Speechless with rage and chagrin, he had just freed the leaders when, sweeping round the bend towards them, came the Nonesuch, his team of chestnuts well in hand, and his groom seated beside him. The team was pulled up swiftly, every rein holding as true as if it had been single; the groom jumped down, and ran to the wheelers’ heads; and the Nonesuch, his amused gaze travelling from Courtenay, beside his struggling wheeler, to Miss Trent, who had led the two sweating leaders to the side of the lane, said: “Dear me! Do what you can, Blyth!”
The groom touched his hat and went to Courtenay, who was suffering such agonies of mortification at being found in such a situation that he would have been hard put to it to decide whether he wished himself dead or the Nonesuch. He blurted out, scarlet-faced: “It was that curst milestone! I never saw it!”
“Very understandable,” agreed Sir Waldo. “But if I were you I would attend to my horses! You really need not explain the circumstances to me.” He looked smilingly at Miss Trent. “How do you do, ma’am? Quite a fortunate encounter! I was on my way to visit you—to invite you to go with me to Leeds.”
“To Leeds!” The exclamation was surprised out of her; she stood staring up at him, her embarrassment forgotten.
“Yes: on an errand of mercy!” He glanced towards the phaeton, and saw that the fallen wheeler was up. “Very good, Blyth! Now take those leaders in hand!”
The groom, who had been running a hand down one of the unfortunate wheeler’s legs, straightened himself, saying: “Yes, sir. Badly strained hock here.”
“So I should imagine. Render Mr Underhill all the assistance you can!”
“Sir!” uttered Courtenay, between gritted teeth. “I—we—were on our way to Leeds too! That was how it came about that I—I mean, it is a matter of—of great urgency! I must get there! I can’t tell you why, but if you are going there yourself, would you be so very obliging as to take me with you?”
“Well, no!” said the Nonesuch apologetically. “Phaetons, you know, were not built to carry three persons, and I have been particularly requested to bring Miss Trent with me. Oh, don’t look so distressed! Believe me, the matter is not of such great urgency as you think! You may also believe that Miss Trent is far more necessary to the success of my mission than you could hope to be.”
Miss Trent, having relinquished the reins she had been holding into Blyth’s hands, stepped quickly up to the phaeton, and said, in an undervoice: “You know, then? But how? Where are they?”
“In Leeds, at the King’s Head.” He leaned across the empty seat beside him, and held down his hand to her. “Come!”
She looked at it, thinking how strong and shapely it was, and then up, meeting his eyes, smiling into hers. She felt helpless, knowing it was her duty to go to Tiffany, longing to be with Sir Waldo, dreading to be with him, afraid, not of his strength but of her own weakness. Before she had made up her mind what to do, Courtenay, whose worshipful regard for the Nonesuch was rapidly diminishing, broke in, saying in a furious voice: “Your pardon, sir! But Miss Trent can’t discharge my errand, which is of immediate urgency, I promise you! I don’t care if he is your cousin—I—I have a very ardent desire to meet Mr Calver!”
“Yes, yes!” said the Nonesuch soothingly. “But you can express your gratitude to him at a more convenient time. Your immediate duty is to your horses.”
“My gratitude?” ejaculated Courtenay, so far forgetful of his immediate duty as to abandon his wheelers, and to stride up to Sir Waldo’s phaeton. “That—that damned rip makes off with my cousin, and you expect me to be grateful? Well, let me tell you, Sir Waldo,—”
“My amiable young cawker,” interrupted Sir Waldo, looking down at him in considerable amusement, “you are fair and far off! To whom, do you suppose, do I owe my information?”
Nonplussed, Courtenay glared up at him. “I don’t know! I—”
“Well, think!” Sir Waldo advised him. He looked again at Miss Trent, his brows lifting enquiringly.
“Is Tiffany with Mr Calver?” she demanded.
“Well, I trust she may be. She was with him when he sent off his impassioned plea for help, but he seemed to entertain some doubt of his ability to hold her in—er—check for any considerable period. I don’t wish to be importunate, ma’am, but are you coming with me, or are you not?”
“I must come!” she said, gathering up her skirt in one hand, and holding the other up to him.
He grasped it, drawing her up into the phaeton, and saying softly: “Good girl! Pluck to the backbone! Were you tumbled into the ditch?”
“I collect you’ve guessed as much from my appearance!” she said, with asperity, and putting up her hands to straighten her bonnet.
“Not a bit of it! A mere knowledge of cause and effect: you are, as ever, precise to a pin—and an enduring delight to me!” He turned his head to address Courtenay once more. “I’ll leave Blyth to assist you, Underhill. Indulge no apprehensions! just look to your horses! Miss Wield will very soon be restored to you.”
As he spoke, he drew his leaders back gently, and gave the would-be top-sawyer an effortless demonstration of how to turn to the right about in a constricted space a sporting vehicle drawn by four high-bred lively ones.
Miss Trent, deeply appreciative of his skill, was moved to say: “You do drive to an inch! I wish I could turn a one-horse carriage as easily!”
“You wilclass="underline" I’ll teach you,” he said. “You shall take the shine out of all our fair whips!”
She had no particular desire to take the shine out of anyone, but the implication of these words conjured up a vision of the future so agreeable that it was with great difficulty that she wrenched her mind away from it. Rigidly confining it to the matter in hand, she said: “I hope you mean to explain to me, sir, how it comes about that you are so exactly informed of Tiffany’s whereabouts.I could only guess what must be her intention, for I have been away from Staples for the better part of the day, and she left no message for me.”
“What an abominable girl she is!” he remarked. “My information came, as I told you, from Laurie. He sent off one of the post-boys with a note for me, from the King’s Head. As far as I understand the matter—but he wrote in haste, and, to judge from the manner of it, in an extremely harassed state of mind!—Tiffany induced him to drive her to Leeds, by some fetch or wheedle, and only on arrival there divulged her intention of traveling to London. I can’t tell you why she should have suddenly taken this notion into her head. All I know is that Laurie has hoaxed her into believing that there is not a place to be had in any of the stage-coaches, and that the Mail doesn’t reach Leeds until four o’clock. I should have thought that rather too improbable an hour to have chosen, but Tiffany seems to have accepted it without question.”
“Of course it’s perfectly ridiculous! But Tiffany knows nothing about Mails or stages. Well! it’s some comfort to know that I was right. Mr Underhill would have it that she and your cousin had gone off in a post-chaise-and-four, but I couldn’t suppose that Mr Calver would be carrying a large enough sum of money on his person.”
“Very unlikely,” he agreed. “Still more unlikely that he would have disgorged a penny of it for Tiffany’s benefit. I’ll say this for Laurie: he had her measure from the outset.”
“Indeed? It would be interesting to know, then, why he has been so assiduous in his attentions to her!”
He smiled. “Oh, that was to detach her from Julian! He came after the fair, but it was quite a good notion.”
“Your own, in fact!” she said, somewhat tartly. “I find it very hard to believe that Mr Calver takes the smallest interest in Lord Lindeth’s happiness.”
“Oh, he doesn’t! He knows, however, that I do, and unless I’m much mistaken his scheme was to win my gratitude. Poor Laurie! It was some time before he realized that his labour was thrown away. Still, it kept him occupied, and did neither of them any harm.”