There came the sound of a coarse laugh. Evidently the gentleman had been drinking. “I think you will,” he said significantly.
Miss Merriot bit one finger nail. “It seems we must interfere, my Peter.”
Peter looked rueful, and drew his sword a little way out of the scabbard.
“No, no, child, put up!” said Madam, laughing. “We know a trick worth two of that. We must have the fox out of his earth, though.”
“Stay you there,” said her brother, and went out into the courtyard, and called to John, his servant.
John came.
“Who’s the owner of the post-chaise, John?” inquired Mr. Merriot.
The answer was severe. “It’s a Mr. Markham, sir, running off to Gretna with a rich heiress, so they say. And the lady not out of her teens. There’s wickedness!”
“John’s propriety is offended,” murmured Miss Merriot. “We will dispose, John, since God seems unwilling. I want a stir made.”
“Best not meddle,” said John phlegmatically. “We’ve meddled enough.”
“A cry of fire,” mused Mr. Merriot. “Fire or footpads. Where do I lie hid?”
“Oh, are you with me already?” admired Kate. “Let me have a fire, John, or a parcel of daring footpads, and raise the ostlers.”
John fetched a sigh. “We’ve played that trick once before. Will you never be still?”
Mr. Merriot laughed. “It’s a beauty in distress, John, and Kate must be up and doing.”
A grunt only was vouchsafed, and the glimmering of a grim smile. John went out. Arose presently in the courtyard a shout, and a glow, and quickly uproar.
“Now I wonder how he made that fire?” said Miss Merriot, amused.
“There’s a shed and some straw. Enough for John. Well, it’s a fine stir.” Mr. Merriot went to the window. “Mine host leads the household out in force. The wood’s so damp ’twill be out in a moment. Do your part, sister.” Mr. Merriot vanished into the deserted taproom.
Miss Merriot added then to the stir by a scream, close followed by another, and a cry of:—“Fire, fire! Help, oh help!”
The door across the passage was burst open, and a dark gentleman strode out. “What in hell’s name?” he began. His face was handsome in the swarthy style, but flushed now with wine. His eye lighted on Miss Merriot, and a smell of burning assailed his nostrils. “What’s the noise? Gad, is the place on fire?” He came quickly into the coffee-room, and received Miss Merriot in his unwilling arms. Miss Merriot neatly tripped up her chair, and with a moan of “Save me!” collapsed onto Mr. Markham’s chest.
He grasped the limp form perforce, and found it a dead weight on his arm. His companion, a slim child of no more than eighteen, ran to the window. “Oh, ’tis only an old shed caught fire away to the right!” she said.
Mr. Markham strove to restore the fainting Miss Merriot. “Compose yourself, madam! For God’s sake, no vapours! There’s no danger. Damnation, Letty, pick the chair up!”
Miss Letty came away from the window towards Miss Merriot’s fallen chair. Mr. Markham was tightly clasping that unconscious lady, wrath at his own helpless predicament adding to the already rich colour in his face.
“The devil take the woman, she weighs a ton!” swore Mr. Markham. “Pick the chair up, I say!”
Miss Letty bent to take hold of it. She heard a door open behind her, and turning saw Mr. Merriot.
Of a sudden Miss Merriot came to life. In round-eyed astonishment Miss Letty saw that lady no longer inanimate, but seemingly struggling to be free.
Mr. Merriot was across the floor in a moment.
“Unhand my sister, sir!” cried he in a wonderful fury.
Miss Merriot was thrust off. “God’s Life, ’twas herself—” began Mr. Markham, but got no further. His chin came into sudden contact with Mr. Merriot’s sword hilt, nicely delivered, and Mr. Markham fell heavily all amongst the table legs.
“Oh, neatly done, i’faith!” vowed Miss Merriot. “Down like an ox, as I live! Set the coach forward, Peter, and you, child, upstairs with you to my chamber.”
Miss Letty’s hand was caught in a firm clasp. Quite bewildered she was swirled away by the competent Miss Merriot.
Miss Merriot’s brother put up his sword, and went out into the court. John seemed to rise up out of the gloom to meet him. “All well, sir?”
Mr. Merriot nodded. “Where’s the dear gentleman’s chaise, John?”
John jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
“Horses put to?” inquired Mr. Merriot.
“Ay, they’re ready to be off. The men are in the taproom—it’s dry they are after the great fire. There’s an ostler to the horses’ heads.”
“I don’t want that ostler there,” said Mr. Merriot. “Drive the chaise past Stilton, John, and hide it somewhere where the gentleman won’t find it too soon.”
“Hide a chaise and horses, is it?” John growled.
“It is, John,” said Mr. Merriot serenely. “Tell that ostler that I want a horse saddled on the instant. One of our own, if need be. I shall set the dear gentleman after you, John. God speed you.”
“Ah, it’s a mad couple you are!” said John, but he moved away to where the lights of the chaise shone. Mr. Merriot heard him give the order to the ostler, and offer to hold the horses’ heads. He heard the ostler run off towards the stables and himself turned back into the coffee-room smiling placidly.
Miss Merriot had come downstairs again and was standing by the fallen Mr. Markham calmly surveying him. “Well, child, is it done?” she asked.
The clatter of horses and the rumble of wheels on the cobbles answered her. John was off; they heard the chaise roll away down the road to London. Miss Merriot laughed and dropped her brother a mock curtsey. “My compliments, child. It’s you have the head, indeed. Now what to do for the poor gentleman? Water, my Peter, and a napkin. Observe me all solicitude.” She sank down on to the floor, and lifted Mr. Markham’s head into her lap. Mr. Merriot was chuckling again as he handed her the water, and a
