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  She flushed, and very slightly shook her head. ‘Don’t let us speak of that! I wish I might be of some assistance to you now, but I cannot think of anything I could usefully do. If Fabian has gone to Melton, he will have taken the road to Huntingdon, because although the more direct way is through Peterborough the road from Chatteris to Peterborough is very narrow and rough, and he will never venture on to it for fear of being made to feel ill. He is a very bad traveller.’ She paused, and seemed to reflect. ‘Will you feel obliged to call him out? I don’t know what may be the proper thing for you to do, and I don’t wish to teach you, but I can’t help feeling that it would be more comfortable if you did not.’

  His lips quivered, but he replied with admirable gravity: ‘Just so! I shan’t go to such desperate lengths as that, and although I own it would give me a good deal of pleasure to draw his cork – I beg your pardon! make his nose bleed! – I daresay I shan’t even do that. He is too old, and too fat – and heaven only knows what tale Amanda may have beguiled him with! I only wish I may not figure as the villain of it.’

  ‘Now, that,’ said Hester, roused from her gentle tolerance, ‘would be really too naughty of her, and quite beyond the line of what is excusable!’

  He laughed. ‘Thank you! I must go now. May I write to tell you the outcome of this nonsensical adventure?’

  ‘Yes, indeed, I hope you will, for I shall be very anxious until I hear from you.’

  He raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it, pressed it slightly, and then released it, and went away up the stairs. Lady Hester remained for a moment or two, staring absently at nothing in particular, before going slowly back into the breakfast-parlour.

  Eight

  The first check to Amanda’s new plan of campaign was thrown in the way by Mr Theale, who disclosed, when midway between Brancaster Park and Huntingdon, that he had ordered his coachman to drive straight through that town to the village of Brampton, where, he said, they would pause for breakfast and a change of horses. He did not tell her that he preferred, on the whole, not to be seen in her company in a town where his was naturally a familiar figure; but was prepared, if questioned, to dilate upon the excellencies of the posting-house at Brampton: a hostelry which had never, as yet, enjoyed his patronage. But she did not question him. Successful generals did not allow their minds to be diverted by irrelevancies: they tied knots, and went on.

  The set-back was not as severe as it might have been, had she been still adhering to her plan of seeking employment at one of the town’s chief posting-houses. This scheme she had abandoned, knowing that the George, the Fountain, and no doubt the Crown as well, would be the first places where Sir Gareth would expect to find her. But she had ascertained from the obliging Povey that stage-coaches to various parts of the country were to be boarded in Huntingdon, and it had been her intention to have bought herself a ticket on one of these, to some town just far enough away from Huntingdon to have baffled Sir Gareth. A village situated two miles beyond Huntingdon would not suit her purpose at all: it might be hours before a coach passed through it; if she succeeded in escaping from Mr Theale there, and walked back to Huntingdon, she would run the risk of meeting Sir Gareth on the road, or find, when she reached the coach office, that he had been there before her, and had directed the clerk to be on the watch for her. Mr Theale’s society, she decided, would have to be endured for rather longer than she had hoped.

  How to give Mr Theale the slip had become the most pressing of the problems confronting her, for however easy a matter it might have been in a busy county-town, it was not going to be at all easy in some small village. Artless questioning elicited the information that the next town on their road was Thrapston, which was some fifteen miles distant from Brampton. Mr Theale said that by nursing the horses a little they could very well make this their next stage, but Amanda had a lively dread that long before his leisurely carriage, with its odiously conspicuous yellow body, had reached Thrapston, it would be overtaken by Sir Gareth’s sporting curricle; and she realized that as soon as she was far enough from Huntingdon she must part company with her elderly admirer.

  She would do this without compunction, too, but with a good deal of relief. At Brancaster, fortified by the scarcely acknowledged protection of Sir Gareth in the background, she had thought Mr Theale merely a fat and foolish old gentleman, whom it would be easy to bring about her thumb; away from Brancaster, and (it must be owned) Sir Gareth’s surveillance, although she still thought him old and fat, she found, to her surprise, that she was a little afraid of him. She had certainly met his kind before, but under her aunt’s careful chaperonage no elderly and amorous beau had ever contrived to do more than give her hand a squeeze, or to ogle her in a very laughable way. She had classed Mr Theale with her grandfather’s friends, who always petted her, and paid her a great many extravagant compliments; but within a very short time of having delivered herself into his power she discovered that, for all this fatherly manner, he was disquietingly unlike old Mr Swaffham, or General Riverhead, or Sir Harry Bramber, or even Major Mickleham, who was such an accomplished flirt that Grandpapa scolded him, saying that he was doing his best to turn her head. These senile persons frequently pinched her cheek, or chucked her under the chin, or even put their arms round her waist, and gave her a hug; and old Mr Swaffham invariably demanded a kiss from her; so why she should have been frightened when Mr Theale’s arm slid round her was rather inexplicable. She had stiffened instinctively, and had had to subdue an impulse to thrust him away. He seemed to want to stroke and fondle her, too, and as her flesh shrank under his hand the thought flashed suddenly into her mind that not even Neil, who loved her, petted her in just such a fashion. Certain of her aunt’s veiled warnings occurred to her, and she began to think that possibly Aunt was not quite as foolish and old-fashioned as she had supposed her to be. Not, of course, that she was not well able to take care of herself, or at all afraid of her aged protector: merely, he made her feel uncomfortable, and was such a dead bore that she would be glad to be rid of him.

  This desire, however, carried with it no corresponding wish to see those match-bays of Sir Gareth’s rapidly overtaking her; and she scarcely knew how to contain her impatience while Mr Theale, very much at his ease, selected and consumed a lavish breakfast. Her scheme for the subjugation of her grandfather had by this time become entangled with a clenched-teeth determination to outwit and wholly confound Sir Gareth. His cool assumption of authority had much incensed a damsel accustomed all her short life to being tenderly indulged. Only Neil had the right to dictate to her, and Neil never committed the heinous sin of laughing at her. Sir Gareth had treated her as though she had been an amusing child, and he must be shown the error of his high-handed ways. At the same time, he had succeeded in imbuing her with a certain respect for him, so that, although the clock in the inn’s coffee-room assured her that it was in the highest degree unlikely that he had yet emerged from his bedchamber, she could not help looking anxiously out of the window every time she heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. Mr Theale, observing these signs of nervous apprehension, called her a silly little puss, and told her that she would be quite safe in his care. ‘He won’t chase after you, my pretty, and if he did I should tell him to go to the devil,’ he said, transferring a second rasher of grilled ham from the dish to his plate, and looking wistfully at a cluster of boiled eggs. ‘No, I shan’t venture upon an egg,’ he decided, with a sigh of regret. ‘Nothing is more prone to turn me queasy, and though I am in a capital way now, we have a longish journey before us, and there’s no saying that I shan’t be feeling as queer as Dick’s hatband before we come to the end of it.’

  Amanda, who was breakfasting on raspberries and cream, paused, with her spoon halfway to her mouth, a sudden and brilliant notion taking possession of her mind. ‘Do you feel unwell in carriages, sir?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘Always been the same. It’s a curst nuisance, but my coachman is a