CHAPTER XVIII
THE PURSUIT
The attorney was brave with a coward's great bravery; he was afraid, buthe went on. As he climbed into his saddle in the stable-yard, themuttering ostlers standing round, and the yellow-flaring light of thelanthorns stretching fingers into the darkness, he could have wept forhimself. Beyond the gates and the immediate bustle of the yard laynight, the road, and dimly-guessed violences; the meeting of man withman, the rush to grips under some dark wood, or where the moonlight fellcold on the heath. The prospect terrified; at the mere thought thelawyer dropped the reins and nervously gathered them. And he had anotherfear, and one more immediate. He was no horseman, and he trembled lestSir George, the moment the gates were passed, should go off in areckless gallop. Already he felt his horse heave and sidle under him, ina fashion that brought his heart into his mouth; and he was ready to cryfor quarter. But the absurdity of the request where time was everything,the journey black earnest, and its issue life and death, struck him, andheroically he closed his mouth. Yet, at the remembrance that thesethings were, he fell into a fresh panic.
However, for a time there was to be no galloping. Sir George when allwere up took a lanthorn from the nearest man, and bidding one of theothers run at his stirrup, led the way into the road, where he fell intoa sharp trot, his servant and Mr. Fishwick following. The attorneybumped in his saddle, but kept his stirrups and gradually found hishands and eyesight. The trot brought them to Manton Corner and the emptyhouse; where Sir George pulled up and dismounted. Giving his reins tothe stable-boy, he thrust open the doors of the yard and entered,holding up his lanthorn, his spurs clinking on the stones and hisskirts swaying.
'But she--they cannot be here?' the lawyer ejaculated, his teethchattering.
Sir George, busy stooping and peering about the yard, which wasgrass-grown and surrounded by walls, made no answer; and the other two,as well as Mr. Fishwick, wondered what he would be at. But in a momentthey knew. He stooped and took up a small object, smelt it, and held itout to them. 'What is that?' he asked curtly.
The stable-man who was holding his horse stared at it. 'Negro-head, yourhonour,' he said. 'It is sailors' tobacco.'
'Who uses it about here?'
'Nobody to my knowing.'
'They are from Bristol, then,' Soane answered. And then 'Make way!' hecontinued, addressing the other two who blocked the gateway; andspringing into his saddle he pressed his horse between them, hisstirrups dangling. He turned sharp to the left, and leaving thestable-man to stare after them, the lanthorn swaying in his hand, he ledthe way westward at the same steady trot.
The chase had begun. More than that, Mr. Fishwick was beginning to feelthe excitement of it; the ring of the horses' shoes on the hard road,the rush of the night air past his ears exhilarated him. He began tofeel confidence in his leader, and confidence breeds courage. Bristol?Then Bristol let it be. And then on top of this, his spirits being morecomposed, came a rush of rage and indignation at thought of the girl.The lawyer clutched his whip, and, reckless of consequences, dug hisheels into his horse, and for the moment, in the heat of his wrath,longed to be up with the villains, to strike a blow at them. If hiscourage lasted, Mr. Fishwick might show them a man yet--when thetime came!
Trot-trot, trot-trot through the darkness under the stars, the treesblack masses that shot up beside the road and vanished as soon as seen,the downs grey misty outlines that continually fenced them in and wentwith them; and always in the van Sir George, a grim silent shape withface set immovably forward. They worked up Fyfield hill, and thence,looking back, bade farewell to the faint light that hung aboveMarlborough. Dropping into the bottom they cluntered over the woodenbridge and by Overton steeple--a dim outline on the left--and canteringup Avebury hill eased their horses through Little Kennet. Gatheringspeed again they swept through Beckhampton village, where the Bath roadfalls off to the left, and breasting the high downs towards Yatesbury,they trotted on to Cheril.
Here on the hills the sky hung low overhead, and the wind sweeping chilland drear across the upland was full of a melancholy soughing. Theworld, it seemed to one of them, was uncreate, gone, and non-existent;only this remained--the shadowy downs stretching on every side toinfinity, and three shadowy riders plodding across them; all shadowy,all unreal until a bell-wether got up under the horses' heads, and witha confused rush and scurry of feet a hundred Southdowns scampered intothe grey unknown.
Mr. Fishwick found it terrible, rugged, wild, a night foray. His heartbegan to sink again. He was sore too, sweating, and fit to drop from hissaddle with the unwonted exertion.
And what of Sir George, hurled suddenly out of his age and world--theage _des philosophes_, and the smooth world of White's and LordMarch--into this quagmire of feeling, this night of struggle upon theWiltshire downs? A few hours earlier he had ridden the same road, andthe prize he now stood in danger of losing had seemed--God forgivehim!--of doubtful value. Now, as he thought of her, his heart melted ina fire of love and pity: of love that conjured up a thousand pictures ofher eyes, her lips, her smile, her shape--all presently dashed by nightand reality; of pity that swelled his breast to bursting, set his eyesburning and his brain throbbing--a pity near akin to rage.
