The Convenient Marriage Read online

  The post-chaise was almost abreast of them. Mr Hawkins released the Viscount’s bridle. ‘At ’em, then!’ he said, and drove his heels into his horse.

  ‘Yoiks! Forrard away!’ halloed Sir Roland, and thundered down the slope, waving his pistol.

  ‘Pom, don’t you let that barker off!’ shouted the Viscount, abreast of him, and levelling his own slenderer weapon. Rising in his stirrups, he pulled the trigger, and saw one of the postilions duck as the shot whistled over his head. The mare shied violently and tried to bolt. He held her head on her course, and came down like a thunderbolt across the road. ‘Stand and deliver! – steady, lass!’

  The postilions had dragged their frightened horses to a standstill. Captain Heron pressed up closer, covering them with his pistol. Sir Roland, a connoisseur of horse-flesh, had allowed his attention to be diverted by the two wheelers, and was studying them closely.

  The Viscount and Mr Hawkins had ridden up to the chaise. The window was let down with a bang, and an old gentleman with a red face pushed his head and shoulders out, and extending his arm fired a small pistol at the Viscount. ‘Dastardly rogues! Cut-throat robbers! Drive on, you cowardly rascals!’ he spluttered.

  The shot sang past the Viscount’s ear; the mare reared up in alarm, and was steadied again. ‘Hi, mind what you’re about, sir!’ said his lordship indignantly. ‘You devilish near got me in the head!’

  Mr Hawkins on the other side of the chaise, thrust his pistol into the old gentleman’s face. ‘Drop your pops!’ he growled. ‘And step out, d’you see? Come on, out with you!’ He let the reins fall on his horse’s neck, and leaned sideways in the saddle, and wrenched open the door of the chaise. ‘A rare gager, you are! Hand over your truss! Ah, and that pretty lobb o’ yourn!’

  The Viscount said quickly: ‘Draw off, you fool! Wrong man!’

  ‘Lordy, he’s good enough for me!’ replied Mr Hawkins, wresting a snuff-box from the old gentleman’s grasp. ‘A nice little lobb, this! Come on now, where’s your truss?’

  ‘I’ll have the Watch on you!’ raved his victim. ‘Damnable! Broad daylight! Take that, you thief!’ With which he dashed his hat at Mr Hawkins’ pistol, and diving back into the coach seized a long ebony cane.

  ‘Lord, he’ll have an apoplexy,’ said the Viscount, and rode round the chaise to Mr Hawkins’ side. ‘Give me that snuff-box,’ he ordered briefly. ‘Edward! Here, Edward! Take the fool away! We’ve got the wrong man.’ He dodged a blow aimed at his head with the ebony cane, tossed the snuff-box into the chaise, and reined back. ‘Let ’em go, Pom!’ he called.

  Sir Roland came round to him. ‘Wrong man, is it? Tell you what, Pel – as nice a pair of wheelers as I’ve seen. Just what I’ve been looking for. Think he’d sell?’

  The old gentleman, still perched on the step of the chaise, shook his fist at them. ‘Murderous dogs!’ he raved. ‘You’ll find I’m a match for you, you rogues! Don’t like the look of this little cane of mine, eh? I’ll break the head of the first man to come a step nearer! Robbers and cowards! White-livered scoundrels! Drive on, you damned shivering fools! Ride ’em down!’

  Captain Heron, in charge of the baffled Mr Hawkins, said in a voice that shook with suppressed mirth: ‘For God’s sake come away! He’ll burst a blood-vessel at this rate.’

  ‘Wait a bit,’ said Sir Roland. He swept off his abominable beaver, and bowed over his horse’s withers. ‘Haven’t the honour of knowing your name, sir, but you’ve a very pretty pair of wheelers there. Looking for just such a pair.’

  The old gentleman gave a scream of rage. ‘Insolence! Steal my horses, would you? Postilion! I command you, drive on!’

  ‘No, no! Assure you nothing of the sort!’ protested Sir Roland.

  Captain Heron bore down upon him, and seizing his bridle, dragged him away. ‘Come away,’ he said, ‘you’ll ruin us all, you young madman!’

