CHAPTER XXXI
THE INN AT CHIPPENHAM
The road which passed before the gates at Bastwick was not a highway,and Mr. Thomasson stood a full minute, staring after the carriage, andwondering what chance brought a traveller that way at that hour.Presently it occurred to him that one of Mr. Pomeroy's neighbours mighthave dined abroad, have sat late over the wine, and be now returning;and that so the incident might admit of the most innocent explanation.Yet it left him uneasy. Until the last hum of wheels died in thedistance he stood listening and thinking. Then he turned from the gate,and with a shiver betook himself towards the house. He had donehis part.
Or had he? The road was not ten paces behind him, when a cry rent thedarkness, and he paused to listen. He caught the sound of hastyfootsteps crossing the open ground on his right, and apparentlyapproaching; and he raised his lanthorn in alarm. The next moment a darkform vaulted the railings that fenced the avenue on that side, sprang onthe affrighted tutor, and, seizing him violently by the collar, shookhim to and fro as a terrier shakes a rat.
It was Mr. Pomeroy, beside himself with rage. 'What have you done withher?' he cried. 'You treacherous hound! Answer, or by heaven I shallchoke you!'
'Done--done with whom?' the tutor gasped, striving to free himself.'Mr. Pomeroy, I am not--what does this--mean?'
'With her? With the girl?'
'She is--I have put her in the carriage! I swear I have! Oh!' heshrieked, as Mr. Pomeroy, in a fresh access of passion, gripped histhroat and squeezed it. 'I have put her in the carriage, I tell you! Ihave done everything you told me!'
'In the carriage? What carriage? In what carriage?'
'The one that was there.'
'At the gate?'
'Yes, yes.'
'You fool! You imbecile!' Mr. Pomeroy roared, as he shook him with allhis strength. 'The carriage is at the other gate.'
Mr. Thomasson gasped, partly with surprise, partly under the influenceof Pomeroy's violence. 'At the other gate?' he faltered. 'But--there wasa carriage here. I saw it. I put her in it. Not a minute ago!'
'Then, by heaven, it was your carriage, and you have betrayed me,'Pomeroy retorted; and shook his trembling victim until his teethchattered and his eyes protruded. 'I thought I heard wheels and I cameto see. If you don't tell me the truth this instant,' he continuedfuriously, 'I'll have the life out of you.'
'It is the truth,' Mr. Thomasson stammered, blubbering with fright. 'Itwas a carriage that came up--and stopped. I thought it was yours, and Iput her in. And it went on.'
'A lie, man--a lie!'
'I swear it is true! I swear it is! If it were not should I be goingback to the house? Should I be going to face you?' Mr. Thomassonprotested.
The argument impressed Pomeroy; his grasp relaxed. 'The devil is in it,then!' he muttered. 'For no one else could have set a carriage at thatgate at that minute! Anyway, I'll know. Come on!' he continuedrecklessly snatching up the lanthorn, which had fallen on its side andwas not extinguished. 'We'll after her! By the Lord, we'll after her.They don't trick me so easily!'
The tutor ventured a terrified remonstrance, but Mr. Pomeroy, deaf tohis entreaties and arguments, bundled him over the fence, and, grippinghis arm, hurried him as fast as his feet would carry him across thesward to the other gate. A carriage, its lamps burning brightly, stoodin the road. Mr. Pomeroy exchanged a few curt words with the driver,thrust in the tutor, and followed himself. On the instant the vehicledashed away, the coachman cracking his whip and shouting oaths athis horses.
The hedges flew by, pale glimmering walls in the lamplight; the mud flewup and splashed Mr. Pomeroy's face; still he hung out of the window, hishand on the fastening of the door, and a brace of pistols on the ledgebefore him; while the tutor, shuddering at these preparations, hopingagainst hope that they would overtake no one, cowered in the farthercorner. With every turn of the road or swerve of the horses Pomeroyexpected to see the fugitives' lights. Unaware or oblivious that thecarriage he was pursuing had the start of him by so much that at topspeed he could scarcely look to overtake it under the hour, his rageincreased with every disappointment. Although the pace at which theytravelled over a rough road was such as to fill the tutor with instantterror and urgent thoughts of death--although first one lamp wasextinguished and then another, and the carriage swung so violently asfrom moment to moment to threaten an overturn, Mr. Pomeroy never ceasedto hang out of the window, to yell at the horses and upbraid the driver.
And with all, the labour seemed to be wasted. With wrath and a volley ofcurses he saw the lights of Chippenham appear in front, and still nosign of the pursued. Five minutes later the carriage awoke the echoes inthe main street of the sleeping town, and Mr. Thomasson drew a deepbreath of relief as it came to a stand.
Not so Mr. Pomeroy. He dashed the door open and sprang out, prepared tooverwhelm the driver with reproaches. The man anticipated him. 'They arehere,' he said with a sulky gesture.
'Here? Where?'
