The Runaway Bride, page 9
‘I mean, ma’am, that Señorita Vasquez has gone ‒ run away. And I shall own myself very much surprised if Linton is not also found to be missing.’
‘Gracious!’ Verena Covington took the long switch of hair which he still held, looked on it reflectively for a moment and then tossed it back with the rest. ‘Silly child,’ she said, not meeting his eyes. ‘As to Lord Linton, someone will, of course, be sent to his room at once, though I am sure you must be mistaken.’
‘Pray allow me that honour, ma’am,’ said Lord Cowley smoothly.
‘The señorita was most insistent that I should not wake her until eight o’clock,’ sobbed Maria. ‘I thought she would be angry that I had disobeyed!’
Señora Diaz uttered a shuddering moan and had to be helped to a chair. Someone suggested hartshorn or burned feathers. In the end a vinaigrette was produced and Lady Covington ordered with more than a trace of asperity that Maria should assist the duenna to her room.
With most of the excitement seemingly at an end, people began to drift back to their rooms, suddenly embarrassed at being caught en déshabillé. Madame Garrishe, however, remained behind. She hugged her wrap to herself and looked troubled.
‘Poor little Consuelo,’ she sighed. Nick turned with a frown. ‘We spoke together in the early hours of this morning. She was in a very strange mood ‒ low in spirits, you know?’
Nick stared. ‘Consuelo was?’
‘Oh yes. It was not the face she showed to the world, but …’ Madame shrugged. ‘After we had talked and I had, as I thought, reconciled her to this marriage her papa arranges for her, she seemed quite elated once more. I realize now, of course, that when she said “I know exactly what I must do”, she was contemplating something quite different. I am sorry.’
Nick gave her a small self-denigrating smile that was meant to reassure her. ‘You must not hold yourself in any way to blame, Madame. We have all been equally deceived.’
‘Shall you go after her?’
‘I must,’ he said. ‘She is my responsibility. Fortunately there is only one direction they can have taken if they mean to marry.’
‘We cannot be certain, of course, that Lord Linton ‒’
‘I am certain,’ Nick said harshly.
Madame looked at him with troubled eyes. ‘You will not be too hard on Consuelo, captain? I am sure, thinking back to our conversation, that it was the idea of deceiving her friends that sat so ill with her.’
He frowned in polite disbelief. ‘That’s as maybe, ma’am ‒’
Lord Cowley put his head in at the door, the tassel of his magnificent cap swinging gently at his ear. ‘You were right, Nicholas, dear boy. Young Linton’s room is likewise deserted.’ He gave a droll little smile. ‘And now I suppose you will be obliged to set off in hot pursuit up the Great North Road. So fatiguing!’
Chapter Eight
But there was much to do before Nick could set out anywhere ‒ questions to be asked, arrangements to be put in hand, and though he lost no time about it, quite an hour was like to be wasted before he could leave.
It very soon became evident that the maid had played no part in the elopement, her shock and distress being in no way assumed, but Green was clearly hiding something.
The young tiger put up a brave show of innocence, but he had been expecting Lord Covington to question him and was confident of his ability to fool that amiable old codger; what he hadn’t reckoned on was being interrogated by a grim-faced gent as was well up to snuff when it came to dealing with raw young ’uns, and had the truth wheedled out of him before you could say ‘knife’!
Lord Covington was much distressed to learn that his little missy was running around the countryside got up like a groom, and was further shocked to know that Linton had condoned the masquerade. Without a moment’s hesitation he offered Nick the pick of his stable to ride after them.
‘Tell Stubbins to saddle Major, m’boy. He ain’t quite as showy as that new stallion but he’s got good bottom ‒ carry you mile upon mile without flagging!’
Nick thanked him and promised that the horse would be safely returned. Lord Covington pooh-poohed this, saying that all he hoped was that the captain might come up with the irresponsible pair before any harm was done.
Nick finished the last of the hastily consumed breakfast which Lady Covington had insisted that he must take before he left.
