don’t be alarmed, Miss Paradise,’ he said.

  Miss Paradise said in an urgent undervoice: ‘Oh, please don’t! He can’t fight you! He is only a boy, Sir Roland!’

  Mr Morley, who was plainly enjoying himself at last, shut the door upon Miss Paradise, and demanded to know whether Sir Roland preferred swords or pistols. When Sir Roland unhesitatingly chose swords he bowed, and said that he believed there was a garden behind the inn which would serve their purpose.

  He was right; there was a garden, with a small shrubbery screening part of it from the house. Sir Roland followed Mr Morley there and took off his coat and tossed it on to a wooden seat. ‘This is damned irregular, you know,’ he remarked, sitting down on the bench to pull off his boots. ‘Are you very set on fighting me?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ declared Mr Morley, removing his sword-belt. ‘A pretty fellow I should be if I gave Bab – Miss Paradise – up to you for the mere asking!’

  Sir Roland drew his sword from its sheath and bent the slender blade between his hands. ‘You would be a still prettier fellow if you carried her off to Gretna,’ he said dryly.

  Mr Morley coloured. ‘Well, I never wanted to elope,’ he said defensively. ‘It was all your doing that we were forced to!’

  Sir Roland got up from the bench in his leisurely way, and stood waiting with his sword-point lightly resting on the ground. Mr Morley rolled up his sleeves, picked up his weapon, and announced that he was ready.

  He had, of course, been taught to fence, and was by no means a dull pupil; but within ten seconds of engaging he was brought to a realization of the vast difference that lay between a friendly bout with foils and a duel with naked blades. He tried to remember all he had been taught, but the pace Sir Roland set was alarmingly swift, and made him feel singularly helpless and clumsy. It was all he could do to parry that flickering sword-point; several times he knew he had been too slow, and almost shut his eyes in the expectation of being run through. But, somehow, he always did seem to succeed in parrying the fatal lunge just in time, and once he managed to press Sir Roland hard with an attack in a high line. He was very soon dripping with sweat and quite out of breath, fighting gamely but with thudding pulses, and with a paralysing sensation of being pretty much at his opponent’s mercy. And then, just as he had miraculously parried thrust in seconde, Sir Roland executed a totally unexpected volte, and the next instant Mr Morley’s sword was torn from his grasp and he had flung up his hands instinctively to guard his face.

  ‘Mr Morley,’ said Sir Roland, breathing a little fast, ‘do you acknowledge yourself worsted?’

  Mr Morley, sobbing for breath, could only nod.

  ‘Then let us rejoin Miss Paradise,’ said Sir Roland, giving him back his sword.

  He moved towards the bench and began to pull on his boots again. Mr Morley presently followed his example, crestfallen and very much out of countenance.

  ‘I suppose,’ said Mr Morley disconsolately, ‘you could have killed me if you had chosen?’

  ‘Yes, certainly I could; but then, you see, I am a very good swordsman,’ said Sir Roland, smiling. ‘Don’t look so downcast. I think, one day, you may be a very good swordsman, too.’

  Considerably cheered, Mr Morley followed him back to the inn parlour. Miss Paradise, who was looking pale and frightened, sprang up at their entrance and gave a gasp of relief.

  ‘Oh, you haven’t killed each other!’ she cried thankfully.

  ‘No; it was much too fine a morning for anything of that nature,’ said Sir Roland. ‘Instead, we have decided that it will be best if I take you back to your papa, Miss Paradise. These Gretna marriages are not quite the thing, you know.’

  Miss Paradise seemed undecided, and looked towards Mr Morley for support.

  ‘We shall have to give it up, Bab,’ he said gloomily.

  Miss Paradise sighed.

  ‘I suppose we shall, though it does seem horridly flat to go home without any adventure at all.’

  ‘Well, I’ve fought my first duel,’ pointed out Mr Morley.

  ‘Yes, but I haven’t done anything!’ objected Miss Paradise.

  ‘On the contrary,’ put in Sir Roland tactfully, ‘you were the whole cause of the duel.’

  ‘So I was!’ said Miss Paradise, brightening. She gave Sir Roland one of her frank smiles. ‘You are not at all what I thought you would be,’ she confided. ‘I didn’t suppose you were the sort of person who would come after us so – so romantically!’

