Pistols for Two Read online

  ‘I see. And who is this old fogy? Is he very old?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I should think he must be, wouldn’t you, if he’s a friend of Sir Walter?’

  His lordship paused in the act of raising his glass to his lips. ‘Sir Walter?’

  ‘Sir Walter Abingdon. He is Annabella’s father.’

  ‘Oh!’ said his lordship, sipping his brandy. ‘I collect that he does not look with favour on your suit?’

  ‘No, and my father does not either. He says we are too young, and should not suit. So very likely I shall be cut off with a shilling, and be obliged to enter a counting-house, or some such thing, for Sir Walter will certainly cut Annabella off. But of course females never consider anything of that nature! They have not the least common sense, beside thinking that it is perfectly easy to hire a chaise for midnight without making anyone suspicious! And it is not!’ said Mr Hatherleigh, a strong sense of grievance overcoming him. ‘Let alone the expense of it – and that, let me tell you, has pretty well made my pockets to let! I have had to go twenty miles to do it, because a rare flutter I should have set up if I’d bespoke a chaise to go to Scotland at the George, or the Sun! Why, my father would have had wind of it within the hour!

  ‘And then I had to rack my brains to think how best to meet it, because it would never do to have it driving up to my home to pick me up, you know. Luckily old Thetford here is very much attached to our interests, so I told the post-boys in the end to come to this inn at half-past ten tonight. Annabella thinks everyone will be asleep by half-past eleven, or twelve at latest, and she is to meet me in the shrubbery. Shrubbery at midnight!’ he repeated scornfully. ‘I can tell you, it makes me feel like a great cake! Such flummery!’

  He picked up the bottle again as he spoke, and poured some more brandy into his glass. Some of the liquor spilled on to the table. Mr Hatherleigh glared at it, and set the bottle down with precision.

  ‘Do you know,’ said Lord Stavely conversationally, ‘if I were going to elope at midnight I believe I would not drink too much brandy at ten o’clock?’

  Mr Hatherleigh eyed him austerely. ‘If you think I’m foxed,’ he enunciated, ‘you’re wrong! I have a very hard head.’

  ‘I’m sure you have,’ said his lordship. ‘But if Miss Annabella were to detect the fumes on your breath she might not be quite pleased.’

  ‘Well, she shouldn’t have insisted on eloping with me!’ retorted Mr Hatherleigh.

  ‘She must be very much attached to you?’

  ‘Of course she is. Why, she’s known me all her life! All the same, she never would have taken this silly notion into her head if that peppery old fool hadn’t asked this fellow to stay, and told her she was to marry him. I must say, I was shocked when Annabella told me of it. I dare say he must be fifty at least, and a dead bore! Besides, she has never clapped eyes on him! I quite saw that as a gentleman I must rescue her, though I never thought then that my uncle would invite me to stay with him in Yorkshire!’

  ‘But surely even the most peppery of parents cannot in these days marry his daughter out of hand? Must you really elope?’ said Lord Stavely.

  ‘Annabella says so, and of course I am bound in honour to oblige her,’ replied Mr Hatherleigh grandly. ‘I dare say I shan’t dislike being married so very much, once I get used to it.’

  ‘I feel very strongly that you are making a mistake,’ said his lordship, gently moving the bottle out of reach. ‘Perhaps the dead bore will not wish to marry Annabella!’

  ‘Then why is he coming to stay with the Abingdons?’ demanded Mr Hatherleigh. ‘I expect Sir Walter has it all arranged, in his famous style! My father says he is the most meddlesome, managing old fool in the county.’ He drained his glass defiantly. ‘’T all events,’ he pronounced, ‘it’ll be something to overset his precious plans!’

  ***

  Half an hour later, the landlord, coming in to inform Mr Tom that his chaise was at the door, found that young gentleman stertorously asleep, with his head on the table.

  ‘I don’t think,’ said Lord Stavely, ‘that Mr Tom is in a fit case for travel.’

  ‘There, now, I knew how it would be!’ exclaimed Thetford, looking down at Tom in some concern. ‘Whatever can be the matter with him? When I see him this evening, I thought to myself: You’re up to mischief, Mr Tom, or I don’t know the signs! And here’s a chaise and four come all the way from Whitworth to take him up! What’s to be done?’

  ‘You had better inform the postilions that Mr Tom is indisposed, and send them back to Whitworth,’ said his lordship. ‘And while you are about it, will you be so good as to inform my own postilions that I have changed my mind, and mean to go to Melbury Place tonight after all? Desire them to put the horses to at once, if you please.’

  ‘Your lordship won’t be staying here?’ the landlord said, his face falling. ‘And the bed made up, and a hot brick in it to air the sheets!’

  ‘Carry Mr Tom up to it!’ recommended Lord Stavely, with a smile. ‘When he wakes –’ He glanced down at Mr Tom’s unconscious form. ‘No, perhaps I had better leave a note for him.’ He drew out his pocket-book, and after a moment’s hesitation scribbled several lines in it in pencil, tore out the leaf, twisted it into a screw, and gave it to the landlord. ‘When he wakes, give him that,’ he said.

  A quarter of an hour later, Thetford having furnished the post-boys with precise instructions, Lord Stavely was bowling along narrow country lanes to Melbury Place. When the gates came into sight, the post-boys would have turned in, but his lordship checked them, and said that he would get down.

  They had long since decided that he was an eccentric, but this quite staggered them. ‘It’s Melbury Place right enough, my lord!’ one assured him.

  ‘I am aware. I have a fancy to stroll through the gardens in this exquisite moonlight. Wait here!’

  He left them goggling after him. ‘He must be as drunk as a wheelbarrow!’ said one.

  ‘Not him!’ returned his fellow. ‘Queer in his attic! I suspicioned it at the start.’

  His lordship, meanwhile, was walking up the drive. He very soon left the gravel for the grass bordering it, so that no sound should betray his presence to anyone in the house. The air was heavy with the scent of roses, and the full moon, riding high overhead, cast ink-black shadows on the ground. It showed the house, outlined against a sky of deepest sapphire, and made it an easy matter for his lordship, traversing the flower gardens, to find the shrubbery. Here, neat walks meandered between high hedges, and several rustic seats were set at convenient spots. No one was present, and no light shone from the long, low house in the background. His lordship sat down to await events.

  ***

  He had not long to wait. After perhaps twenty minutes, he heard the hush of skirts, and rose just as a cloaked figure came swiftly round a bend in the walk, carrying two bandboxes. He stepped forward, but before he could speak the newcomer exclaimed in a muted voice: ‘I thought my aunt would never blow out her candle! But she is snoring now! Did you procure a chaise, Tom?’

  Lord Stavely took off his hat, and the moonlight showed the lady the face of a complete stranger. She recoiled with a smothered shriek.

  ‘Don’t be afraid!’ said his lordship reassuringly. ‘I am Mr Hatherleigh’s deputy. Let me take those boxes!’

  ‘His deputy?’ echoed Miss Abingdon, nervelessly relinquishing her baggage into his hands.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lord Stavely, setting the bandboxes down beside the seat. ‘Shall we sit here while I explain it to you?’

  ‘But who are you, and where is Tom?’ demanded Miss Abingdon.

  ‘Tom,’ said his lordship diplomatically, ‘is indisposed. He was good enough to confide his plans to me, and to – er – charge me with his deepest regrets.’

  The lady’s fright succumbed to a strong feeling of ill-usage. ‘Well!’ she