‘If you are to go chasing all over the country, you must at least eat before you leave,’ she said a little peevishly. ‘Though for my part, I don’t see the necessity. Why not let them go? Once they are married, Consuelo’s father can do little about it, after all. Would that not be kinder to Consuelo in the long run?’
Nick pushed his plate away. ‘I did not come to be kind. I came to take Consuelo home, and that I mean to do.’
‘So sure of yourself, captain?’ she mocked.
‘So sure,’ he agreed. He swallowed the last of his coffee at a gulp and stood up, turning once more to Lord Covington. ‘And now, sir, if I might presume even further upon your kindness?’
Lord Covington assured him that he would do all that was in his power.
‘My thanks. Then, if I might have pen and paper? I must send word to Fletcher, my first mate, explaining why we are delayed. Is there someone you could send? I will give you the direction. And, further to that ‒’ He turned to Verena. ‘If you would, try if you can to calm that hysterical duenna so that she and the maid, Maria, may be got to London docks by this evening. I will order a post chaise in Brighton.’
‘My dear sir, we would not hear of it, would we, my love?’ Lord Covington looked for confirmation to his wife. ‘You must allow us to put our own travelling coach at their disposal.’
Nick bowed. ‘You are more than kind, my lord.’ He turned to Verena once more and found her looking at him in the oddest way, her green eyes very wide, a slight flush on her cheek.
‘So you do not come back here?’
‘No, ma’am. We shall go straight to the docks.’ He engaged that glance with an ironical little smile. ‘I must thank you for making my stay so pleasant. I am only sorry that Consuelo’s stay with you both has ended this way. No doubt she will write to you.’
Verena shrugged, and, turned away almost rudely, leaving her husband to make her apologies.
‘This affair has upset her, don’t you know!’ his lordship blustered as she left the room.
Nick made good time on the road. His first piece of luck was at Horley, where the landlord recalled the gentleman well.
‘Marked him special, I did, sir, on account of how he was regular caring of that young tiger of his … Took him along of himself to partake of breakfast in my little back parlour there. It’s a thing as you don’t see happen often, sir.’
‘Quite so,’ Nick agreed, downing a pint of the landlord’s best brew. ‘I believe his lordship has quite a fondness for the boy! How long ago would this be?’
The landlord scratched his head. ‘Well, now ‒ he arrived just as the Brighton coach pulled out, so I reckon it must’ve been around nine when he left ‒ in a proper fret he was to get on, he was! Seems he told Jeb out in the stable yard as he needed a strengthy, quick-actioned team as different as maybe from them bone-setters he was driving ‒ there was some talk of a sick relative, I remember ‒ someone as he had to reach before nightfall.’
Nick set his tankard down on the table. ‘Thank you, landlord, you have been most helpful.’
At Croydon he was less than two hours behind the fleeing couple and was just beginning to congratulate himself when he lost track of them completely. Several people remembered having seen a curricle very much as he described it, but no two, it seemed, could agree upon the occupants of the equipage and since none of the gentlemen described bore any resemblance to Lord Linton, he was reluctantly drawn to the conclusion that they had given him the slip.
As if this were not aggravation enough, he must now also face the possibility that Linton had taken Consuelo to London and not to the border as he had supposed ‒ if so, it would be the devil’s own work to find them!
It was this conclusion as much as any other which prompted him to hold to his instincts as it was his wont to do when in a tight corner; his intuition had served him well enough in the past, and intuition told him that the couple were headed for the border. Apart from any other considerations, it would be well-nigh impossible for Linton to find anyone willing to marry them in London and Nick hoped that he had read Consuelo’s character well enough to be sure that she would settle for nothing less.
By the time he reached Welwyn he was hot and tired, and so was the horse which had carried him nobly thus far. His inquiries drew a blank once more, but at the White Hart he encountered the most appetizing smell coming from the regions of the kitchen. Upon inquiring of the waiter, it proved to be a casserole of rabbit ‒ a speciality for which the landlord’s wife was renowned. Nick needed little persuading to partake of it, for he discovered of a sudden that he was devilishly hungry.
