By the time the chaise reached the little village, she had herself well in hand, and knew just what must be done. Her face might be tearstained, but the landlord of the Bull Inn, horrified by the disjointed tale jerked out by a pallid young gentleman on the verge of nervous collapse, and expecting to receive a damsel in hysterics, very speedily learned that Amanda was made of sterner stuff than Hildebrand. She might look a child, but there was nothing childlike in the way in which she assumed command over the direction of affairs. Under her jealous supervision, the landlord and the post-boy bore Sir Gareth up the narrow stairs to a bed-chamber under the eaves, and laid him upon the bed there; and while they were doing it she told Hildebrand, in a fierce whisper, not to say a word, but to leave all to her; and demanded from the landlord’s wife the direction of the nearest doctor, and upon learning that that shocked dame knew of no doctor other than Dr. Chantry, who attended the Squire, and lived at Eaton Socon, instantly ordered Hildebrand to jump on his horse again, and ride like the wind to summon this practitioner to Sir Gareth’s side.
“Yes, of course!” Hildebrand said eagerly. “But I don’t know how to get there, or—or where to find the doctor, or what to do if he should not be at home!”
“Oh, do try not to be so helpless!” cried Amanda. “This woman will tell you where he lives, and if he is gone out you will follow him—and do not dare to come back without him!” She then turned on Mrs. Chicklade, and said: “Tell him eaxctly where to go, for you can see how stupid he far
“I am not stupid!” retorted Hildebrand, stung to anger. “But I was never in this part of the country before, and I don’t even know in which direction I should ride!”
“No!” retorted Amanda, already halfway up the steep stairs. “I don’t know either, but I wouldn’t stand there looking like a gaby, and saying how—how—how!”
With that, she sped on her way, leaving him seething with indignation, but considerably stiffened by a determination to prove to her his worth.
Amanda found the landlord tightening the bandages round Sir Gareth’s torso, and directing the post-boy to fetch up some brandy from the tap. She was thankful to perceive that in this large, stolid man she had acquired a helper who could apparently act on his own initiative, and asked him anxiously if he thought Sir Gareth would live.
“There’s no saying, miss,” he replied unencouragingly. “He ain’t slipped his wind yet, but I’d say he’s lost a deal of claret. We’ll see if we can get a drop of brandy down his throat.”
But when the post-boy came back with this restorative, closely followed by Mrs. Chicklade, it was found to be of no avail, for it ran out of the corners of Sir Gareth’s mouth. The landlord thought this a shocking waste of good liquor, and set the glass down, saying that there was nothing for it but to send for the doctor. When Amanda disclosed that Hildebrand had already sped forth on this errand, the post-boy was loud in his disapproval. He said that the young varmint would never be seen again, and at once launched into a graphic description of the hold-up.
Until that moment, the Chicklades knew no more than they had learnt from Hildebrand, which was very little. So strange a story as was now recounted immediately convinced Mrs. Chicklade that she had been only too right when she had strongly counselled her husband not to have anything to do with a desperately wounded man. She had known from the moment of clapping eyes on Hildebrand that there was something havey-cavey about him; and as for Amanda, she would like to know, she said, how she came to be hand-in-glove with such a murdering young rascal.
“I wish you will stop thinking he is a highwayman!” said Amanda. “It was all make-believe—just funning!”
“Funning?”gasped Mrs. Chicklade.
“Yes, I tell you! He never meant to fire his pistoclass="underline" indeed, he promised me he would not!”
“What did he want to take and cock it for, if he wasn’t meaning to fire it, miss?” demanded the post-boy shrewdly.
“Oh, that was in case you would not pull up!” explained Amanda. “To fire over your head, and put you in a fright. And although I didn’t wish him to do so at first I must say I am excessively sorry now that he didn’t, because if only he had there would have been no harm done.”
“I never did!” exclaimed Mrs. Chicklade. “Why, you’re as bad as he is! I believe the pair of you was in a plot to rob the poor gentleman, and what I want to know is how you came to wheedle yourself into his company, which it’s as plain as a pikestaff you must ha’ done, and very likely too, for a bolder piece I never did see, not in all my days!”
“Easy, now!” interposed the landlord, in his deep voice. “I’ll allow it’s a queer-sounding business, but you’ve no call to speak so rough to the young lady, my dear. Who is the gentleman, missie?”
“I can tell you that!” said the post-boy officiously. “He’s Sir Gareth Ludlow, and a bang-up tulip, and him and her was putting-up in Kimbolton last night. He hired me for to carry them to Bedford.”
The landlord looked Amanda over thoughtfully. “Well, now, miss, you ain’t his wife, because you’ve got no ring on your finger, and he don’t look to me old enough to be your pa, nor yet young enough to be your brother, so what’s the game?”
“Ah, answer that if you can!” said Mrs. Chicklade.
“He is my uncle,” replied Amanda calmly. “And also he is Mr. Ross’s uncle. Mr. Ross is the man who shot him, but quite by accident. In fact, Mr. Ross and I are cousins, and it is true that we were hand-in-glove, but only to play a trick on Sir Gareth. But Sir Gareth recognized him, and I daresay he knew that he was not at all to be trusted with a pistol, because he told him not to brandish it about, and said he was a young fool. Didn’t he?”
“Ay,” responded the post-boy reluctantly. “But—”
“And then you got off your horse, and of course my cousin thought you meant to attack him, which was the cause of the accident. Because that put him in a fluster. And then his horse began to be very restive, and in the middle of it all the gun went off. He never, never meant to fire at Sir Gareth! He wasn’t even looking at him!”
“He said to the gentleman, If you come a step nearer,I’ll fire! he said. Yes, and he threatened to blow the head off my shoulders, what’s more!”
“It seems to me a great pity that he didn’t do so!” said Amanda. “I am quite tired of talking to anyone so stupid! If you had a particle of commonsense you would know that if he had wished to escape he might have done so when you were helping me to bind the neckcloths round Sir Gareth! And if he had meant to shoot Sir Gareth, he wouldn’t have fallen down in a swoon, in that silly way, which you know very well he did!”
“Swooned off, did he?” said the landlord. “It don’t surprise me. He was looking just about as sick as a cushion when he came bursting in here. Seems to me it’s likely as not it happened the way you say it did, miss, but there’s no sense in argufying, whatever the rights of it may be. Martha my dear, you take the young lady to the other bedchamber, where she can wash the blood off her hands, and put on a clean gown. When you’ve done that, you can pop a brick in the oven, because the gentleman’s powerful cold. And as for you, young fellow, you can fetch up his baggage, and help me get the clothes off him, so as he can be laid between sheets comfortable.”
Amanda cast a doubtful glance at Sir Gareth, but as she could think of nothing she could do to revive him, and the landlord seemed dependable, she allowed herself to be led by her disapproving hostess into the room beside the one to which Sir Gareth had been carried.