CHAPTER XXX
‘NO,’ Timothy said stoutly, some hours later. ‘I’m not going to go another mile!’
‘We must,’ Hetty implored him. ‘We must.’
‘If you want to carry on jolting over a devilish bad road, asking questions at every pike of fools who wouldn’t be able to tell you whether Cinderella had driven by in a dashed great pumpkin, you may do so!’ Timothy drew himself upwards resolutely. ‘I, however, want my breakfast.’
With admirable high-handedness, he directed their coachman to draw to a halt outside the Talbot Inn, where they were ushered into one of the private parlours.
‘Perhaps a pause would serve us well,’ Hetty admitted, untying the strings of her cloak and pushing its hood back from her dishevelled curls. ‘We shall be able to search better when we are rested.’
Timothy snorted. ‘We’ve not had a whiff of Trixie and Edgewood – if I know Trix, she very likely told you she was off to Gretna Green to set you on a false scent!’
Henrietta stared at him in dismay. ‘You mean she may have fled in quite another direction?’
‘Exactly so!’
‘But then – it may be days before we can discover her whereabouts! And then—’
‘Won’t be a case of taking her home,’ Timothy finished ghoulishly. ‘Have to get ’em married in a hurry to save scandal.’
‘I shall not believe it,’ Hetty said stoutly. ‘They are ahead of us still! We must go on!’
The waiter set breakfast before them, and Timothy, feeling the weight of his eyes, hastily manufactured a story to account for their appearance in Stilton at eight o’clock in the morning in full evening dress.
On the whole, he thought he did pretty well: the tale of the moribund relative to whose bedside they had suddenly been summoned, necessitating them to flee directly from a ball, did – at several moments – almost run away with him, especially following the introduction of several unnecessary cousins of whom he’d then had to dispose, but he wrested it back under control before long.
Feeling rather pleased with his quick thinking, he then applied himself to a substantial repast that went a long way to improving his mood.
Perceiving this over the rim of her coffee cup, Hetty asked him cajolingly if he would not, at least, consider enquiring at the other three posting-houses in town and, with a heaving sigh, Timothy consented.
‘Though what they’re going to think of me,’ he said, rising to his feet, ‘dressed in evening clothes …’
With the expression of one about to martyr himself to a noble cause, he went off to call at the Bell, the Angel and the Woolpack.
Hetty was left to await his return with what patience she could muster.
The time lagged unbearably; when half an hour had passed she could no longer sit still, but got up, and began to pace about the room, trying to think what were best to be done if Timothy failed to obtain news of the fugitives in Stilton …
… until the sound of a vehicle approaching at a smart pace, and pulling up outside the inn, made her run to the window, her heart leaping, so certain was she to see Trixie descend from the steps of a post-chaise – only to let out a gasp of dismay.
For there, leaning from his own sporting curricle to interrogate one of the ostlers, was Arthur, and one glance at his face was enough to inform her that he was quite as angry as she had known he must be, if ever his sister’s escapade came to his ears.
As she stared out at him, he sprang down from the curricle and came striding to the door into the inn. She retreated from the window, wondering how much he knew.
Arthur came in and cast a swift, searching look round the room. Unlike his brother, he had found time to change his evening dress for a riding habit, over which he wore a caped greatcoat with large buttons of mother-of-pearl.
After that one glance around the parlour, his attention became fixed upon Hetty. ‘Hetty,’ he breathed, caught halfway between relief and anger. ‘Hetty, how – how could you do such a thing?’
He knew all, then.
‘It seemed to be the only thing I could do,’ she said pleadingly. ‘I dare say you might think it improper, but—’
‘Improper?’ he exclaimed. ‘So that’s what you call it, is it? The most damnable escapade – in the middle of Mama’s ball, no less!’
‘What other course was open to me? I would not for the world bother Lady Allerton on such a night, and I dared not say a word of it to you, because—’
He dashed a hand through his hair. ‘I can well understand that,’ he said bitterly.
‘After the words we exchanged yesterday, I do not wonder at your not wishing to speak to me. I was angry, and damn you, I had a right to be – but this!’ He stared at her and wetted his lips.
‘Have I – did I get here in time?’ he asked, haltingly.
Was she already a married woman? Was he already too late?
‘I don’t know,’ she said, helplessly – and the denial seemed to reignite his anger.
‘How can you not know?’ he demanded. ‘Has there been a wedding?’