Even so, he would not allow himself to dwell on the worst. He had formedhis opinion of the abduction; if it proved correct he believed that heshould be in time to save her from that. But from the misery ofsuspense, of fear, of humiliation, from the touch of rough hands and theshame of coarse eyes, from these things--and alone they kindled hisblood into flame--he was powerless to save her!
Lady Dunborough could no longer have accused him of airs and graces.Breeding, habit, the custom of the gaming-table, the pride of casteavailed to mask his passions under a veil of reserve, but were powerlessto quell them. What was more remarkable, so set was he on the one objectof recovering his mistress and putting an end to the state of terror inwhich he pictured her--ignorant what her fate would be, and dreading theworst--he gave hardly a thought to the astounding discovery which thelawyer had made to him. He asked him no questions, turned to him for noexplanations. Those might come later; for the moment he thought not ofhis cousin, but of his mistress. The smiles that had brightened the dullpassages of the inn, the figure that had glorified the quiet streets,the eyes that had now invited and now repelled him, these were become somany sharp thorns in his heart, so many goads urging him onward.
It was nine when they saw the lights of Calne below them, and trottingand stumbling down the hill, clattered eagerly into the town. A moment'sdelay in front of the inn, where their questions speedily gathered acrowd, and they had news of the chaise: it had passed through the towntwo hours before without changing horses. The canvas blinds were down orthere were shutters; which, the ostler who gave them the information,could not say. But the fact that the carriage was closed had struck him,and together with the omission to take fresh horses, had awakened hissuspicions.
By the time this was told a dozen were round them, listeningopen-mouthed; and cheered by the lights and company Mr. Fishwick grewbrave again. But Sir George allowed no respite: in five minutes theywere clear of the houses and riding hard for Chippenham, the next stageon the Bristol road; Sir George's horse cantering free, the lawyer'sgroaning as it bumped across Studley bridge and its rider caught thepale gleam of the water below. On through the village they swept, pastBrumhill Lane-end, thence over the crest where the road branches southto Devizes, and down the last slope. The moon rose as they passed thefourth milestone out of Calne; another five minutes and they drew up,the horses panting and hanging their heads, in the main street ofChippenham.
A coach--one of the night coaches out of Bristol--was standing beforethe inn, the horses smoking, the lamps flaring cheerfully, a crowd roundit; the driver had just unbuckled his reins and flung them either way.Sir George pushed his horse up to the splinter-bar and hailed him,asking whether he had met a closed chaise and four travelling Bristolway at speed.
'A closed chaise and four?'
the man answered, looking down at theparty; and then recognising Sir George, 'I beg your honour's pardon,' hesaid. 'Here, Jeremy,' to the guard--while the stable-man and helperspaused to listen or stared at the heaving flanks of the riders'horses--'did we meet a closed chaise and four to-night?'
'We met a chaise and four at Cold Aston,' the guard answered,ruminating. 'But 'twas Squire Norris's of Sheldon, and there was no onebut the Squire in it. And a chaise and four at Marshfield, but that wasa burying party from Batheaston, going home very merry. No other, closedor open, that I can mind, sir, this side of Dungeon Cross, and that isbut two miles out of Bristol.'
'They are an hour and a half in front of us!' Sir George cried eagerly.'Will a guinea improve your memory?'
Ay, sir, but 'twon't make it,' the coachman answered, grinning. 'Jeremyis right. I mind no others. What will your honour want with them?'
'They have carried off a young lady!' Mr. Fishwick cried shrilly. 'SirGeorge's kinswoman!'
'To be sure?' ejaculated the driver, amid a murmur of astonishment; andthe crowd which had grown since their arrival pressed nearer to listen.'Where from, sir, if I may make so bold?'
'From the Castle at Marlborough.'
Dear me, dear me, there is audaciousness, if you like! And you ha'followed them so far, sir?'
Sir George nodded and turned to the crowd. 'A guinea for news!' hecried. 'Who saw them go through Chippenham!'
He had not long to wait for the answer. 'They never went throughChipnam!' a thick voice hiccoughed from the rear of the press.
'They came this way out of Calne,' Sir George retorted, singling thespeaker out, and signing to the people to make way that he might getat him.
'Ay, but they never--came to Chipnam,' the fellow answered, leering athim with drunken wisdom. 'D'you see that, master?'
'Which way, then?' Soane cried impatiently. 'Which way did they go?'
But the man only lurched a step nearer. 'That's telling!' he said with abeery smile. 'You want to be--as wise as I be!'
Jeremy, the guard, seized him by the collar and shook him. 'You drunkenfool!' he said. 'D'ye know that this is Sir George Soane of Estcombe?Answer him, you swine, or you'll be in the cage in a one, two!'
'You let me be,' the man whined, straggling to release himself. 'It's nobusiness of yours,' Let me be, master!'
Sir George raised his whip in his wrath, but lowered it again with agroan. 'Can no one make him speak?' he said, looking round. The man wasstaggering and lurching in the guard's grasp.
'His wife, but she is to Marshfield, nursing her sister,' answered one.'But give him his guinea, Sir George. 'Twill save time maybe.'