A man in a watchman's coat, and carrying a staff and lanthorn--of whomthe driver had already asked a question--came heavily round, from theoff-side of the carriage. 'There is a chaise and pair just come in fromthe Melksham Road,' he said, 'and gone to the Angel, if that is what youwant, your honour.'
'A lady with them?'
'I saw none, but there might be.'
'How long ago?'
'Ten minutes.'
'We're right!' Mr. Pomeroy cried with a jubilant oath, and turning backto the door of the carriage, slipped the pistols into his skirt pockets.'Come,' he said to Thomasson. 'And do you,' he continued, addressing hisdriver, who was no other than the respectable Tamplin, 'follow at awalking pace. Have they ordered on?' he asked, slipping a crown into thenight-watchman's hand.
'I think not, your honour,' the man answered. 'I believe they arestaying.'
With a word of satisfaction Mr. Pomeroy hurried his unwilling companiontowards the inn. The streets were dark; only an oil lamp or two burnedat distant points. But the darkness of the town was noon-day light incomparison of the gloom which reigned in Mr. Thomasson's mind. In thegrasp of this headstrong man, whose temper rendered him blind toobstacles and heedless of danger, the tutor felt himself swept along,as incapable of resistance as the leaf that is borne upon the stream. Itwas not until they turned into the open space before the Angel, andperceived a light in the doorway of the inn that despair gave himcourage to remonstrate.
Then the risk and folly of the course they were pursuing struck him soforcibly that he grew frantic. He clutched Mr. Pomeroy's sleeve, anddragging him aside out of earshot of Tamplin, who was following them,'This is madness!' he urged vehemently. 'Sheer madness! Have youconsidered, Mr. Pomeroy? If she is here, what claim have we to interferewith her? What authority over her? What title to force her away? If wehad overtaken her on the road, in the country, it might have been onething. But here--'
'Here?' Mr. Pomeroy retorted, his face dark, his under-jaw thrust outhard as a rock. 'And why not here?'
'Because--why, because she will appeal to the people.'
'What people?'
'The people who have brought her hither.'
'And what is their right to her?' Mr. Pomeroy retorted, with a brutaloath.
'The people at the inn, then.'
'Well, and what is their right? But--I see your point, parson! Damme,you are a cunning one. I had not thought of that. She'll appeal to them,will she? Then she shall be my sister, run off from her home! Ha! Ha! Orno, my lad,' he continued, chuckling savagely, and slapping the tutor onthe back; 'they know me here, and that I have no sister. She shall beyour daughter!' And while Mr. Thomasson stared aghast, Pomeroy laughedrecklessly. 'She shall be your daughter, man! My guest, and run off withan Irish ensign! Oh, by Gad, we'll nick her! Come on!'
Mr. Thomasson shuddered. It seemed to him the wildest scheme--a follybeyond speech. Resisting the hand with which Pomeroy would have impelledhim towards the lighted doorway, 'I will have nothing to do with it!' hecried, with all the firmness
he could muster. 'Nothing! Nothing!'
'A minute ago you might have gone to the devil!' Mr. Pomeroy answeredgrimly, 'and welcome! Now, I want you. And, by heaven, if you don'tstand by me I'll break your back! Who is there here who is likely toknow you? Or what have you to fear?'
'She'll expose us!' Mr. Thomasson whimpered. 'She'll tell them!'
'Who'll believe her?' the other answered with supreme contempt. 'Whichis the more credible story--hers about a lost heir, or ours? Come on,I say!'
Mr. Thomasson had been far from anticipating a risk of this kind when heentered on his career of scheming. But he stood in mortal terror of hiscompanion, whose reckless passions were fully aroused; and after a briefresistance he succumbed. Still protesting, he allowed himself to beurged past the open doors of the inn-yard--in the black depths of whichthe gleam of a lanthorn, and the form of a man moving to and fro,indicated that the strangers' horses were not yet bedded--and up thehospitable steps of the Angel Inn.
A solitary candle burning in a room on the right of the hall, guidedtheir feet that way. Its light disclosed a red-curtained snuggery, wellfurnished with kegs and jolly-bodied jars, and rows of bottles; and inthe middle of this cheerful profusion the landlord himself, stoopingover a bottle of port, which he was lovingly decanting. His array, ahorseman's coat worn over night-gear, with bare feet thrust intoslippers, proved him newly risen from bed; but the hum of voices andclatter of plates which came from the neighbouring kitchen were signsthat, late as it was, the good inn was not caught napping.
The host heard their steps behind him, but crying 'Coming, gentlemen,coming!' finished his task before he turned. Then 'Lord save us!' heejaculated, staring at them--the empty bottle in one hand, the decanterin the other. 'Why, the road's alive to-night! I beg your honour'spardon, I am sure, and yours, sir! I thought 'twas one of the gentlementhat arrived, awhile ago--come down to see why supper lagged. SquirePomeroy, to be sure! What can I do for you, gentlemen? The fire isscarce out in the Hertford, and shall be rekindled at once?'
Mr. Pomeroy silenced him by a gesture. 'No,' he said; 'we are notstaying. But you have some guests here, who arrived half an hour ago?'