‘I tell you I don’t know!’ she answered with some spirit. ‘Why don’t you sit, and we can discuss calmly what we wish to do—’
‘I know what I wish to do,’ Arthur said.
‘I knew it the moment I learnt the reason for your absence, and I have had a hundred miles to be even more sure. I have been the most deplorable fool, Hetty, but I do not intend to be so any longer – if there is to be a wedding today, then let me be the groom!’
Hetty stared at him. Silently, she turned his words this way and that, trying to understand them.
‘W-what?’ she faltered.
But Arthur was not attending. Footsteps in the hallway had him turning to face the door. ‘Is that him?’ he said, visage darkening. ‘Good – I have a few matters to settle with this scoundrel who flees with ladies in the middle of family parties—’
The door opened. ‘Not a trace of them to be—’ Timothy broke off, staring at his brother. ‘Well, upon my word!’
‘Timothy!’ his lordship was thunderstruck. ‘You!’
‘Me,’ Timothy agreed, adding solicitously, for it seemed Arthur was a little confused: ‘You been in the sun, old fellow?’
For one awful moment, it seemed to Arthur as if the only explanation was that it had been Timothy Hetty had eloped with, not Nicolet – before the world righted itself and he realised how entirely preposterous this was. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’ he demanded.
Timothy heaved a sigh. ‘Well—’
‘Oh, we do not have time for this,’ Hetty fretted. ‘We must continue on to the border at once.’
‘No!’ Arthur said, stretching out a hand towards her. ‘You cannot – I will not let you elope! If you are determined to marry a fortune hunter, Hetty, let him be me! At least I love you!’
Shock bereft Hetty of the power of speech. Timothy, however, let out a peal of laughter.
‘It’s not Hetty who’s eloping, Arthur,’ he corrected, with a chuckle. ‘It’s Trixie!’
Arthur wrenched his eyes away from Hetty’s face. ‘What?’
‘Quite true.’ Timothy, observing that the tidings had apparently stunned his brother, explained: ‘Eloped with Edgewood. At least, that’s what she said.’
‘Are you mad?’ Arthur demanded. ‘Trixie is at home!’
Hetty shook her head. ‘She slipped out in the middle of the party, leaving a letter, which her maid gave me at midnight. She wrote that she had gone with Edgewood to Gretna Green, and, Arthur, we haven’t been able to catch up with them – and it is morning now.’
Arthur drew an audible breath. ‘I see!’ he said in an odd tone. ‘The – cunning – little – devil!’ A rueful smile was quivering at the corners of his mouth. ‘Let me tell you that very soon after you had left Berkeley Square, I also received a billet from Trix!’
Hetty’s eyes opened wide. ‘You did?’
‘Yes! It summoned me with the utmost urgency to join her in Mama’s dressing room. There she disclosed to me that you had slipped out of the house to elope to the Border with Nicolet.’
‘Oh!’ Hetty gasped. ‘The little wretch! And you – you believed her?’
‘I might not have done,’ Arthur conceded, ‘had Dawson not also seen you departing the party in Nicolet’s carriage. Was that another of Trixie’s lies?’
‘No,’ Hetty said. ‘No, he took us as far as Charing Cross so we might hire a chaise …’ She shook her head. ‘So the whole story was false …’
Arthur let out a reluctant laugh. ‘You must own her strategy has been masterly.’
‘Dastardly, more like,’ Timothy said, shaking his head. ‘Having us running up and down the country looking for her – in our evening dress! Well, it’s my opinion she deserves to be flogged!’
‘I cannot agree,’ Arthur said. ‘For she has put me deep in her debt.’
‘The thing that’s worrying me …’ Timothy said ruminatively, ‘is that you must have left home before the ball was over. Dashed improper! The Grandduchess and Mr Brummell and half the ton present, and all of us gone in the middle of the party! Mother will not be pleased.’
‘I fancy I might have some news to cheer her up,’ Arthur said. He held out his hands towards Hetty. ‘I’ve been utterly blind,’ he said. ‘But I do not intend to be so any longer. Will you …?’
Hetty put her hands into his. She was trembling, she realised, and no wonder. To be offered everything she had ever wanted … The press of Arthur’s fingers around hers was the only proof that this was not some fantastical dream.
Timothy shook his head definitively. ‘It is not the thing. And what’s more,’ he added severely, ‘it isn’t the thing to kiss Hetty in a dashed inn parlour, either!’