Soane flung it to him. 'There!' he said. 'Now speak!'
'That'sh better,' the man muttered. 'That's talking! Now I'll tell you.You go back to Devizes Corner--corner of the road to De-vizes--youunderstand? There was a car--car--carriage there without lights an hourback. It was waiting under the hedge. I saw it, and I--I knowwhat's what!'
Sir George flung a guinea to the guard, and wheeled his horse about. Inthe act of turning his eye fell on the lawyer's steed, which, chosen forsobriety rather than staying powers, was on the point of foundering.'Get another,' he cried, 'and follow!'
Mr. Fishwick uttered a wail of despair. To be left to follow--to followalone, in the dark, through unknown roads, with scarce a clue and on astrange horse--the prospect might have appalled a hardier soul. He wassaved from it by Sir George's servant, a stolid silent man, who might bewarranted to ride twenty miles without speaking. 'Here, take mine, sir,'he said. 'I must stop to get a lanthorn; we shall need one now. Do yougo with his honour.'
Mr. Fishwick slid down and was hoisted into the other's saddle. By thetime this was done Sir George was almost lost in the gloom eat thefarther end of the street. But anything rather than be left behind. Thelawyer laid on his whip in a way that would have astonished him a fewhours before, and overtook his leader as he emerged from the town. Theyrode without speaking until they had retraced their steps to the foot ofthe hill, and could discern a little higher on the ascent the turnfor Devizes.
It is possible that Sir George hoped to find the chaise still lurking inthe shelter of the hedge; for as he rode up to the corner he drew apistol from his holster, and took his horse by the head. If so, he wasdisappointed. The moon had risen high and its cold light disclosed thewhole width of the roadway, leaving no place in which even a dog couldlie hidden. Nor as far as the eye could travel along the pale strip ofroad that ran southward was any movement or sign of life.
Sir George dropped from his saddle, and stooping, sought for proof ofthe toper's story. He had no difficulty in finding it. There were thedeep narrow ruts which the wheels of a chaise, long stationary, had madein the turf at the side of the road; and south of them was a plat ofpoached ground where the horses had stood and shifted their feetuneasily. He walked forward, and by the moonlight traced the dustyindents of the wheels until they exchanged the sward for the hard road.There they were lost in other tracks, but the inference was plain. Thechaise had gone south to Devizes.
For the first time Sir George felt the full horror of uncertainty. Heclimbed into his saddle and sat looking across the waste with eyes ofmisery, asking himself whither and for what? Whither had they taken her,and why? The Bristol road once left, his theory was at fault; he had noclue, and felt, where time was life and more than life, the slough ofhorrible conjecture rise to his very lips.
Only one thing, one certain thing remained--the road; the pale ribbonrunning southward under the stars. He must cling to that. The chaise hadgone that way, and though the double might be no more than a trick tothrow pursuers off the trail, though the first dark lane, the firstroadside tavern, the first farmhouse among the woods might haveswallowed the unhappy girl and the wretches who held her in their power,what other clue had he? What other chance but to track the chaise thatway, though every check, every minute of uncertainty, of thought, ofhesitation--and a hundred such there must be in a tithe of themiles--racked him with fears and dreadful surmises?
There was no other. The wind sweeping across the hill on the westernextremity of which he stood, looking over the lower ground about theAvon, brought the distant howl of a dog to his ears, and chilled hisblood heated with riding. An owl beating the coverts for mice sailedoverhead; a hare rustled through the fence. The stars above were awake;in the intense silence of the upland he could almost hear the greatspheres throb as they swept through space! But the human world slept,and while it slept what work of darkness might not be doing? Thatscream, shrill and ear-piercing, that suddenly rent the night--thankGod, it was only a rabbit's death-cry, but it left the sweat on hisbrow! After that he could, he would, wait for nothing and no man.Lanthorn or no lanthorn, he must be moving. He raised his whip, then letit fall again as his ear caught far away the first faint hoof-beats of ahorse travelling the road at headlong speed.
The sound was very distant at first, but it grew rapidly, and presentlyfilled the night. It came from the direction of Chippenham. Mr.Fishwick, who had not dared to interrupt his companion's calculations,heard the sound with relief; and looking for the first gleam of thelanthorn, wondered how the servant, riding at that pace, kept it alight,and whether the man had news that he galloped so furiously. But SirGeorge sat arrested in his saddle, listening, listening intently; untilthe rider was within a hundred yards or less. Then, as his ear told himthat the horse was slackening, he seized Mr. Fishwick's rein, andbacking their horses nearer the hedge, once more drew a pistol fromhis holster.
The startled lawyer discerned what he did, looked in his face, and sawthat his eyes were glittering with excitement. But having no ear forhoof-beats Mr. Fishwick did not understand what was afoot, until therider appeared at the road-end, and coming plump upon them, drew rein.
Then Sir George's voice rang out, stern and ominous. 'Good evening, Mr.Dunborough,' he said, and raised his hat. 'Well met! We are travellingthe same road, and, if you please, will do the rest of our journeytogether.'
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