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‘Which White Hart?’ demanded the Marquis irritably. ‘I know of fifty at least!’
‘Why, at Welwyn, my lord!’
‘Welwyn!’ ejaculated Carlington, letting his hands fall. ‘What the devil am I doing in Welwyn?’
This question
the landlord, who had had an illuminating conversation with the two postilions, thought it prudent to leave unanswered. He coughed, and said vaguely that he was sure he couldn’t say. He waited for his noble client’s memory to assert itself, but the Marquis, with another groan, merely sank back upon his pillows, and closed his eyes again. The landlord gave another cough, and said: ‘The lady has ordered breakfast in a private parlour, my lord.’
The Marquis’ eyes opened at that. ‘Lady? What lady?’ he said sharply.
‘The – the lady who accompanies your lordship,’ replied the landlord.
‘My God!’ said the Marquis, and clasped his head in his hands again. There was a pause. ‘Oh, my God, what have I done?’ said the Marquis. ‘Where is she?’
‘The lady, my lord, spent the night in the bedchamber adjacent to this, and awaits your lordship in the parlour. Your lordship – er – does not appear to have any trunk or cloak-bag.’
‘I know that, curse you!’ said the Marquis, casting off the coverlet, and setting his stockinged feet to the ground. ‘Damnation take this head of mine! Help me out of this coat, fool!’
The landlord extricated him from it, not without difficulty, and suggested that his lordship might like to be shaved. ‘For I have a very reliable lad, my lord, and should be honoured to lend your lordship my own razors.’
The Marquis had poured a jugful of hot water into the washbasin. ‘Send him up, man, send him up!’ he said. He dipped his head into the basin, but raised it again to say: ‘My compliments to the lady, and I shall do myself the honour of joining her in half an hour.’
Downstairs in the private parlour Miss Morland had ordered breakfast for half-past nine. When the Marquis at last appeared she was drinking a cup of coffee, and looking as neat and as fresh as though she had had her maid with her, and several trunks of clothes.
The Marquis had been shaved, had had the creases pressed out of his coat, and had contrived to arrange his starched but crumpled cravat in decent folds, but he did not look very fresh. He was pale, and the reckless look had gone from his face, leaving it worried, and rather stern. He came into the parlour, and shut the door behind him, and paused with his hand still on the knob, looking across at Miss Morland with a mixture of remorse and bewilderment in his fine eyes.
Miss Morland’s colour rose, but she said calmly: ‘Good morning, sir. A very fine day, is it not?’
‘I have not noticed whether it is fine or not,’ replied Carlington. ‘I have to beg your pardon, ma’am. I have no very clear recollection of what occurred last night. I was drunk.’
‘Yes,’ said Miss Morland, a slice of bread and butter halfway to her mouth. ‘You explained that at the time. May I give you some coffee?’
He came to the table, and stood looking down at her in even greater bewilderment. ‘Miss Morland, drunk I may have been, but was I so drunk that I forced you to accompany me to this place?’
‘I came with you quite willingly,’ she assured him.
He grasped the back of the chair before him. ‘In God’s name, what induced you to commit so imprudent an action?’
‘You won me,’ she explained. ‘I was the stake set by my brother.’
‘I remember,’ he said. ‘I must have been mad, and he –’ He broke off. ‘Good heavens, ma’am, that you should have been subjected to such an indignity!’
‘It was not very pleasant,’ she agreed. ‘It seemed to me preferable to go away with you than to remain under that roof another hour.’ She paused, and raised her eyes to his face. ‘You have always treated me with a courtesy my brother does not accord me. Besides,’ she added, ‘you assured me that your intentions were honourable.’
‘My intentions!’ he exclaimed.
‘Certainly, sir,’ said Miss Morland, casting down her eyes to hide the gleam of mischief in them. ‘You informed my brother that you would take me to Gretna Green. We are on our way there now.’
The Marquis pulled the chair out from the table, and sank down into it. ‘Gretna Green!’ he said. ‘My dear girl, you don’t know – This is appalling!’
Miss Morland winced a little, but said in a considering voice: ‘A little irregular, perhaps. But if I do not mind that I am sure you need not. You have a reputation for doing odd things, after all.’
He brought his open hand down on the table. ‘If I have, the more reason for you to have refused to come with me on this insane journey! Were you mad, Miss Morland?’
‘Oh, by no means!’ she replied, cutting her bread and butter into thin strips. ‘Of course, it is not precisely what I should have chosen, but you offered me a way of escape from a house in which I was determined not to spend another night.’
‘You must have relatives – someone to whom –’