  Sir Roland looked down at her with a rueful twinkle in his eyes.

  ‘Miss Paradise, I must make a confession. I did not come after you.’

  ‘You did not? But – but what did you come for, then?’ she asked, considerably astonished.

  ‘I came to meet my sister and my young brother,’ said Sir Roland.

  ‘Sister! Brother!’ echoed Miss Paradise. ‘I did not know you had any. How can this be? Did you not see my father last night? There must be some mistake!’

  ‘I have never met your father in my life,’ said Sir Roland.

  Light broke in on Mr Morley. He cried out:

  ‘Oh, good heavens! Are you Sir Roland Sale?’

  ‘No,’ said the other. ‘I am only one Philip Devereux, who got up early to meet his sister on the last stage of her return from Scotland, and stumbled upon an adventure.’

  Miss Paradise gave a choked cry.

  ‘Oh, how could you?’ she said, in a suffocating voice.

  Mr Morley, quite pale with excitement, waved her aside.

  ‘Not – not the Devereux?’ he faltered. ‘Not – oh, not Viscount Devereux of Frensham?’

  ‘Well, yes, I am afraid so,’ replied his lordship apologetically.

  ‘Bab!’ ejaculated Mr Morley. ‘Do you hear that? I have actually crossed swords with one of the finest swordsmen in Europe! Only think of it!’

  Miss Paradise showed no desire to think of it. She turned her head away.

  The Viscount said: ‘Do you think you could go and see what has been done with your chaise and my curricle, Mr Morley?’

  ‘Oh, yes, certainly!’ said Mr Morley. ‘I’ll go now, shall I?’

  ‘If you please,’ said his lordship, his eyes on Miss Paradise’s profile. He waited until the door was shut behind Mr Morley, and then said gently: ‘Forgive me, Miss Paradise!’

  ‘You let me say – you let me believe you were the man Papa says is going to marry me, and I –’ />
  She stopped, for he had taken her hands and was looking down at her in a way that made her heart beat suddenly fast.

  ‘I haven’t the least idea what Papa will say, but I can assure you that I am the man who is going to marry you,’ said his lordship, with complete composure.

  Incident on the Bath Road

  HE HAD ASKED at the George, in his weary voice, if the landlord could tell him why he was going to Bath. He had apparently expected an answer, standing there in the yard with a cup of Nantes brandy in one hand, and a snuff-box lightly clasped in the other. His lazy brows were raised enquiringly, his air was one of puzzled boredom. He watched the ostlers leading out a fresh team for his chaise, and the post-boys shedding their smocks, as though he wondered how it could have come about that this was his chaise, this change of horses ordered by him, for the odd, inexplicable purpose of conveying him to Bath.

  The landlord supposed that his lordship was going to Bath for the season.

  ‘To Bath, for the season,’ repeated the Earl. ‘Thank you; that must be it. I wonder if I should do better to drive back to town?’

  The landlord, deeming such erratic whims to be the outcome of a mind depressed, spoke bracingly of change of air and scenery. His lordship drained the last of his brandy and gave back the cup with a gold coin in the bottom.

  ‘Alas, my good fellow, there will be no change, but an eternal sameness,’ he said, moving away towards his chaise.

  The landlord watched him climb into it, saw him flick a couple of coins to the expectant ostlers, and waited until the chaise door was shut, and the equipage, so airily hung upon its lofty wheels, moved forward over the cobbles, passed under the arch into the street, and was away.

  So noble, so rich, and so bored! You would have thought that if you were the Earl of Reveley, with wealth, and a handsome countenance, and the power of commanding whatever distraction you fancied, boredom must be a thing unknown. It was a pity, the landlord reflected, that his lordship did not take a wife and settle down. If his lordship’s gentlemen were to be believed, there were plenty of young ladies very ready to pick up a glove tossed by that slender, elegant hand. ‘But that,’ said Mr Jarley, his lordship’s gentleman, ‘is, I believe, the trouble. My lord is fastidious, and so much eagerness – besides the way some of the Mammas set their caps at him – is enough to sicken any man.’