Snowdrift and Other Stories

by Georgette Heyer

  Perhaps his lordship had been sickened; he never said it, certainly did not shun female society, but even when in the act of uttering civilities to some hopeful lady a cynical gleam was apt to lurk behind the boredom in his eyes. He was thirty-three, and for ten perilous years he had gone his single way, always courted, never caught, until the rumour that he was paying attentions to such a one would provoke no more than a shrug of the shoulder, a laugh, and a shake of the head. ‘Reveley! Oh, he is a confirmed bachelor!’

  The confirmed bachelor, leaning back against the blue velvet squabs of his chaise, his eyes half-closed, was on his way to Bath, and could not imagine why.

  To drink the waters? Assuredly not. To stroll through the Pump Room, then; to pay morning calls; to attend balls; to hazard a fortune at the gaming-tables? He supposed so, and smiled a little wryly at his own folly, and wished that he could find something new to do, or recapture his youthful enthusiasms, his power of being pleased, his – ah, yes! His interest in life.

  If I lived between the covers of a romance, he thought, no doubt I should cast aside the trappings of nobility, and fare forth in a suitable disguise in quest of adventure. Which would unquestionably be extremely uncomfortable, and – in this prosaic world – a barren quest.

  He opened his eyes fully, and looked out over the waste of Hounslow Heath, across which the chaise was by this time making its way. Adventure upon Hounslow Heath! He mused. Well, yes, let us suppose a highwayman. But in broad daylight? Alas, no, that is a trifle too improbable, my friend. And would it be an adventure, I wonder? I am such a depressingly good shot. It could be nothing more than an incident, enlivening for the moment, perhaps, but not – oh, not capable of holding one’s interest!

  The chaise had passed a gibbet, with a blackened shrivelled figure hanging in chains which creaked mournfully in the wind, but of live highwaymen there was no sign. The Heath, at three o’clock on an autumn afternoon, was the haunt only of peewits and snipe, and the only object of interest seemed to be that common enough sight; a chaise stranded on the road with a wheel off.

  His lordship had a good view of this through the windows of the door in front of him. The chaise, obviously a hired vehicle, sprawled drunkenly at the side of the road, while the single post-boy, having taken his pair out of the shafts, stood consulting with the passenger, a young gentleman in a badly fitting suit of clothes, who stood with his cloak-bag beside him, rather helplessly surveying the wreck of his conveyance.

  The Earl observed all this as his own chaise bore down upon the other, and sighed, and let down the window and ordered the postilions to stop.

  The young gentleman in the road looked up as the chaise drew up alongside him. It was seen that he was a very young gentleman, hardly out of school, judged his lordship. He was dressed in a plain blue coat with silver buttons and buff breeches under a long travelling cloak, and he wore his own curling fair hair brushed back from his face and tied in the nape of his neck with a black riband. A muslin cravat round his throat, top-boots, and a hat clutched under one arm completed his toilet. He looked hot and disconsolate and – yes, decided his lordship, looking lazily down into the upturned face – oddly suspicious. The eyes, which were celestial blue, held a challenge, at variance with a somewhat womanish cast of countenance. The Earl opened the door of the chaise, and said in his pleasant, languid voice:

  ‘How unfortunate! Consider me entirely at your service, I beg of you.’

  The young gentleman hunched a shoulder, replying rather ungraciously: ‘Thank you. It is nothing – a broken lynch-pin.’

  The Earl seemed to be slightly amused at this grudging form of address. He said:

  ‘So I perceive. Do you mean to stay by your chaise indefinitely, or would you like me to take you up with me as far as the next stage?’

  The young gentleman flushed.

  ‘You are very good, sir,’ he said gruffly. An anxious frown knit his brow. All at once he blurted out:

  ‘Delay is fatal to me! I must reach Bath!’

  ‘How I envy you!’ remarked his lordship.

  ‘Envy me?’ exclaimed the young gentleman in tones of great astonishment.

  ‘Certainly. To be under an obligation – however irksome, to have a set purpose – how refreshing!’ said the Earl, between a smile and a sigh.

  Then, observing that the other was regarding him with a good deal of misgiving, he added:

  ‘Oh, I am quite sane, I assure you! Come, you had best step up beside me. You will be able to hire another chaise at Longford, I dare say.’