'To be sure, your honour. The same I was naming.' 'Is there a young ladywith them?'
The landlord looked hard at him. 'A young lady?' he said.
'Yes! Are you deaf, man?' Pomeroy retorted wrathfully, his impatiencegetting the better of him. 'Is there a young lady with them? That iswhat I asked.'
But the landlord still stared; and it was only after an appreciableinterval that he answered cautiously: 'Well, to be sure, I am not--I amnot certain. I saw none, sir. But I only saw the gentlemen when they hadgone upstairs. William admitted them, and rang up the stables. A younglady?' he continued, rubbing his head as if the question perplexed him.'May I ask, is't some one your honour is seeking?'
'Damme, man, should I ask if it weren't?' Mr. Pomeroy retorted angrily.'If you must know, it is this gentleman's daughter, who has run awayfrom her friends.'
'Dear, dear!'
'And taken up with a beggarly Irishman!'
The landlord stared from one to the other in great perplexity. 'Dearme!' he said. 'That is sad! The gentleman's daughter!' And he looked atMr. Thomasson, whose fat sallow face was sullenness itself. Then,remembering his manners, 'Well, to be sure, I'll go and learn,' hecontinued briskly. 'Charles!' to a half-dressed waiter, who at thatmoment appeared at the foot of the stairs, 'set lights in the Yarmouthand draw these gentlemen what they require. I'll not be many minutes,Mr. Pomeroy.'
He hurried up the narrow staircase, and an instant later appeared on thethreshold of a room in which sat two gentlemen, facing one another insilence before a hastily-kindled fire. They had travelled together fromBristol, cheek by jowl in a post-chaise, exchanging scarce as many wordsas they had traversed miles. But patience, whether it be of the sullenor the dignified cast, has its limits; and these two, their tempersexasperated by a chilly journey taken fasting, had come very near to theend of sufferance. Fortunately, at the moment Mr. Dunborough--for he wasthe one--made the discovery that he could not endure Sir George'simpassive face for so much as the hundredth part of another minute--andin consequence was having recourse to his invention for the most brutalremark with which to provoke him--the port and the landlord arrivedtogether; and William, who had carried up the cold beef and stewedkidneys by another staircase, was heard on the landing. The host helpedto place the dishes on the table. Then he shut out his assistant.
'By your leave, Sir George,' he said diffidently. 'But the young ladyyou were inquiring for? Might I ask--?'
He paused as if he feared to give offence. Sir George laid down hisknife and fork and looked at him. Mr. Dunborough did the same. 'Yes,yes, man,' Soane said. 'Have you heard anything? Out with it!'
'Well, sir, it is only--I was going to ask if her father lived in theseparts.'
'Her father?'
'Yes, sir.'
Mr. Dunborough burst into rude laughter. 'Oh, Lord!' he said. 'Are wegrown so proper of a sudden? Her father, damme!'
Sir George shot a glance of disdain at him. Then, 'My good fellow,' hesaid to the host, 'her father has been dead these fifteen years.'
The landlord reddened, annoyed by the way Mr. Dunborough had taken him.'The gentleman mistakes me, Sir George,' he said stiffly. 'I did not askout of curiosity, as you, who know me, can guess; but to be plain, yourhonour, there are two gentlemen below stairs, just come in; and whatbeats me, though I did not tell them so, they are also in search of ayoung lady.'
'Indeed?' Sir George answered, looking gravely at him. 'Probably theyare from the Castle Inn at Marlborough, and are inquiring for the ladywe are seeking.'
'So I should have thought,' the landlord answered, nodding sagely; 'butone of the gentlemen says he is her father, and the other--'
Sir George stared. 'Yes?' he said, 'What of the other?'
'Is Mr. Pomeroy of Bastwick,' the host replied, lowering his voice.'Doubtless your honour knows him?'
'By name.'
'He has naught to do with the young lady?'
'Nothing in the world.'
'I ask because--well, I don't like to speak ill of the quality, or ofthose by whom one lives, Sir George; but he has not got the best namein the county; and there have been wild doings at Bastwick of late, andwrits and bailiffs and worse. So I did not up and tell him all I knew.'
On a sudden Dunborough spoke. 'He was at College, at Pembroke,' he said.'Doyley knows him. He'd know Tommy too; and we know Tommy is with thegirl, and that they were both dropped Laycock way. Hang me, if I don'tthink there is something in this!' he continued, thrusting his feet intoslippers: his boots were drying on the hearth. 'Thomasson is rogueenough for anything! See here, man,' he went on, rising and flingingdown his napkin; 'do you go down and draw them into the hall, so that Ican hear their voices. And I will come to the head of the stairs. Whereis Bastwick?'
'Between here and Melksham, but a bit off the road, sir.'
'It would not be far from Laycock?'
'No, your honour; I should think it would be within two or three milesof it. They are both on the flat the other side of the river.'
'Go down! go down!' Mr. Dunborough answered. 'And pump him, man! Set himtalking. I believe we have run the old fox to earth. It will be ourfault if we don't find the vixen!'
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