He was allowed to take Arabella on his arm on their way to the part of the grounds whence these could best be seen, while Mr. Beaumaris followed beside Lady Bridlington, but just as he had secured two excellent places he found himself, quite how he did not know, supplanted, and was obliged to attend to his Mama, who did not like her situation, and insisted on his finding her a place where her view of the set-pieces would not be obscured by the head-dress of a lady who favoured immensely tall ostrich plumes.
Arabella momentarily forgot her troubles in enchantment, and clapped her hands when the rockets soared skywards, and burst into stars. Mr. Beaumaris, inured to fireworks, derived even more entertainment through watching her round-eyed delight; but after the first of the set-pieces had burnt itself out, he consulted his watch, and said gently: “Shall we go, Miss Tallant?”
These words brought her to earth with a shock. An impulse to tell him that she had changed her mind had to be sternly repressed, and all the miseries poor Bertram must be enduring recalled. She clutched her taffeta cloak round her, and said nervously: “Oh, yes! Is it already time? Yes, let us go at once!”
There was not the least difficulty in detaching themselves unnoticed from a crowd of persons all intent upon the evolutions of a giant Catherine-wheel; Arabella laid a cold hand on Mr. Beaumaris’s arm, and went with him down an alley, past the Fountain of Neptune, most tastefully illuminated, along one of the colonnades, and so to the land-entrance. Several carriages were awaiting their owners here, and amongst them Mr. Beaumaris’s travelling chaise, with a pair of horses harnessed to it, and his head-coachman, and one postilion in attendance. Neither of these individuals betrayed the smallest surprise at seeing a lady on his master’s arm, and although Arabella was too much embarrassed to raise her eyes she was aware that they were conducting themselves as though this elopement were an everyday occurrence in their lives. They sprang to well-trained activity as soon as they saw their master; the cloths were swept from the back of Mr. Beaumaris’s highly-bred horses; the steps of the chaise were let down, the doors opened, and Mr. Beaumaris handed his bride tenderly up into the luxurious vehicle. So little time had she been kept waiting in the road that she did not even look to see whether any baggage was strapped, to the back of the chaise. Mr. Beaumaris paused only to exchange a word with the coachman, and then sprang up, and took his place beside Arabella on the comfortably cushioned seat; the doors were shut on them; the postilion swung himself into the saddle, and the equipage moved forward.
Mr. Beaumaris spread a soft rug over Arabella’s legs, and said: “I have a warmer cloak here: may I put it round your shoulders?”
“Oh, no, thank you! I am quite warm!” Arabella said nervously.
He took her hand, and kissed it. After a moment she drew it away, and sought desperately for something to say to relieve the tension of the moment.
“How very well-sprung your chaise is, sir!” she achieved.
“I am glad you are pleased with it,” he responded, in the same polite tone which she had used. “I remembered, of course, that we are alike in detesting hired vehicles.”
“Are—are we?” she said doubtfully. “I mean, of course—”
“We exchanged opinions, the first time we met, on the only tolerable way of travel,” Mr. Beaumaris reminded her.
This recollection not unnaturally deprived her of speech. Mr. Beaumaris, most obligingly, forbore to press her for an answer, but talked agreeably about the concert they had heard that night. Arabella, who bad experienced a few moments’ panic on finding herself shut up with her bridegroom in a chaise, travelling to an unknown but probably remote destination, was overwhelmingly grateful to him for behaving precisely as though he were escorting her home from some place of entertainment. She had been much afraid that he would perhaps have tried to make love to her. She had not much experience in such matters, but it had occurred to her that a gentleman starting on an elopement might expect some demonstration of affection from his beloved. A week earlier, safe in the darkness of her bedchamber, her cheek on a damp pillow, Arabella had owned to herself that life could hold no greater happiness for her than for Mr. Beaumaris to take her in his arms; now, miserably conscious of her duplicity, she could imagine nothing more unnerving. But Mr. Beaumaris, surely the calmest of runaway-bridegrooms, showed no desire to succumb to his ardour. Finding that he was being answered in monosyllables, he presently gave up trying to engage Arabella in genteel conversation, and leaned back in his corner of the chaise, his head a little turned against the squabs behind it towards her, so that he could watch her face in the dim moonlight that penetrated into the vehicle. Arabella was scarcely aware that he had stopped talking to her. She was lost in her own thoughts, seated bolt upright, and clinging with one hand to the strap that hung from the wall of the chaise beside her. She could see the postilion bobbing up and down before her, and, when the cobbles were left behind, was vaguely conscious of having left the streets and to be driving through the countryside. In what direction they were travelling, or where she would find herself at the first halt, she had no idea, nor were these the questions that troubled her mind. The impropriety of her conduct she had from the start known to be unforgiveable; what now filled her with repugnance was the sudden realization that in marrying Mr. Beaumaris while he still laboured under a misapprehension she was treating him so shabbily that it was doubtful if he would ever pardon her, much less continue to regard her with even a shred of affection. At this melancholy reflection a small sob escaped her, which had the effect of making Mr. Beaumaris say: “What is it, my love?”
“Nothing! Nothing!” whispered Arabella, much agitated.
To her relief, he appeared to accept this, for he said no more. She decided, in a wave of remorse, that he was the greatest gentleman of her acquaintance, with the best manners, the most delicate forbearance, and quite the kindest disposition. It was at this point that the moment for which Mr. Beaumaris had been waiting arrived. All at once Arabella wondered how soon after the wedding-ceremony she could break the news to him that she required him not only to forgive her brother’s debt to him, but also to bestow a hundred pounds on him for the settlement of all his other liabilities; and what words she could find with which most unexceptionably to express this urgent necessity. There were no such words, as a very little cudgelling of her brain sufficed to convince her. She could not imagine how she could ever have been foolish enough to have supposed that the thing could be done, or that such a confession could be made without afterwards rendering it impossible for her to convince him that she did indeed love him.
These, and still more disagreeable thoughts, were jostling one another in Arabella’s frightened mind when the pace at which they were travelling seemed sensibly to slacken. The chaise swung round at so sharp an angle that only her clutch on the strap saved Arabella from being thrown on to Mr. Beaumaris’s shoulder. It proceeded for a very little way, and then drew up. Arabella turned towards the dupe beside her, and said breathlessly: “I cannot! I cannot! Mr. Beaumaris, I am very sorry, but it was all a mistake! Please take me back to London at once! Oh, please take me back!”
Mr. Beaumaris received this daunting request with a remarkable degree of composure, merely replying, as the door of the chaise was opened: “Shall we discuss this matter in a more private spot? Let me assist you to alight, my love!”
“Please take me back! I—I don’t want to elope, after all!” said Arabella, in an urgent whisper.
“Then we won’t elope,” returned Mr. Beaumaris reassuringly, “I must own that I think it quite unnecessary for us to do so. Come!”
Arabella hesitated, but since he seemed determined that she should descend from the chaise, and perhaps wanted to rest his horses, she allowed him to hand her down. They seemed to be standing before a large building, but it showed none of the welcoming lights to be expected of a posting-inn, nor had the chaise driven into a courtyard. At the top of a flight of broad, shallow stone steps a large door opened, and a beam of light from the interior of the building snowed Arabella neat flower-beds flanking the entrance. Before she had recovered from the surprise of finding herself at what was plainly a private, residence, Mr. Beaumaris had led her up the steps, and into a lofty hall, furnished in a massive style, and lit by candles in wall-chandeliers. An elderly butler bowed them in, and said: “Good-evening sir.” One powdered and liveried footman divested Mr. Beaumaris of his cloak, another relieved him of his hat and gloves.