Mr Stubbs tried to say that it was only a matter of his duty, but as Miss Nye, who had the peculiarly resonant voice of most deaf persons, chose at the same moment to announce that if she were given her choice, she would sooner have a pair of wild bulls in the house than two Runners, his explanation was not heard. Before he could repeat it, Nye had given Sir Hugh a brief and faithful account of the affair, particularly stressing his own part in it. ‘Over and over again I told them there was only some spare crockery in the cupboard, sir, but they wouldn’t listen to me. I hope I’m a patient man, but when it comes to them smashing four of my best glasses, not to mention spoiling a whole dish of cheese-cakes that was meant for your honour’s dinner, it’s more than what I can stand!’
‘It’s my belief,’ said Sir Hugh, looking fixedly at the unfortunate Runners, ‘that they’re drunk. Both of them.’
Mr Stubbs, who had not been offered any liquid refreshment at all, protested almost tearfully.
‘If you’re not drunk,’ said Sir Hugh, with finality, ‘you’re mad. I had my suspicions of it from the start.’
After this painful affair the Runners withdrew to watch the inn from the outside. While one kept an eye on the back door from the post-boy’s room, the other walked up and down in front of the inn. From time to time they met and exchanged places. They were occasionally rewarded by the sight either of Nye or of Clem peeping out of one or other of the doors as though to see whether the coast were clear. These signs of activity were sufficiently heartening to keep them at their posts. But it was miserable work for a raw February day, and had the house under observation been other than an inn, it was unlikely that a sense of duty would have triumphed. However, although Nye, according no more nice treatment to the Runners, might withhold all offers of brandy, he could not refuse to serve them as customers. The only pleasant moments they spent during the remainder of the afternoon were in the cosy tap-room, and even these were somewhat marred by the black looks cast at them by the landlord and the caustic comments he made on the drinking proclivities of law officers.
But when dusk fell they had their reward. It was Mr Stubbs’s turn to sit at the window of the stable-room, and it was consequently he who saw the back door open very gradually, and Eustacie look cautiously out into the yard. He knew it was she, because the candles had been lit inside the house, and she stood full in a beam of light.
Mr Stubbs drew back from the window and watched from behind the curtain. Behind him one post-boy sprawled in a chair by the fire, snoring rhythmically, and two others sat at the table playing cards.
Eustacie, having peered all round through the twilight, turned and beckoned to someone inside the house. Mr Stubbs, breathing heavily, reached for his stout ash-plant, and grasped it in his right hand. With his eyes starting almost out of his head, he saw a tall female figure, muffled from head to foot in a dark cloak, slip out of the house and glide round it towards the front, keeping well in the shadow of the wall. Eustacie softly closed the door; but Mr Stubbs did not wait to see this. In two bounds he had reached the yard, and was creeping after his quarry, taking care, however, to stay well behind until he could summon Mr Peabody to his assistance.
The cloaked figure was moving swiftly, yet in a cautious fashion, pausing at the corner of the house to look up and down the road before venturing further. Mr Stubbs stopped too, effacing himself in the shadows, and realized, when the quarry made a dart across the road, that Mr Peabody must be enjoying a session in the tap-room, saw dimly that the unknown female (or male) was hurrying down the road under cover of the hedge, and bounced into the inn, loudly calling on Mr Peabody for support.
Mr Peabody, ever-zealous, hastened to his side, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. When he heard the glorious news, he stayed only to pick up his cudgel, and ran out with Mr Stubbs in pursuit of the fugitive.
‘It were that self-same abigail, William,’ panted Mr Stubbs. ‘All along I thought – too big for a female! There he goes!’
Hearing the sounds of heavy-footed pursuit, the figure ahead looked once over its shoulder, and then broke into a run. Mr Stubbs had no more breath to spare for speech, but Mr Peabody, a leaner man, managed to shout: ‘Halt!’
The figure ahead showed signs of flagging; the Runners, getting their second wind, began to gain upon it, and in a few moments had reached it, and grabbed at the enveloping cloak, gasping: ‘In the name of the Law!’
The figure spun round, and landed Mr Stubbs a facer that made his nose bleed.
‘Mind his pops, Jerry!’ cried Mr Peabody grappling with the foe. ‘Lordy, what a wild cat! Ah, would you, then!’
Mr Stubbs caught the figure’s left arm in a crushing grip, and panted: ‘I arrest you in the name of the Law!’
