She obeyed, eyeing him nervously. “I — I wish I hadn’t come with you!” she said.
“So did Mary, with more reason. But Mary would have died sooner than let me see that she was afraid. And Mary, my love, is not my cousin.”
Juliana drew a long breath. “Of course, I didn’t think that you would really force me to eat,” she said. “You — you merely startled me.”
“Well, I shall force you if you don’t take care,” said his lordship. He carved a slice of breast, and handed it to her. “Don’t be tiresome, Juliana. Eat it, and forget your sensibilities. You’ve not much time.”
Juliana took the plate meekly. “Oh, very well,” she said. “I must say, Dominic, if you looked at Mary in that dreadful threatening way I can almost forgive her for running off with Frederick.” She stole a sidelong look at him. “You were not very kind to Mary, apparently.”
“Kind!” ejaculated Vidal. “No, I was not — kind.”
Juliana ate another morsel of capon. “You seem to me to have behaved as though you hated her,” she remarked.
He said nothing. Juliana peeped at him again. “You’re very anxious to get her in your power again, Vidal. But I don’t quite know why you should be, for you meant to marry her only because you had ruined her, and so were obliged to, didn’t you?”
She thought that he was not going to answer, but suddenly he raised his eyes from the contemplation of the dregs of his wine. “Because I am obliged to?” he said. “I mean to marry Mary Challoner because I’m devilish sure I can’t live without her.”
Juliana clapped her hands with a crow of delight. “Oh, it is famous!” she exclaimed. “I never dreamed you had fallen in love with my staid Mary! I thought you were chasing her through France just because you so hate to be crossed! But when you flew into a rage with me for saying she was too dull to be afraid of you, of course, I guessed at once! My dearest Dominic, I was never more glad of anything in my life, and it is of all things the most romantic possible! Do, do let us overtake them at once! Only conceive of their astonishment when they see us!”
“Mary knows I am hard on her heels,” Vidal answered, with a little laugh. “At every stage I meet with the same tale: the English lady was anxious to lose no time. She’s used to my way of travel, Juliana; she’ll whisk your Frederick to Dijon in a manner highly discomposing to his dignity.”
“It is possible,” said Miss Marling stiffly, “that Frederick and not Mary will have the ordering of the journey.”
Vidal chuckled. “Not if I know my Mary,” he replied.
Twenty minutes later they took the road again. Dinner had revived Miss Marling’s spirits, and she made no demur at entering the chaise again. Knowing that she was within reach of her Frederick she could not now drive fast enough, and her only fear was that they might overshoot their mark. Somewhere on the route Frederick and Mary must have halted for the night, and Miss Marling was inclined to stop at every village they passed, in case the fugitives might be there.
She occupied herself in planning the scene that lay before her, and had decided on the speech she would make when there was a sudden crash, and she was hurled against the side of the chaise. There was a dreadful bump, the smash of breaking glass, and Miss Marling, considerably shaken and dazed, tried to right herself only to find that the seat of the coach was now at a very odd angle, and the off-door almost where the roof should have been. She heard the trampling of the horses plunging in alarm, and the voices of the postillions. Then the off-door was wrenched open, and Vidal said sharply: “Are you hurt, Ju?”
“No, but what has happened? — Oh, I have cut myself! Oh, this dreadful glass! It is too bad of you, Dominic! I said we were driving at a wicked pace, and now see what has happened!”
“We’ve lost a wheel,” explained his lordship. “Reach up your hands to me, and I’ll pull you out.”
This feat was performed in an expeditious if somewhat rough-and-ready fashion. Juliana was swung down on to the road, and left to examine her hurts while his lordship went to see that the frightened horses were unhurt. When he came back he found his cousin in a state of seething indignation. She demanded to know where they were, how he proposed to come up with the runaways, where they were to sleep, and whether anyone cared enough to bind up her bleeding hand or not.
The Marquis performed this office for her by the light of one of the chaise lamps, and told her not to be in a taking over a mere scratch. He said that they were, providentially, only a quarter of a mile from the next village, where they could obtain a lodging for the night in one of the cottages.
“What?” shrieked the afflicted Miss Marling. “Sleep in a horrid peasant’s cottage? I won’t! You must find another chaise at once! At once, Vidal, do you hear?”
“I hear,” said his lordship coolly. “Now, don’t be nonsensical, Juliana. You’ll do well enough. For all I know there may be an inn you can stay at, though I won’t vouch for the sheets. There’s no hope of repairing the chaise till the morning, for Richards will have to ride to the nearest town to find a smith. I’m sending him off now, and for the present you must make the best of it. We shall catch our runaways in time, don’t doubt it.”
Miss Marling, overcome by the ignominy of her position, sank down on the bank by the roadside and gave way to her emotions. The postillions regarded her with interested sympathy; Richards coughed in embarrassment; and my lord, raising his clenched fists to heaven, prayed to be delivered from every female but one.
Chapter XV
At about the same time that the Marquis of Vidal’s chaise lost a wheel, the Duchess of Avon and Lord Rupert Alastair arrived in Paris, and drove straight to the Hôtel Avon.
“What had we best do first, Rupert?” her grace asked anxiously, as the chaise drew into the courtyard.
“Have some dinner,” replied his lordship, with a prodigious yawn. “If there’s anyone in the house, which I doubt.”
“But why should you doubt? We know that Dominique is in Paris!”
“Lord, Léonie, don’t be so simple! Dominic’s lax, but damme, he wouldn’t bring his mistress to your house.” Lord Rupert heaved his body out of the corner of the chaise, and looked out of the window. “Place looks as deserted as a tomb,” he remarked, opening the door.
A solitary lackey came out of the house, attracted by the noise of the arrival, and began to say that his lordship was out of town. Then Lord Rupert sprang from the chaise, and the lackey, recognizing him, looked very much taken aback, and as though he did not know what to say.
Lord Rupert eyed him appraisingly. “One of Lord Vidal’s servants, aren’t you?” he said. “Where’s his lordship?”
“I couldn’t say, my lord,” answered the lackey cautiously.
“Won’t say, more like,” said Rupert. He turned, and gave his hand to Léonie who was descending from the chaise. “There’s one of Vidal’s fellows here, so it looks as though the boy had been here. Odd, damned odd.”
The Duchess shook out her crushed skirts with a purposeful air, and looked at the lackey, who was staring at her aghast. “It is you who are my son’s servant? Bon! Where is milor’?”
“I don’t know, your grace. He’s not in town.”
“Is there anyone in the house?” demanded the Duchess.
“No, your grace. Only the servants, that is.”
Léonie pounced on this. “Why is it then that the house is full of my son’s servants and yet he is not here?”
The lackey shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “His lordship left Paris this afternoon, your grace.”
Léonie turned to Lord Rupert, throwing out her hands. “But it is imbécile! Why should he leave Paris? I don’t believe a word of it. Where is Fletcher?”