Джорджетт Хейер - The Convenient Marriage

The post-chaise came on. “Nice pair of wheelers,” commented Sir Roland. “Good holders.”

“Capting, you’ll cover them postilions, see?” ordered Mr Hawkins.

“If we don’t move soon, there’ll be no postilions to cover!” snapped the Viscount. “Come on, man!”

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’s 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’s side. “Give me that snuffbox,” 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, a,nd 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 ever I 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 manoeuvre that had succeeded so well with the first chaise, succeeded again. The postilions, alarmed to find no less than four ruffians descending on 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?”

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 c-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?” demanded Horatia. “You found L-Lethbridge?”

“Not Lethbridge, ma’am, Rule!” said Sir Roland, and flicking his handkerchief from his sleeve, dabbed at his heated brow.

“Rule?” exclaimed Horatia in accents of the profoundest dismay.

“No less, ma’am. Very awkward situation.”

“You—you d-didn’t hold Rule up?” she gasped.

Sir Roland nodded. “Very, very awkward,” he said.

“Did he re-recognize you?”

“Deeply regret, ma’am—recognized Pel’s mare.”

Horatia wrung her hands. “Oh, was ever anything so unlucky? What d-did he say? What d-did he think? What in the world b-brings him home so soon?”

“Beg you won’t distress yourself, ma’am. Pel carried it off. Presence of mind, you know—mighty clever fellow, Pel!”

“B-but I don’t see how he could carry it off!” said Horatia.

“Assure your ladyship, nothing simpler. Told him it was a wager.”

“D-did he believe it?” asked Horatia, round-eyed.

“Certainly!” said Sir Roland. “Told him we mistook his chaise for another’s. Plausible story—why not? But Pel thought you should be warned he was on his way.”

“Oh, yes, indeed!” she said. “But L-Lethbridge? My b-brooch?”

Sir Roland tucked his handkerchief away again. “Can’t make the fellow out,” he replied. “Ought to be home by now, instead of which—no sign of him. Pel and Heron are waiting on with Hawkins. Have to carry a message to Lady Winwood. Heron—very good sort of man indeed—can’t dine in South Street now. Must try to stop Lethbridge, you see. Beg you won’t let it distress you. Assure you—brooch shall be recovered. Rule suspects nothing—nothing at all, ma’am!”

Horatia trembled. “I d-don’t feel as though I can p-possibly face him!” she said.

Sir Roland, uneasily aware that she was on the brink of tears, retreated towards the door. “Not the slightest cause for alarm, ma’am. Think I should be going, however. Won’t do for him to find me here.”

“No,” agreed Horatia forlornly. “No, I s-suppose it won’t.”

When Sir Roland had bowed himself out she went slowly upstairs again, and to her bed-chamber, where her abigail was waiting to dress her. She had promised to join her sister-in-law at Drury Lane Theatre after dinner, and a grande toilette in satin of that extremely fashionable colour called Stifled Sigh was laid out over a chair. The abigail, pouncing on her to untie her laces, informed her that M. Fredin (pupil of that celebrated academician in coiffures, M. Leonard of Paris) had already arrived, and was in the powder-closet. Horatia said “Oh!” in a flat voice, and stepping out of her polonaise, listlessly permitted the satin underdress to be slipped over her head. She was put into her powdering-gown next, and then was delivered into the hands of M. Fredin.

This artist, failing to perceive his client’s low spirits, was full of enthusiastic suggestions for a coiffure that should ravish all who beheld it. My lady has not cared for the Quesaco? Ah, no, by example! a little too sophisticated! My lady would prefer her hair dressed in Foaming Torrents—a charming mode! Or—my lady being petite—perhaps the Butterfly would better please the eye.

“I d-don’t care,” said my lady.

M. Fredin, extracting pins with swift dexterity, shaking out rolled curls, combing away a tangle, was disappointed, but redoubled his efforts. My lady, without doubt, desired something new, something epatante. One could not consider the Hedgehog, therefore, but my lady would be transported by the Mad Dog. A mode of the most distinguished: he would not suggest the Sportsman in a Bush; that was for ladies past their first blush; but the Royal Bird was always a favourite; or, if my lady was in a pensive mood, the Milksop.

“Oh, d-dress it a l’urgence!” said Horatia impatiently. “I’m l-late!”

M. Fredin was chagrined, but he was too wise in the knowledge of ladies’ whims to expostulate. His deft fingers went busily to work, and in an astonishingly short space of time, Horatia emerged from the closet, her head a mass of artlessly tumbled curls, dashed over with powder a la Marechale, violet-scented.

She sat down at her dressing-table, and picked up the rouge-pot. It would never do for Rule to see her looking so pale. Oh, if it was not that odious Serkis rouge that made her look a hag! Take it away at once!

She had just laid down the haresfoot and taken the patch-box out of the abigail’s hand when someone scratched on the door. She started, and cast a scared look over her shoulder. The door opened and the Earl came in.