It was when he was embarking upon his second helping of apple pie that the sound of raised voices began to penetrate the dining-room door.
‘I do not care, Enrique!’ Consuelo’s excitable tones were unmistakable. ‘I cannot go one mile more without food!’
‘Well, it will have to be something quick ‒ that broken trace has already cost us valuable time!’ Lord Linton sounded less than happy.
Nick reached the door in seconds and flung it wide.
‘Madre!’ said Consuelo blankly. ‘How are you here?’
‘Never mind how.’ Nick eyed the trim little figure grimly, subduing a traitorous inclination to admire the way her boy’s raiment became her. His glance lifted to encompass her hair, now hatless, and his cold rage returned in full measure.
Henry, who had gone to hail the landlord, returned from the tap-room to halt in dismay on the threshold, a deep flush suffusing his face.
‘Deuce take it!’ he muttered. ‘I knew this would happen!’
The landlord appeared at his elbow. Nick addressed him curtly.
‘A private room, if you please ‒ and quickly!’
It was a voice that brooked no argument. Bursting with curiosity, the landlord begged them to follow him and Henry, on the point of refusing, looked at Nick, shrugged, and went along with a brave show of carelessness to the small parlour where he threw off his drab driving coat and flung it over one of the chairs before going to stand at the window.
When the landlord had left the room, he began: ‘Now look here ‒’ but Nick cut him short.
‘You will do better to remain silent, my lord, for there is little you can say to justify this day’s work!’
Indignation got the better of caution. Henry stepped forward, a scowl marring his fair handsome features. ‘You are insolent, damn it!’
‘Yes, you are!’ Consuelo cried furiously, laying a protective hand on his arm. ‘Also, you are unjust. Enrique has done nothing of which he might be ashamed. I came with him very willingly!’
Nick turned on her a look of withering derision which raked her from head to foot, making her for the first time very much aware of how revealing were her breeches.
‘Your behaviour, señorita, deplorable as it is, proves only that you are a silly irresponsible girl and in no way exonerates Lord Linton from blame, as he well knows!’
‘En nombre de Dios! You go too far, captain! I will not permit you to speak so to me!’
His lip curled, but his eyes were like hard blue chips of ice. ‘Have a care, Consuelo,’ he said softly. ‘My friends would tell you I am not a tolerant man. Provoke me further and I will use more than harsh words, believe me. You have upset a great many people by this piece of work and have put me to a considerable amount of inconvenience. I tell you plainly, I am in no mood to be provoked!’
Painful tears were blocking Consuelo’s throat so that she could not have defied him if she had wished to ‒ and, looking into those unrelenting eyes, she knew it would be a pointless exercise.
Nick saw that he had silenced her for the moment, though there was nothing submissive about those proud, glittering eyes. He said coldly, ‘I believe you have a dress with you? Your maid said there was one missing from your things. You will oblige me by changing into it at once. I will arrange for a room to be put at your disposal.’
The two young people looked at one another and for a moment the parlour air was charged with all kinds of undercurrents. Then Consuelo shook her head. It was an infinitesimal movement, but Lord Linton shrugged as though accepting the inevitable.
‘Very well,’ she said in a flat little voice. ‘But I will have to fetch it.’
‘His lordship will oblige, I am sure.’ Nick stared pointedly at Henry and with tightened mouth he strode to the door. While he was gone, Nick called the landlord and made arrangements for Consuelo to change.
She heard him doing so without really listening. Her finger drew absently around a large cabbage rose on the chintz cover of one of the chairs while her mind bent itself to devising some means of extricating herself and Enrique from this insupportable situation which she saw as a setback rather than defeat. If only someone here in this hostelry could be persuaded to help … perhaps when she went to change into her dress?
The churning of fresh hope inside her revived the pangs of hunger which had been temporarily eclipsed by more urgent considerations. But now pride was stronger even than the claims of her stomach and pride would not permit her to ask Captain Bannion for anything ‒ even food.
When Henry returned, she took the bag from him with a dignity that sat curiously on her in boy’s raiment, and touching his hand for a moment, she said softly, ‘Do not despair, querido.’
