dregs of his wine. “Because I am obliged to?” he said. “I mean to marry Mary Challoner because I’m devilish sure I can’t live without her.”
Juliana clapped her hands with a crow of delight. “Oh, it is famous!” she exclaimed. “I never dreamed you had fallen in love with my staid Mary! I thought you were chasing her through France just because you so hate to be crossed! But when you flew into a rage with me for saying she was too dull to be afraid of you, of course, I guessed at once! My dearest Dominic, I was never more glad of anything in my life, and it is of all things the most romantic possible! Do, do let us overtake them at once! Only conceive of their astonishment when they see us!”
“Mary knows I am hard on her heels,” Vidal answered, with a little laugh. “At every stage I meet with the same tale: the English lady was anxious to lose no time. She’s used to my way of travel, Juliana; she’ll whisk your Frederick to Dijon in a manner highly discomposing to his dignity.”
“It is possible,” said Miss Marling stiffly, “that Frederick and not Mary will have the ordering of the journey.”
Vidal chuckled. “Not if I know my Mary,” he replied.
Twenty minutes later they took the road again. Dinner had revived Miss Marling’s spirits, and she made no demur at entering the chaise again. Knowing that she was within reach of her Frederick she could not now drive fast enough, and her only fear was that they might overshoot their mark. Somewhere on the route Frederick and Mary must have halted for the night, and Miss Marling was inclined to stop at every village they passed, in case the fugitives might be there.
She occupied herself in planning the scene that lay before her, and had decided on the speech she would make when there was a sudden crash, and she was hurled against the side of the chaise. There was a dreadful bump, the smash of breaking glass, and Miss Marling, considerably shaken and dazed, tried to right herself only to find that the seat of the coach was now at a very odd angle, and the off-door almost where the roof should have been. She heard the trampling of the horses plunging in alarm, and the voices of the postillions. Then the off-door was wrenched open, and Vidal said sharply: “Are you hurt, Ju?”
“No, but what has happened?—Oh, I have cut myself! Oh, this dreadful glass! It is too bad of you, Dominic! I said we were driving at a wicked pace, and now see what has happened!”
“We’ve lost a wheel,” explained his lordship. “Reach up your hands to me, and I’ll pull you out.”
This feat was performed in an expeditious if somewhat rough-and-ready fashion. Juliana was swung down on to the road, and left to examine her hurts while his lordship went to see that the frightened horses were unhurt. When he came back he found his cousin in a state of seething indignation. She demanded to know where they were, how he proposed to come up with the runaways, where they were to sleep, and whether anyone cared enough to bind up her bleeding hand or not.
The Marquis performed this office for her by the light of one of the chaise lamps, and told her not to be in a taking over a mere scratch. He said that they were, providentially, only a quarter of a mile from the next village, where they could obtain a lodging for the night in one of the cottages.
“What?” shrieked the afflicted Miss Marling. “Sleep in a horrid peasant’s cottage? I won’t! You must find another chaise at once! At once, Vidal, do you hear?”
“I hear,” said his lordship coolly. “Now, don’t be nonsensical, Juliana. You’ll do well enough. For all I know there may be an inn you can stay at, though I won’t vouch for the sheets. There’s no hope of repairing the chaise till the morning, for Richards will have to ride to the nearest town to find a smith. I’m sending him off now, and for the present you must make the best of it. We shall catch our runaways in time, don’t doubt it.”
Miss Marling, overcome by the ignominy of her position, sank down on the bank by the roadside and gave way to her emotions. The postillions regarded her with interested sympathy; Richards coughed in embarrassment; and my lord, raising his clenched fists to heaven, prayed to be delivered from every female but one.
Chapter XV
at about the same time that the Marquis of Vidal’s chaise lost a wheel, the Duchess of Avon and Lord Rupert Alastair arrived in Paris, and drove straight to the Hotel Avon.
“What had we best do first, Rupert?” her grace asked anxiously, as the chaise drew into the courtyard.
“Have some dinner,” replied his lordship, with a prodigious yawn. “If there’s anyone in the house, which I doubt.”
“But why should you doubt? We know that Dominique is in Paris!”
“Lord, Leonie, don’t be so simple! Dominic’s lax, but damme, he wouldn’t bring his mistress to your house.” Lord Rupert heaved his body out of the corner of the chaise, and looked out of the window. “Place looks as deserted as a tomb,” he remarked, opening the door.
A solitary lackey came out of the house, attracted by the noise of the arrival, and began to say that his lordship was out of town. Then Lord Rupert sprang from the chaise, and the lackey, recognizing him, looked very much taken aback, and as though he did not know what to say.
Lord Rupert eyed him appraisingly. “One of Lord Vidal’s servants, aren’t you?” he said. “Where’s his lordship?”
“I couldn’t say, my lord,” answered the lackey cautiously.
“Won’t say, more like,” said Rupert. He turned, and gave his hand to Leonie who was descending from the chaise. “There’s one of Vidal’s fellows here, so it looks as though the boy had been here. Odd, damned odd.”
The Duchess shook out her crushed skirts with a purposeful air, and looked at the lackey, who was staring at her aghast. “It is you who are my son’s servant?
“I don’t know, your grace. He’s not in town.”
“Is there anyone in the house?” demanded the Duchess.
“No, your grace. Only the servants, that is.”
Leonie pounced on this. “Why is it then that the house is full of my son’s servants and yet he is not here?”
The lackey shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “His lordship left Paris this afternoon, your grace.”
Leonie turned to Lord Rupert, throwing out her hands. “But it is
“Mr. Fletcher and Mr. Timms have both gone out, your grace.”
“What, has his lordship gone off without his valet?” demanded Rupert.
“Yes, my lord.”
“I am going into the house,” announced Leonie.
Rupert watched her go, and looked at the lackey again. “Come on, out with it, my man: Where’s his lordship?”
“My lord, indeed I could not say. If your lordship would wait till Mr. Fletcher comes in, maybe he would know.”
“It looks to me like a damned fishy business,” said Rupert severely, and followed Leonie into the hall.
He found her grace trying to pump the housekeeper. When she saw him Leonie said: “Rupert, it is what I do not at all understand! She says the girl was never here. And I do not think she is lying to me, for she is my servant, and not Dominique’s.”
Lord Rupert divested himself of his heavy Rockelaure. “Well, if Vidal’s got rid of the wench already, I’d say it’s quick work,” he remarked admiringly. “Stap me, if I know how
Leonie cast him a glance of scorn and swept upstairs. The housekeeper would have followed her, but his lordship detained her, and broached the matter nearest his heart. The housekeeper was shocked to learn that the travellers had not yet dined, and hurried away to order a meal to be prepared at once.
When Leonie saw Rupert again dinner was on the table, and his lordship had just come in from a visit to the stables. He took his seat opposite Leonie, and said with a puzzled air: “Blister me if I can make head or tail of this coil. Vidal’s damned lackeys are as close as a lot of oysters. Y’know, Leonie, the boy’s a marvel, so he is.
“He is coming back,” Leonie said positively. “I have looked in his room, and all his clothes are there.”
Lord Rupert coughed. “Anything else, my dear?” he asked, with delicacy.
“Nothing,” said Leonie. “It is very curious, do you not think? For where can the girl be?”
