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Henrietta stared at him in dismay. ‘You mean she may have fled in quite another direction? Timothy, that would be worse than anything! It may be days before we can discover her whereabouts, and where, in heaven’s name, will they find a clergyman to marry them?’
‘Exactly so!’ said Timothy. He added ghoulishly: ‘Won’t be a case of taking her home. Have to get ’em married in a hurry to save scandal.’
‘No, no, I will not believe it!’ cried Henrietta. ‘They are ahead of us still! We must go on!’
Mr Allerton’s reply was brief and unequivocal, but when he perceived the real distress in his cousin’s face he relented sufficiently to promise that when he had eaten breakfast he would make enquiries at each of the other three posting-houses in the town. With this Henrietta was obliged to be content. The waiter set breakfast before them, listened with polite incredulity to the story, hastily manufactured by Timothy, to account for their appearance in Stilton at eight o’clock in the morning in full dress, of the moribund relative to whose bedside they had been summoned, and withdrew, shaking his head over the reprehensible habits of the Quality.
Mr Allerton then applied himself to a substantial repast. Henrietta, unable to do more than drink a cup of coffee, and nibble a slice of bread and butter, eyed him in growing impatience, but knew better than to expostulate. He finished at last, and, with a kindly recommendation to her not to expect any good outcome, went off to call at the Bell, the Angel, and the Woolpack.
She 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 he failed to obtain news of the fugitives in Stilton.
The sound of a vehicle approaching at a smart pace, and pulling up outside the inn, made her run to the window. The sight that met her eyes was so unexpected and so unwelcome that she caught her breath on a gasp of dismay. Leaning from his own sporting curricle to interrogate one of the ostlers was her cousin Alan, 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 Dawson had disclosed to him, and what she should say to mollify him. She could almost wish now that the eloping couple had fled beyond recall, for it seemed to her that young Mr Boynton would be fortunate to escape with his bare life if the Viscount caught him.
The Viscount came in, and cast a swift, searching look round the room. Unlike his brother, he had found time to change his ball-dress for a riding-habit, over which he wore a caped greatcoat with large buttons of mother-of-pearl. He was looking extremely handsome, and singularly unyielding. After that one glance round the parlour, his attention became fixed on his cousin, his pleasant grey eyes so full of wrath that she took an involuntary step backward. Stripping off his gloves, he said furiously: ‘How dared you do this, Henry? How could you?’
It had not occurred to her that any part of his anger would be directed against her. She said pleadingly: ‘I suppose it was improper, but it seemed to be the only thing I could do!’
‘Improper?’ he exclaimed. ‘So that’s what you call it, is it? The most damnable escapade!’
‘Alan! No, no! Imprudent I may have been, but what other course was open to me? I would not for the world tell my aunt, and I dared not say a word of it to you, because –’
‘That at least I believe!’ he interrupted. ‘You knew well I would never permit it! You were right, my girl, very right! Where is the fellow?’
‘I don’t know. Oh, Alan, pray don’t be so out of reason cross with me! Indeed I meant it for the best! Alan!’
The Viscount, who had most ungently grasped her shoulders, shook her. ‘Don’t lie to me! Where is he?’
‘I tell you I don’t know! And if I did I would not tell you while you are in such a rage!’ said Henrietta, with spirit.
‘We’ll see that!’ said the Viscount grimly. ‘I’ll settle with him when I’ve settled with you! Had you chosen an honest man I would have stood aside, whatever it cost me, but this fellow –! No, by God! If you are determined to marry a fortune-hunter, Henry, let him be me! At least I love you!’
Shock bereft her of the power of speech; she could only gaze up into his face. He dragged her into his arms, and kissed her with such savagery that she uttered an inarticulate protest. To this he paid no heed at all, but demanded sternly: ‘Do you understand me, Henry? Give you up to Kirkham I will not!’
‘Oh, Alan, don’t give me up to anyone!’ begged Henrietta, laughing and crying together. ‘Oh, dear, how odious you are! Of all the infamous notions to – Alan, let me go! Someone is coming!’
The door opened. ‘Told you no good would come of it,’ said Mr Allerton, with gloomy satisfaction. ‘Not a trace of ’em to be –’ He broke off, staring at his brother. ‘Well, upon my word!’ he said, mildly surprised.
‘What the devil are you doing here?’ exclaimed the Viscount.
‘Came with Hetty,’ explained Timothy. ‘Said it was a stupid thing to do, but she would have it we should overtake ’em.’
‘Came with Hetty? Overtake –?’ repeated the Viscount. ‘In heaven’s name, what are you talking about?’
Mr Allerton raised his quizzing-glass. ‘You been in
the sun, old fellow?’ he asked solicitously.
‘Timothy, he doesn’t know!’ Henrietta said. ‘That is not what brought him here! Alan, a dreadful thing has happened. Trix has eloped! I can’t think what made you suppose that I had! Timothy and I came in pursuit, and oh, I was so hopeful of catching them, but we can discover no trace of them!’
‘Quite true,’ corroborated Timothy, observing that the tidings had apparently stunned his brother. ‘Eloped with Jack Boynton. At least, that’s what she said.’
‘Are you mad?’ demanded the Viscount. ‘Trix is at home!’
‘Alas, Alan, she is not!’ said Henrietta. ‘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 Boynton to Gretna Green, but I very much fear that she was deceiving me, and that is not her destination.’
The Viscount, who had listened to this with an arrested expression on his face, drew an audible breath. ‘Most certainly she was deceiving you!’ he said, in an odd tone. ‘I see! The – little – cunning – devil!’