The captive said a low, breathless voice: ‘Let me go! Let me go at once!’
‘You’re coming along of us, that’s what you’re going to do,’ replied Mr Stubbs.
The sound of a horse trotting towards them made the Runners drag their captive to the side of the road. The horse and rider came into sight, and the prisoner, recognizing the rider, cried: ‘Sir Tristram, help! Help!’
The horse seemed to bound forward as under a sudden spur. The prisoner, struggling madly, shrieked again for help, and the next instant Sir Tristram was abreast of the group, and had swung himself out of the saddle. Before the Runners could explain matters, he had taken the management of the affair into his own swift and capable hands. Mr Stubbs, starting to proclaim his calling, encountered a smashing right and left which dropped him like a log, and Mr Peabody, releasing his captive and aiming a blow at Sir Tristram with his cudgel, quite failed to find his mark, and the next moment was sprawling on the road, having been neatly thrown on Sir Tristram’s hip.
Sir Tristram paid no further heed to either of them, but took a quick stride towards the cloaked figure, saying sharply: ‘Are you hurt? What in heaven’s name is the meaning of this, Miss Thane?’
‘Oh, I am bruised from head to foot!’ shuddered Miss Thane. ‘These dreadful creatures set upon me with cudgels! I shall die of the shock!’
This dramatic announcement, instead of arousing Sir Tristram’s chivalrous instincts anew, made him look penetratingly at her for one moment, and say in a voice torn between amusement and exasperation: ‘You must be out of your mind! How dared you do such a crazy thing?’
The Runners had by this time begun to pick themselves up. Mr Stubbs, cherishing his nose, seemed a little dazed, but Mr Peabody advanced heroically, and said: ‘I arrest you, Ludovic Lavenham, in the name of the Law, and it will go hard with them as seeks to interfere!’
Sir Tristram released Miss Thane’s hands, which he had been holding in a sustaining manner, and replied: ‘You fool, this is not Ludovic Lavenham! This is a lady!’
Mr Stubbs said thickly: ‘It’s the abigail. It ain’t no female.’
‘Oh, don’t let them touch me!’ implored Miss Thane, shrieking artistically towards Sir Tristram.
‘I’ve no intention of letting them touch you, but don’t get in my way,’ said Sir Tristram unromantically. ‘Now then, my man, perhaps you will tell me what the devil you mean by arresting this lady?’
‘It ain’t a lady!’ said Mr Peabody urgently. ‘He’s a desperate criminal dressed up for an abigail! No lady couldn’t fight like him!’
‘I tell you she is Sir Hugh Thane’s sister!’ said Sir Tristram. ‘Look, is this a man’s face?’ He turned as he spoke, and put back the hood from Miss Thane’s head.
The Runners peered at her doubtfully. ‘When my brother hears of this, you will be sorry!’ said Miss Thane in a tearful voice.
A look of deep foreboding stole into Mr Stubbs’s watering eyes. ‘If we’ve made a mistake –’ he began uncertainly.
‘It’s my belief it’s a plot, and they’re both in it!’ declared Mr Peabody.
‘Take me to my b
rother!’ begged Miss Thane, clinging to Sir Tristram’s arm. ‘I fear I may be going to swoon!’
Mr Stubbs looked at her over the handkerchief which he was holding to his nose. Also he looked at Sir Tristram, and rather unwisely accused him of having assaulted an officer of the Law.
‘Oh, you’re law officers, are you?’ said Sir Tristram grimly. ‘Then you may come and explain yourselves to Sir Hugh Thane. Can you walk, ma’am, or shall I carry you?’
Miss Thane declined this offer, though in a failing voice, and accepted instead the support of his arm. The whole party began to walk slowly towards the Red Lion, Sir Tristram solicitously guiding Miss Thane’s tottering steps, and Mr Peabody leading Sir Tristram’s horse.
They entered the inn by the door into the coffee-room, and here they were met by Eustacie, who, upon sight of Miss Thane, gave a dramatic start, and cried, ‘Bon Dieu! What has happened? Sarah, are you ill!’
Miss Thane said faintly: ‘I scarce know…Two men attacked me…’
‘Ah, she is swooning!’ exclaimed Eustacie. ‘What an outrage! What villainy!’
Miss Thane, having assured herself that Sir Tristram was close enough to catch her, closed her eyes, and sank gracefully back into his arms.
