Mr Tarleton had been prepared for maidenly indignation, but not for this, and he was slightly staggered. He stepped up to the chaise and said, looking up at the blanched face at the window: “But, my sweet love, whom else should it be?”
“Oh!” wailed Hero, her face puckering like a baby’s. “Oh! I thought you w-were S-Sherry!”
Mr Tarleton’s brain reeled. “Thought I was whom?” he said numbly.
“M-my husband!” wept Hero, tears rolling one after the other down her cheeks. “Oh, how could you play such a c-cruel trick on me?”
If the floor had heaved under Sherry’s feet, the universe fairly rocked about the unfortunate Mr Tarleton. For a moment he could only gaze up at Hero in uncomprehending amazement. He repeated in bemused accents: “Your husband?”
Only heartbroken sobs answered him. He became aware of a postboy at his elbow, and pulled himself together with an effort. “I beg of you, ma’am — ! Pray, do not — ! Here, you, what’s the figure?”
The postboy who had driven the chaise from Bath told him eighteen shillings, reckoning the hire of the chaise-and-pair at the rate of one and sixpence a mile, and Mr Tarleton, anxious to be rid of him, dived a hand into his pocket. It was then that he discovered that not only his purse, but his wallet also, was missing, and that all the loose cash he carried in the pockets of his breeches amounted only to six shillings and ninepence. Never was an eloping gentleman in a worse predicament! Never had he expected to regret with such bitterness having hired his coach from an inn where his name was unknown! One glance at the postboy’s face was sufficient to inform him that he would not be permitted, without a most unseemly brawl, to travel upon tick. He was not even known at the inn. There was nothing for it but to turn to his weeping victim, and as he did it his sense of the ridiculous threatened to overcome more poignant emotions.
“My dear, pray do not cry so! I promise you I will set all to rights! The only thing is — Miss Wantage. it is the most absurd of predicaments to find oneself in, but I have been robbed of my purse, and here is this fellow expecting to be paid for his services. Are you able to lend me a guinea?”
Hero raised her head from the window-sill to reply: “Of c-course I am not! I have not my p-purse with me!”
“Oh, my God!” muttered Mr Tarleton. “Now we are in the basket!”
“I wish I were dead!” responded Hero.
“No, no, don’t do that! Heavens, what a coil! But how could I have guessed — My dear child, you cannot stay there! Do, pray, come down, and into the inn! Really, I don’t know whether I am on my head or my heels!” He mounted the steps, which the ostler had helpfully let down, and opened the door of the chaise, only to have his entrance to the vehicle hotly disputed by Pug. He recoiled, exclaiming: “Good God, what possessed you to bring that creature?”
“It was your fault!” Hero said, from the folds of her handkerchief. She blew her nose defiantly. “I did not want to bring him, and oh, I thought it was j-just like Sherry to throw him in on t-top of me!”
“Don’t, pray don’t begin to cry again!” implored the harassed Mr Tarleton. “We shall have the whole stable-yard about us in a trice! Only come inside the house, and I will set all to rights!”
“No one can set all to rights, for I am utterly ruined!” declared Hero. “My husband was c-coming to dine with me and I shall not be there, and he will never, never speak to m-me again! And if he finds out this dreadful scrape you have put me into it will be worse than all the rest!”
Mr Tarleton took her hand and helped her to alight from the chaise. “He shall not discover it. We will make up some tale that will satisfy him. But who — why — No, come into the inn, where we can be private! As for you, fellow, you must wait! Go into the tap-room and order yourself a glass of flesh-and-blood at my expense! And here’s a crown for you to keep your mouth shut!”
The postboy pocketed this douceur, but warned his client not to try to lope off without paying him for the hire of his horses. Mr Tarleton somewhat testily demanded to be told how he could do any such thing in his present pecuniary circumstances, and led Hero into the inn. Here he peremptorily ordered the landlord to show the lady into a private parlour. When this had been done, and landlord had rejoined him in the deserted coffee-room, he explained, with what assurance he could muster, that he had been robbed of his wallet and purse. The landlord was civil, but palpably incredulous, so Mr Tarleton haughtily said: “Here is my card, fellow!” Almost immediately after this he was obliged to correct himself. “No, curse it, that’s gone with the rest! But my name is Tarleton — of Frensham Hall, near Swainswick! You will have heard of it! I am escorting a — a friend to Wells — at least, I was doing so, but it so chances that she has discovered that she has left behind her in Bath a most important — er — package, and we are obliged to return there with what speed we can muster. Do me the favour of paying oft that postboy — or no! Better still, let one of your own boys or their cards lead the horses back here, and let my postboy drive us back to Bath with a fresh pair! You and he may thus be assured of receiving your money. Meanwhile — ”
The landlord, who had been thinking, interrupted at this point. “Begging your honour’s pardon, if you live at Frensham Hall, how do you come to be travelling to Wells in a hired chaise?”
“What has that to do with you, fellow?” said Mr Tarleton, colouring in spite of himself.
“I don’t know as how it has aught to do with me, sir, but what I was thinking was that it seems a queer set-out to me that a gentleman wishing to travel only to Wells wouldn’t drive in his own carriage — ah, and at a more seasonable time o’ day, what’s more! Not being wishful to give offence, sir, you understand.”
“I am well known in Bath,” Mr Tarleton said stiffly. “Yes, and they know me at the Old Down Inn, so you may satisfy yourself only by sending to inquire there if a Mr Tarleton has ever changed horses with them.”
“Yes, and when I’ve sent one of my boys a mile and a half up the road to make them inquiries, who’s to say you are this Mr Tarleton?” retorted the landlord. “And if you’re so well known in Bath, how comes it that postboy don’t seem to reckernize your honour? That’s what I’d like to know!”
Mr Tarleton had the greatest difficulty in maintaining his control over his temper. After a moment’s struggle, he succeeded in choking back the angry words which rose to his lips, and managed, after a most wearing argument, to persuade the landlord to have a fresh pair harnessed to the chaise, and to prevail upon the postboy who had brought him from Bath to take him back there as soon as he should have had time to refresh himself, which the landlord assured him he would certainly insist upon. Mr Tarleton then gave up his gold timepiece and his signet-ring as pledges, ordered coffee to be sent immediately to the parlour, and made haste to rejoin Hero.
He found her seated by the fire, clasping Pug in her arms, and looking the picture of tragedy. Such a look of reproach did she cast upon him as he entered the room that he exclaimed: “How could I tell? I thought you would like it! And when you kissed me — Good God, was there ever such a hideous coil?”
“Never, never!” Hero said, with whole-hearted fervour. “I cannot imagine why you should suppose that I should want you to run off with me! And to bring this horrid little dog, too!”
“But, my dear, surely you were aware that I have been head over ears in love with you these weeks past!”
Her face showed him plainly that she had been aware of no such circumstance. “In love with me? But you might be my — I mean — I mean — ”
“No, I might not!” he said, nettled. “Not your father, if that is what you were about to say! But how came you to be living with Lady Saltash, under the name of Miss Wantage? Who is your husband? Do I know him? Is he in Bath now?”