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‘Well, sir, begging your pardon, Squire is that pernickety in his ways, and – in a manner of speaking – a testy gentleman – not meaning any disrespect, I’m sure!’
‘In fact, I shall not endear myself to him by arriving famished on his doorstep at dead of night. Very well. I’ll put up here, then.’
The landlord, mentally resolving to have the best sheets instantly put on the bed in the larger of his two guest chambers, ushered his lordship into the coffee-room.
It had only one occupant, a young gentleman who sat in the window embrasure, with a bottle of brandy on the ledge beside him, and a glass in his hand. The landlord, casting a rather worried glance at the bottle, murmured that Mr Tom would not object to a gentleman’s dining in the coffee-room. Mr Tom blinked at Lord Stavely, and inclined his head with dignity. He then resumed his scrutiny of the moon-washed street.
His lordship returned the civility by a slight bow, and a smile hovering about his mouth, but made no attempt to lure Mr Tom into conversation. It was apparent to him that care sat upon the young gentleman’s brow.
It would have been apparent to someone far less acute than Lord Stavely that Mr Tom was, very properly, drowning his troubles in brandy. He might have been any age between nineteen and twenty-five; he was certainly not older. Leanings towards dandyism were betrayed by the intricate but not entirely successful arrangement of his cravat, and by the inordinate height of his shirt collar, whose starched points reached almost to his cheek-bones. But there was little of the dandy in his sturdy figure and fresh-complexioned countenance. He looked like the son of a country gentleman, which, indeed, he was, and as though he would be very much at home in the hunting-field, or with a gun over his shoulder.
In a short time the landlord laid a simple but very tolerable meal before his new guest, and himself waited upon him. Lord Stavely pronounced the fare to be excellent, commended the burgundy, and tactfully declined the only port offered him on the score that he did not wish to encourage a tendency to the gout. He did not look as though he suffered from gout, or any other ailment; in fact, he looked as healthy as any other man of thirty-five; but the landlord did not question his words. He merely swept away the covers and set a bottle of old cognac before him.
For some minutes past Lord Stavely had been aware that the young gentleman in the window was subjecting him to an intent scrutiny. He knew well what was engaging this fixed attention, and when the landlord had withdrawn, he said gently: ‘I call it the Nonchalent. It is not very difficult, once you acquire the knack of it.’
‘Eh?’ said the young gentleman, starting.
‘My cravat,’ explained Lord Stavely, smiling.
The young gentleman coloured and stammered that he begged pardon.
‘Not at all,’ said his lordship. ‘I’ll show you how to tie it, if you like.’
‘Will you?’ exclaimed the young gentleman eagerly. ‘I tie mine in an Osbaldeston, but I don’t like it above half.’
Lord Stavely waved one hand invitingly towards a chair at the table. ‘Won’t you join me?’
‘Well – thank you!’ The young gentleman got up and crossed the floor circumspectly. He brought his glass and the bottle with him, and set both down on the table. ‘My name,’ he announced carefully, ‘is Hatherleigh.’
‘Mine is Stavely,’ returned his lordship.
They exchanged bows. Only a purist would have said that Mr Hatherleigh was drunk. He could, by taking only reasonable pains, walk and speak with dignity, and if his potations had had the effect of divorcing his brain a little from the normal, at least it was perfectly clear on all important matters. When Lord Stavely, for instance, touching lightly on the country through which he had driven, said that he should suppose it to be good hunting country, young Hatherleigh was able to expatiate on the subject with enthusiasm and really remarkable coherence. The cloud lifted from his brow, his eyes brightened, and he became quite animated. Then the cloud descended again abruptly, and he fetched a sigh, and said gloomily: ‘But that is all at an end! I dare say I may think myself lucky if ever I get a leg across a good hunter again.’
‘As bad as that?’ said his lordship sympathetically.
Mr Hatherleigh nodded, and poured himself out some more brandy. ‘I’m eloping with an heiress,’ he announced dejectedly.
If Lord Stavely was startled by this intelligence, he managed to conceal his emotions most creditably. His lip did quiver a little, but he said in the politest way: ‘Indeed?’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Hatherleigh, fortifying himself with a deep drink. ‘Gretna Green,’ he added.
‘Forgive me,’ said his lordship, ‘but do you feel this to be a wise step to take?’
‘No, of course I don’t!’ said Mr Hatherleigh. ‘But what is a fellow to do? I can’t draw back now! You must see that!’
‘I expect it would be very difficult,’ agreed Lord Stavely. ‘When one has persuaded an heiress to elope with one –’
‘No such thing!’ interrupted Mr Hatherleigh. ‘I dare say I may have said it would be rare sport to do it, if only to kick up a dust, but I never thought Annabella would think I really meant it! But that is Annabella all over. In fact, I think she’s devilish like her father! Let her but once take a notion into her head, and there’s no persuading her to listen to reason! Mind, though,’ he added, bending a sudden, minatory scowl upon his auditor, ‘you are not to be thinking that I wish to back out! I have loved Annabella for years. In fact, I swore a blood-oath to marry her when we were children. But that isn’t to say that I want to drive off to the Border with her – and just now, too!’
‘The moment is not quite convenient?’
Mr Hatherleigh shook his head. ‘My uncle has invited me to Yorkshire for the grouse shooting!’ he said bitterly. ‘Only think what a splendid time I could have had! I have never tried my hand at grouse, you know, but I am accounted a pretty fair shot.’
‘You could not, I suppose, postpone the elopement until after the shooting season?’ suggested his lordship.
‘No, because if we waited there would be no sense in eloping at all, because very likely Annabella will be tied up to the old fogy her father means her to marry. Besides, the moon’s at the full now.’
‘I see. And who is this old fogy? Is he very old?’