  The young gentleman still seemed to hesitate for a moment or two, but after a despairing glance cast at his wrecked chaise, and a very searching one at the Earl, he murmured that he was much obliged, and climbed up into the other chaise.

  He took his seat beside the Earl; his cloak-bag was stowed in the boot, and, the steps being put up again, the chaise was soon moving forward at a brisk rate. The young gentleman glanced at his lordship, and said with careful formality:

  ‘Sir, I must thank you for your courtesy. Had my need been less urgent I should have scrupled to have thrust myself upon you, but it is imperative that I should lose no time on the road.’

  A suspicion that the youth might be escaping from school crossed the Earl’s mind, but was banished by the next words, delivered somewhat haltingly:

  ‘You think it very odd, I dare say, sir, but my presence is – is instantly required in Bath.’

  The Earl said, with a twinkle in his eye: ‘Can it be that I am assisting at an elopement?’

  ‘Well, no, sir, not precisely an elopement,’ replied the young gentleman, colouring.

  The Earl, although an idle curiosity had been roused in him, was too well-bred to press the point. He merely inclined his head and remarked:

  ‘You will no doubt be able to hire another chaise at Longford, or Colnbrook.’

  ‘Yes, but –’ The young man broke off, his cheeks still more flushed, and turned his head away to gaze out of the side-window.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he said.

  There was a pause.

  ‘If you like to mention my name at the George, at Colnbrook,’ said his lordship gently, ‘I believe you will have no trouble.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said the young gentleman. ‘It would be convenient to pay for the hire of a second chaise at the end of the journey. Do you think –’

  ‘I have no doubt it can be easily arranged,’ said the Earl. ‘My name, by the way, is Reveley.’

  ‘Reveley,’ repeated the other, committing it to memory.

  It was apparent that the name conveyed nothing to him. The Earl, accustomed to see it act upon his world like a kind of talisman, was amused.

  ‘Yes, Reveley,’ he said. ‘May I have the honour of knowing yours?’

  The youth gave a start.

  ‘Oh, to be sure, yes!’ he replied. ‘It is – it is Brown. Peter Brown.’

  The Earl received this rather unconvincing piece of information with unruffled civility, and began to converse amiably upon a number of unexceptionable topics. Cranford Bridge was soon reached, and Peter Brown, catching sight of a milestone, discovered that he was within two miles of Longford. He desired to be set down at the posting-house there, but the Earl, very willing to beguile the tedium of his journey by solving the mystery that clung about his companion, countered with a proposal that he should continue in the chaise as far as Colnbrook, and there dine.

  ‘I had not thought about dinner,’ said Peter Brown doubtfully. ‘I am in such haste, you see.’

  ‘But if you don’t dine you will be extremely hungry,’ the Earl pointed out.

  A sudden smile, charged with a kind of rueful merriness, lit Peter Brown’s countenance.

  ‘I am extremely hungry, sir,’ he confessed.

  ‘Then you must certainly dine with me at Colnbrook,’ said the Earl.

  ‘You are very good, sir. To be sure, these four horses must cover the distance twice as fast as a pair.’

  T
he Earl agreed to it, his gravity a little impaired by a quizzical gleam in his eyes which did not escape his young companion. After a brief pause Peter Brown said in a constrained voice:

  ‘I dare say you must think my desire to lose no time an odd one.’

  ‘I feel sure,’ replied the Earl, ‘that you will tell me all about it over dinner.’

  ‘I am aware that you must feel I owe you an explanation,’ said Peter Brown rather stiffly.

  ‘No,’ said the Earl, ‘but I might be able to help you.’

  ‘You are extremely kind, sir.’

  ‘I am extremely curious,’ corrected the Earl, smiling.

  Peter Brown cast him a somewhat wary glance, and said nothing. They had by this time reached the village of Colnbrook, and were driving at a slackened speed down the narrow main street. The chaise drew up at the George, and out came the landlord, while a couple of ostlers ran to the horses’ heads, and the steps were let down.

  The landlord bowed so low, there was so much running to and fro, and such a bustle of welcome made that Peter Brown, climbing out of the chaise in the Earl’s wake, was nervously sure that he must be travelling with a person of considerable consequence. He followed his host into the inn, and the landlord conducted them both to a private parlour overlooking the street and began to enumerate the various dishes which could be served up without the least loss of time.