  Sir Roland allowed himself to be led off. ‘A pity,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Great pity. Never saw such a queer-tempered fellow.’

  The Viscount, who was speaking a few pithy words to Mr Hawkins, turned his head. ‘How the devil should he know you wanted to buy his horses? Besides, we haven’t time to buy horses. We’d better get back to our ambush. Mare stood the firing pretty well, didn’t you, sweetheart?’

  Captain Heron watched the chaise rolling away up the road. ‘He’ll lay information in Hounslow, Pelham, you mark my words.’

  ‘Let him,’ said the Viscount. ‘He won’t get the Watch out against us. Why, we didn’t take a thing!’

  ‘Not a thing,’ muttered Mr Hawkins sulkily. ‘And him with his strong-box under the seat! Dang me if I ever works with flash culls again!’

  ‘Don’t keep on saying that,’ said the Viscount. ‘You can take what you like from the right man, but you don’t rob anyone else while you’re with me!’

  They rode on up the slope, and once more dismounted. ‘Well, if I’m broke for this, I think I’ll take to the – what-do-you call it? Bridle-lay. I’d no notion it was so easy,’ said Captain Heron.

  ‘Yes, but I don’t like the clothes,’ said the Viscount. ‘Devilish hot!’

  Sir Roland sighed. ‘Beautiful wheelers!’ he murmured sadly.

  The afternoon wore on. Another wagon lumbered past, three more horsemen, and one stage.

  ‘Can’t have missed the fellow, can we?’ fretted the Viscount.

  ‘All we missed was our luncheon,’ replied Captain Heron. He pulled his watch out. ‘It’s on three already, and I dine in South Street at five.’

  ‘Dining with my mother, are you?’ said the Viscount. ‘Well, the cook’s damned bad, Edward, and so I warn you. Couldn’t stand it myself. One reason why I live in lodgings. What’s that, Hawkins? Heard something?’

  ‘There’s a chaise coming up the road,’ said Mr Hawkins. ‘And I hope it’s the right one,’ he added bitterly.

  When it came into sight, a smart, shining affair, slung on very high swan’s-neck springs, the Viscount said: ‘That’s more like it! Now then, Pom, we’ve got him!’

  The manœuvre that had succeeded so well with the first chaise, succeeded again. The postilions, alarmed to find no less than four ruffians descending upon them, drew up in a hurry. Captain Heron once more covered them with his pistol, and the Viscount dashed up to the chaise, shouting in as gruff a voice as he could assume: ‘Stand and deliver there! Come on, out of that!’

  There were two gentlemen in the chaise. The younger of them started forward, levelling a small pistol. The other laid a hand on his wrist. ‘Don’t fire, my dear boy,’ he said placidly. ‘I would really rather that you did not.’

  The Viscount’s pistol hand dropped. He uttered a smothered exclamation.

  ‘Wrong again!’ growled Mr Hawkins disgustedly.

  The Earl of Rule stepped unhurriedly down on to the road. His placid gaze rested on the Viscount’s mare. ‘Dear me!’ he said. ‘And – er – what do you want me to deliver, Pelham?’

  Twenty-one

  Not long after four o’clock a furious knocking was heard on the door of the Earl of Rule’s town house. Horatia, who was on her way upstairs to change her gown, stopped and turned pale. When the porter opened the door and she saw Sir Roland Pommeroy on the doorstep without his hat, she gave a shriek, and sped down the stairs again. ‘Good G-God, what has happened?’ she cried.

  Sir Roland, who seemed much out of breath, bowed punctiliously. ‘Apologize unseemly haste, ma’am! Must beg a word in private!’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course!’ said Horatia, and dragged him into the library. ‘Someone’s k-killed? Oh, n-not Pelham? Not P-Pelham?’

  ‘No, ma’am, upon my honour! Nothing of that sort. Most unfortunate chance! Pel desired me to apprise you instantly. Rode home post-haste – left my horse nearest stables – ran round to wait on you. Not a moment to lose!’

  ‘Well, w-what is it?’ demande