The captain held the door for her, subjecting her to a close scrutiny as she passed. She endured it with hauteur.
‘Don’t be long,’ he said briefly. ‘I have a post chaise ordered.’
Consuelo followed a servant girl to a tiny bedchamber with a low sloping ceiling, and there she struggled out of the breeches and made use gratefully of the ewer of water placed in readiness for her.
‘Ah, that is better!’ she sighed, not altogether sorry to be rid of the groom’s hot stuffy clothes. The dress of sprigged muslin was cool to her skin and in place of her riding boots (which she had been obliged to wear, Green’s shoes being much too large for her), she was able to don cotton stockings and her pretty yellow Roman sandals.
The young maid had watched and waited on in silence, which she broke to say in an awed whisper: ‘Oh, miss ‒ I wouldn’t know you for the same person, straight I wouldn’t!’ And then, diffidently, ‘Will I put these … these garments into the bag, miss?’
‘But yes, for they do not belong to me and, I suppose, must be returned, though I do not at present see how.’
There was a small stand mirror on a table near the deep-set window which stood wide open to the afternoon, and by perching on the end of the bed, Consuelo could see to brush back the damply sticking tendrils of hair from her forehead. The rest of it was still a very ragged bob which defied any tendency to curl. But perhaps soon it would not look so bad. She dismissed it with a resigned shrug and in the mirror saw the young maid’s eyes big with unasked questions. With a conspiratorial grin she confided the whole of her adventure thus far, her enthusiasm sometimes leading her into the realms of fantasy.
‘And so, you see, this cruel captain has come along to blight our love, and unless we can find a way to escape him I shall be forced into a life most miserable!’
The much embellished tale appealed greatly to the impressionable young serving girl whose life was starved of anything approaching such flights of romantic drama.
‘Oh, miss! Whatever will you do?’
The maid’s soulful utterance was cut short by three long blasts on a horn which announced the arrival of a coach in the yard below them. A bell rang in the stable and the yard was suddenly full of clamour. Consuelo ran to the open window and hung out.
‘Where is it bound? Do you know?’ she demanded of the maid.
‘’Tis the northbound mail, miss.’
Consuelo swung round, her eyes dancing. ‘Do you suppose …? Oh, if I only had some money!’
There was so much unconscious yearning in her voice that the maid hesitated for no more time than it took to thrust her hand deep into her apron pocket.
‘Here, miss. It en’t much, but it’ll get you a goodly way along and then you’ll maybe have something as you can sell.’
Consuelo looked at the coins through a sudden mist of tears. It did not need anyone to tell her that their meagre total in no way betokened the extent of the girl’s sacrifice.
‘My thanks,’ she said huskily. ‘But I cannot take all your money.’
‘Oh, but you must! I … I shan’t miss it, truly. Sometimes, folks is extra generous, see …’ The lie was convincingly told, but still Consuelo hesitated. ‘Look here, miss … I want for you to take the money! P’rhaps it’ll bring you luck. Only there’s no time to dither, see … the coach’ll be away any minute now!’
‘Very well, then, I will … and thank you!’ Impulsively Consuelo flung her arms about the startled girl and hugged her. Then she flew about the room collecting up her things and stuffing them willy-nilly into the carpet bag. ‘Now … oh, what is your name?’
‘Floss, if you please, miss.’
‘Floss? That is a pretty name. Well, Floss, can you get me down the stairs without being seen? And please to try if you can take Lord Linton ‒ he is the fair handsome gentleman you will find in the parlour below ‒ on one side and tell him what I have done? Madre de Dios! ‒ I must go!’ Consuelo snatched up the bag and on an impulse unpinned the tiny pearl brooch at her throat and pressed it into the maid’s hand. ‘There! It is of no great value, but it is quite pretty, I think. No, no, take it! You can wear it with your Sunday dress. And now ‒’ she heaved a sigh and grinned at her co-conspirator ‘‒ let us go, quickly!’
When the parlour door had closed on Consuelo, Henry had made to follow, but Nick barred his way.