  While the Earl was making a selection, young Mr Brown took off his driving cloak and smoothed his fair locks. There was a mirror hanging over the mantelpiece. Mr Brown surveyed himself rather anxiously in it and tried to improve the set of his neckcloth.

  The landlord, meanwhile, had produced a bottle of sherry, and glasses. The Earl poured out the wine and, handing one glass to his youthful companion, said:

  ‘Let us drink to our better acquaintance, Mr Brown.’

  Peter Brown disposed of the sherry in two resolute gulps, declined having his glass refilled, and asked the Earl whether he thought he might hire a chaise at this inn.

  The Earl looked at him over the rim of his wineglass, and drank before replying. Then he said:

  ‘Would you like to accept a seat in my chaise instead?’

  A variety of emotions showed themselves in Peter Brown’s face: an eager gleam, a look of relief, quick suspicion, uncertainty. He blurted out:

  ‘Why do you ask me?’

  The Earl raised his brows which had the effect of making Mr Brown blush fierily and stammer an almost inaudible apology. A serving-man came in just then to spread a cloth over the table, and until he withdrew the conversation had to be suspended. The Earl continued to sip his sherry, and when the man left the room remarked, with all his habitual languor, that he did not suppose they would be kept waiting long for their dinner.

  Peter Brown fidgeted unhappily in the window, sustained a further remark from his host, this time on the excellence of the buttered crab for which the house was famed, and wheeled round to face the Earl.

  ‘I did apologize!’ he protested: ‘I did not mean to be uncivil!’

  In came the serving-man again, followed by another, carrying dishes. The Earl put down his glass and smiled at Peter Brown.

  ‘Come and try the crab,’ he said kindly.

  As soon as the first course had been cleared away, and the second placed upon the table, the Earl dismissed both serving-men and said:

  ‘Now that we have settled that little matter of how you are to reach Bath are you going to tell me your story, are you not?’

  Peter Brown agreed to it, but without much alacrity, and for a few moments was too intent on wrestling with a refractory wing of capon to embark on his tale. However, after a short pause he said somewhat haltingly:

  ‘Well, it is – it is, I think you would say – a – a very romantic history.’

  ‘How delightful!’ said his lordship. ‘Pray, continue!’

  ‘I am going to the rescue of a young lady,’ announced Mr Brown.

  ‘You hold me entirely spellbound,’ said his lordship.

  ‘I dare say you don’t believe me,’ said Mr Brown bitterly. ‘And I dare say you have never so much as heard of an unfortunate female being constrained against her will to marry an odious old man with nothing but his fortune to recommend him!’

  ‘Is that the sad fate from which you are to rescue the young lady who resides at Bath?’ enquired the earl.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mr Brown. ‘It is. She is being persecuted by her relatives, and in particular by a brother who – but it does not signify talking of him. He is the head of the family, and of course – I expect you know about mortgages, Mr – I mean, Lord Reveley?’

  ‘I have heard of them,’ agreed the Earl gravely.

  ‘Well, that is the matter in a nutshell,’ said Mr Brown, pushing his plate away and sighing faintly. ‘The female I allude to – I shall call her Miss X, if you please –’

  ‘By all means,’ bowed the Earl.

  ‘Miss X, then, is not unmindful of what is due to the family, but she cannot bring herself to marry the creature who has offered for her. There is nothing for it but flight, shocking as this may seem to you.’

  ‘Dreadful!’ said his lordship, shaking his head. ‘She is, of course, kept under lock and key, and fed, I have no doubt, on bread and water?’

  ‘No,’ admitted Mr Brown, ‘but they threatened to!’

  This somewhat elliptical remark, delivered as it was in a tone of strong indignation, made the Earl veil his eyes swiftly for a moment before replying. When he did speak it was with the utmost gravity. He said:

  ‘The thought of Miss X’s plight is most affecting. I had not supposed that in these days such coercion could be possible.’

  Mr Brown’s hand, lying on the table, clenched suddenly. He said:

  ‘It is possible, my lord. Impoverished though Miss X’s family may be its name is a proud one, and there are plenty of rich men of inferior birth who are ready to pay vast sums in the return for the privilege of marrying into the aristocracy. I assure you.’