‘Hartshorn! vinegar!’ shrieked Eustacie. ‘Lay her on the settle, mon cousin !’
Nye, who had come in from the tap-room, said: ‘What! Miss Thane in a swoon? I’ll call Sir Hugh this instant!’ and strode away to the parlour.
Sir Tristram carried his fair burden to the settle, and laid her down upon it. A glance at her charming complexion was sufficient to allay any alarm he might otherwise have felt, and with his fingers over her steady pulse, he said: ‘I think we should throw water over her, my dear cousin. Cold water.’
Miss Thane’s lips parted a little. A very soft whisper reached Sir Tristram’s ears. ‘You dare!’ breathed Miss Thane.
‘Wait! I will instantly fetch the hartshorn!’ said Eustacie, and turning sharp on her heel, collided with Mr Peabody, who was anxiously peeping over her shoulder at Miss Thane’s inanimate form. ‘Brute! Imbécile!’ she stormed.
Mr Peabody stepped aside in a hurry. Having seen Miss Thane’s shapely figure in the candlelight, he was now quite sure that a mistake had been made, and the look he cast at Mr Stubbs, standing glumly in the door, was one of deep reproach.
Eustacie came running down the stairs again just as Sir Hugh walked into the coffee-room with the landlord at his heels.
‘What’s all this?’ demanded Sir Hugh. ‘Here’s Nye telling me some story about Sally fainting. She never faints!’
Sir Tristram, looking down at Miss Thane, saw a shade of annoyance in her face. His lips twitched slightly, but he answered in a grave voice: ‘I fear it is true. You may see for yourself.’
‘Well, of all the odd things!’ said Sir Hugh, surveying her through his eyeglass with vague surprise. ‘I’ve never known her to do that before.’
‘She has sustained a great shock to her nerves,’ said Shield solemnly. ‘We can only trust that she has received no serious injury.’
‘Ah, la pauvre !’ exclaimed Eustacie, enjoying herself hugely. ‘I wonder she is not dead with fright!’ She thrust her cousin out of the way as she spoke, and sank upon her knees by the settle, holding the hartshorn under Miss Thane’s nose. ‘Behold, she is recovering! C’est cela, ma chère! Doucement, alors, doucement!’ Over her shoulder she addressed Sir Hugh. ‘Those wicked men attacked her – with sticks!’ she added, observing the Runners’ cudgels.
It took a moment for Sir Hugh to assimilate this. He turned and stared at the two Runners, incredulous wrath slowly gathering in his eyes. ‘What!’ he said. ‘They attacked my sister? These gin-swilling, cross-eyed numskulls? This pair of brandy-faced, cork-brained –’
Miss Thane interrupted this swelling diatribe with a faint moan, and opened her eyes. ‘Where am I?’ she said in a weak voice.
‘Dieu soit béni!’ said Eustacie devoutly. ‘She is better!’
Miss Thane sat up, her hand to her brow. ‘Two men with sticks,’ she said gropingly. ‘They ran after me and caught me…Oh, am I safe indeed?’
‘A little brandy, ma’am?’ suggested Nye. ‘You are all shook up, and no wonder! It’s a crying scandal, that’s what it is! I never heard the like of it!’
‘Sally,’ said Sir Hugh, ‘do you tell me that these blundering jackasses set upon you?’
She followed the direction of his pointing finger, and gave a small shriek, and clutched his arm. ‘Do not let them touch me!’
‘Let them touch you?’ said Sir Hugh, a martial light in his eye. ‘They had better try!’
‘It was all a mistake, ma’am! No one don’t want to touch you!’ said Mr Peabody. ‘I am sure we never meant no harm! It was the poor light, and us not knowing you.’
‘All a matter of Dooty,’ said Mr Stubbs, still holding his handkerchief to his nose.
‘You hold your tongue!’ said Sir Hugh. ‘Sally, what happened?’
‘I scarce know,’ replied his sister. ‘I went out for a breath of air, and before I had gone above a dozen steps I heard someone running behind me, and turning, saw these two men coming for me, and waving their sticks. I tried to escape, but they caught me, and handled me so roughly that I was near to swooning away on the spot. Then, by the mercy of Providence, who should come riding by but Sir Tristram! I screamed to him for help – indeed, I thought I was to be murdered or beaten into insensibility – and he flung himself from his horse and rescued me! He knocked the fat man down, and when the other one made for him with his cudgel threw him sprawling in the road!’
