The post-boy unstrapped the portmanteaux, but hesitated, saying: “They’ll be locked, surely!”
“Break the locks, then!” she said impatiently. “Oh, if there were only someone who could help me!”
By this time, Hildebrand had struggled up. He was sick, and dizzy, and his legs shook under him, but Amanda’s anguished cry pulled him together. The blood rushed up into his face; he said thickly, engulfed in shame: “I’ll do it!” and went unsteadily to where the post-boy had set one of the portmanteaux down on the road.
“Ho, yes?” said that individual, bristling. “You will, will you? And make off with the gentleman’s goods, I daresay!”
“Idiot!”The word burst from Amanda. “Can’t you see he’s not a highwayman? Let him get at that case! I—I command you!”
She sounded so fierce that the post-boy gave way instinctively. The portmanteau was not locked, and with trembling hands Hildebrand flung back the lid, and began to toss over Sir Gareth’s effects. He found shirts, and many neckcloths, and a large sponge, at sight of which Amanda exclaimed: “Oh, yes, yes! Tie that up in a shirt, tight, tight,and bring it to me! Oh, no, give it to the post-boy, and whatever you do, Hildebrand, don’t look this way, or you will go off again in a faint, and there is no time to waste in fainting!”
He was too much overcome to answer her, but although he dared not let his eyes stray towards her he could do what she asked, and could even knot several of the neckcloths together. Between them, Amanda and the post-boy contrived to bind the improvised swab tightly in place; and while they worked, Amanda demanded to be told where the nearest house or inn could be found. The post-boy at first could think of nothing nearer than Bedford, which was some eight miles distant, but upon being adjured pretty sharply to find his wits he said that there was an inn at Little Staughton, a mile down the cross-road. He added that it wasn’t fit for the likes of Sir Gareth, upon which, Amanda, wrought up to a dangerous pitch of exasperation, told him he was a cloth-headed gapeseed, an unladylike utterance which was culled from her grandfather’s vocabulary, and which considerably startled the post-boy. She directed him to strap up the portmanteaux again; and while he was doing it, she turned her attention to Hildebrand, informing him that he must help to lift Sir Gareth into the chaise. “It is of no avail to tell me you can’t, because you must!”she said severely. “And I forbid you to faint until Sir Gareth is safely bestowed! You may then do so, if you wish, but I can’t stay for you, so you must take care of yourself. And I shan’t have the least compunction in leaving you, for this is all your fault, and now, when we are in this fix, you become squeamish, which puts me out of all patience with you!”
The unhappy Hildebrand stammered: “Of course I will help to lift him! I don’t wish to faint: I can’t help but do so!”
“You can do anything if only you will have a little resolution!” she told him.
This bracing treatment had its effect upon him. He could not but shudder when his eyes fell on her bloodstained gown, but he quickly averted them, choked down his nausea, and silently prayed that he might not again disgrace himself. The prayer was answered. Sir Gareth was lifted as tenderly as was possible into the chaise, where Amanda received him, and Hildebrand was still on his feet. This unlooked-for triumph put a little heart into him, and he suddenly looked very much less hang-dog, and said that he would ride on ahead to warn them at the inn to prepare to house a badly wounded man.
Amanda warmly approved this suggestion, but the post-boy, who still felt that Hildebrand was a dangerous rogue, opposed it, even going to the length of pulling out the pistol from his jacket. Hildebrand, he said, would ride immediately in front of him, so that he could put a bullet through him if he tried to gallop away.
“What a detestably stupid creature you are!” exclaimed Amanda. “It was all a jest—a wager! Oh, I can’t explain it to you now, but Sir Gareth knew it was an accident! You heard him say so! Yes, and you don’t suppose he would call a real highwayman a young fool, do you? Doesn’t that show you that he knew him? And he won’t try to escape, because I assure you he is excessively fond of Sir Gareth. Go at once,Hildebrand! And get on your horse, and follow him, and oh, pray, pray drive carefully!”
“Shoot me if you wish!” Hildebrand said, seizing his horse’s bridle. “I don’t care! I’d rather that than be hanged, or transported!”
With these reckless words, he mounted Prince, clapped his heels to the horse’s flanks, and shot off down the lane.
The chaise followed at a very much more sober pace, but the lane was so narrow that the post-boy found it impossible to avoid the many pot-holes. The best he could do, whenever he saw a particularly large one ahead, was to rein the horses in to a walk, lessening the jolt as much as he could. But nothing could avail to make the short journey anything but a very rough one. Amanda kept an anxious eye on her bandages, terrified that the pad might shift, and the bleeding start again. So tall a man could not be laid flat in a chaise, but Amanda had clasped her arms round Sir Gareth, supporting his head on her shoulder, and trying as best she might to ease the frequent bumps for him. Under her hand she fancied that she could feel his heart faintly beating, which brought such relief to her overcharged nerves that thankful tears sprang to her eyes, and rolled unheeded down her cheeks.
Finding that the bandages were holding, her most pressing anxiety abated, and she was able to consider all the other anxieties attached to her predicament. Chief amongst these was the stringent need to rescue Hildebrand from the consequences of his folly. She was not much given to self-blame, but there could be no doubt that she had been to some extent responsible for the accident. To be sure, she had extracted from Hildebrand a promise that he would not fire his pistols, but she now saw that she should have known better than to have placed the slightest reliance on his keeping his head in emergency. And although no one (or, at any rate, no one with the smallest sense of justice) could blame her for having accepted his proffered services, she did feel that she was very much to blame in having consented to any plan that could possibly put poor Sir Gareth in danger. If she had not blackened Sir Gareth’s character, Hildebrand would never have dreamt of holding up the chaise; and that she had blackened his character now filled her with unaccustomed remorse. It really seemed more dreadful than all the rest, for as soon as he had sunk lifeless to the ground, her resentment had vanished, and she had see him, not as a cruel marplot, but as her kind and endlessly patient protector. But this, she owned, Hildebrand could not have guessed, from anything she had told him; and however stupid it was of him not to have known, only by looking at Sir Gareth, that he was in every respect an admirable person, it was not just that he should suffer a hideous penalty for his folly. Sir Gareth had not wished him to suffer. With what might prove to have been his last word on earth he had exonerated Hildebrand. The thought of this noble magnanimity affected her so much, that she exclaimed aloud: “Oh, I wish I had not told those lies about you! It was all my fault!”
But Sir Gareth could not hear her, so it was useless to tell him how sorry she was. And even if he had not been unconscious, she thought, her practical side reasserting itself, repentance would not mend matters. She dared not relax her arms from about him, so she could not wipe away her tears, but she stopped crying, and forced herself to think what she ought next to do. Her arms were aching almost unbearably, but that was unimportant. The important thing was to save Hildebrand from the clutches of the law. He was stupid, he lacked resolution, but she was going to need his services.