  ‘Well yes,’ agreed the Earl, ‘but some degree of affection is generally necessary to induce even a creature such as you have described to pay a very vast sum for a well-born bride.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Mr Brown, a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. ‘I am well aware of that! I must tell you that Miss X is young, and extremely beautiful.’

  ‘A reigning toast?’ suggested his lordship.

  ‘Yes,’ nodded Mr Brown with enthusiasm. His eyes were fixed dreamily on the capon’s carcase, but it was evident that they saw a much more agreeable vision, for he said, warming to his theme:

  ‘She has black hair. Oh, black as – as –’

  ‘A raven’s wing,’ supplied the Earl.

  ‘Yes, a raven’s wing – precisely. And she has large brown eyes with long lashes that curl. She is extremely dignified, and she has a great air of – of –’

  ‘Consequence?’ suggested the Earl.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mr Brown, dwelling admiringly on the picture he had conjured up. The Earl brought him down to earth with a thud.

  ‘Myself, I prefer something in a simpler style.’

  Mr Brown turned a surprised gaze upon him.

  ‘Do you?’ he said. ‘How very odd!’

  ‘Not at all,’ replied his lordship. ‘We have each our own weaknesses. Mine is for fair hair, and – oh yes, decidedly – blue eyes. And no air of consequence.’

  ‘Insipid!’ said Mr Brown with a look of disgust.

  At this moment the clatter of wheels outside the window indicated that more travellers had arrived at the inn. The effect of the interruption on Mr Brown was surprising. With a murmured word of apology he sprang up and hurried to peep above the blind in the window. A minute later he turned, and showed the Earl a very white face. He seemed undecided what to do, but the sound of an irate voice raised in the coffee-room caused him to snatch up his cloak and hat, and look rather wildly round the room. His gaze alighted on a door behind the Earl’s chair;
he said beneath his breath:

  ‘Don’t, I implore you, betray me!’ and before the Earl could answer fled to this door, and whisked himself through it.

  A moment later the landlord entered the room, and said apologetically:

  ‘Beg pardon, my lord, but there’s a gentleman outside enquiring for a young man who –’

  He stopped and looked round.

  ‘But your lordship’s alone!’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed the Earl, stretching out his hand for the wine bottle.

  ‘Well, but – has the young gentleman gone, my lord?’

  ‘As you see,’ replied the Earl.

  The landlord looked a trifle bewildered.

  ‘That’s a queer thing,’ he remarked. ‘He must have passed through the coffee-room while we were busy with Sir Jasper and his party.’

  ‘Quite possibly,’ said the Earl, stifling a yawn.

  ‘Yes, my lord. I’ll tell the gentleman.’

  The landlord withdrew, but in a very short space the door opened again, this time to admit a gentleman in a puce coat with gilt buttons who came hastily in, and strode to the table.

  ‘Your pardon, sir. May I have a word with you?’

  The Earl rose in his leisurely fashion, and bowed. ‘By all means,’ he replied. ‘Lord Charlton, is it not?’

  The other nodded. He was a man in the late twenties with a handsome, dissipated countenance, and a bad-tempered mouth.

  ‘Yes, I’m Charlton,’ he said impatiently. His eyes alighted on Mr Brown’s vacated chair. He stabbed a finger at the crumpled napkin and said:

  ‘Ha! So there was someone with you!’

  The Earl raised his brows.

  ‘Certainly,’ he replied. ‘What of it?’

  ‘When did he leave?’ demanded Lord Charlton.

  ‘Some time ago,’ answered the Earl. ‘Er – I feel sure that you will forgive my curiosity, but may I know in what way my guests have become your concern?’

  Lord Charlton’s colour rose angrily, but he said:

  ‘Seems odd to you, I dare say, but if your guest was a – a youth in a blue coat, with light hair and blue eyes, he is more my concern than yours. I’m in pursuit of him – don’t know what cock-and-bull story he may have told you – but I came upon his coach in the middle of Hounslow Heath, and was told he was gone on in some gentleman’s chaise. I arrived here to learn that you were dining with a youth exactly fitting my description.’