‘Tristram did that?’ exclaimed Eustacie. ‘Voyons, mon cousin, I begin to like you very much indeed!’
Sir Hugh, his wrath giving place momentarily to professional interest, said: ‘Threw him a cross-buttock, did you?’
‘On my hip,’ said Shield. ‘You know the trick.’
Sir Hugh put up his glass and surveyed Mr Stubbs’s afflicted nose. ‘Drew his cork, too,’ he observed, with satisfaction.
‘No,’ replied Sir Tristram. ‘I fancy Miss Thane deserves the credit for that.’
‘I did hit him,’ admitted Sarah.
‘Good girl!’ approved her brother. ‘A nice, flush hit it must have been. But what were they chasing you for? That’s what beats me.’
‘They said I was Ludovic Lavenham, and they arrested me,’ said Miss Thane.
Sir Hugh repeated blankly: ‘Said you were Ludovic Lavenham?’ He looked at the Runners again. ‘They are mad,’ he said.
‘Drunk more like, sir,’ put in the landlord unkindly. ‘They’ve spent the better part of the afternoon in my tap-room, drinking Blue Ruin till you’d wonder they could walk straight.’
A protesting sound came from behind Mr Stubbs’s handkerchief.
‘So that’s it, is it?’ said Sir Hugh. ‘You’re right: they reek of gin!’
‘It ain’t true, your Honour!’ said Mr Peabody, much agitated. ‘If we had a drop just to keep the cold out –’
‘Drop!’ ejaculated the landlord. ‘Why, you’ve pretty near had all there is in the house!’
Mr Stubbs ventured to emerge from behind his handkerchief. ‘I take my solemn oath it ain’t true,’ he said. ‘We suspicioned the lady was this Loodervic Lavenham – that’s how it come about.’
Sir Tristram looked him over critically. ‘That settles it: they must be badly foxed,’ he remarked.
‘Of course they are,’ agreed Thane. ‘Thought my sister was a man? I never heard of anything to equal it! They’re so foxed they can’t see straight.’
Mr Peabody hastened to explain. ‘No, your Honour, no! It were all on account of that abigail we saw here, and which was turned off so sudden, and which we thought was the lady.’
‘You are making ma
tters worse for yourselves,’ said Sir Tristram. ‘First you say you thought Miss Thane was Ludovic Lavenham, and now you say you thought she was my cousin’s abigail. Pray, what were you about to chase an abigail?’
‘It’s as plain as a pikestaff what they are about,’ said Thane severely.
‘I knew she was a low, vulgar wretch!’ cried Eustacie, swift to improve this point.
The maligned Runners could only gape at her in dismay.
‘Well, Wright shall know how his precious Runners conduct themselves once they are out of his reach!’ promised Sir Hugh.
‘But, your Honour – but, sir – it weren’t like that at all! It was the abigail we thought was Loodervic Lavenham, on account of her being such a great, strapping wench, and when Miss here came so cautious out of the back door, like as if she was scared someone might see her, it was natural we should be mistook in her. What would the lady go out walking for when it was almost dark?’
Sir Hugh turned to look at his sister, his judicial instincts roused. ‘I must say, it seems demmed odd to me,’ he conceded. ‘What were you doing, Sally?’
Miss Thane, prompted partly by a spirit of pure mischief, and partly by a desire to be revenged on Sir Tristram for his inhuman suggestion of throwing cold water over her, turned her face away and implored her brother not to ask her that question.
‘That’s all very well,’ objected Thane, ‘but did you go out by the back door?’
‘Yes,’ said Miss Thane, covering her face with her hands.
‘Why?’ asked Sir Hugh, faintly puzzled.
‘Oh,’ said Miss Thane, the very picture of maidenly confusion, ‘must I tell you, indeed? I went to meet Sir Tristram.’
‘Eh?’ said Thane, taken aback.
Miss Thane found that she had underestimated her opponent. Not a muscle quivered in Shield’s face. He said immediately: ‘This news should have been broken to you at a more suitable time, Thane. Spare your sister’s blushes, I beg of you!’
Miss Thane, for once put out of countenance, intervened in a hurry. ‘We cannot discuss such matters now! Do pray, send those creatures away! I will believe they meant me no harm, but I vow and declare the very sight of them gives me a Spasm!’