“I am not anxious,” she said coldly. “You appear to me to be a competent whip.”
“You should certainly be a judge, for your father was one,”
She was taken off her guard, and replied wistfully, “He was, was he not? I remember—” She checked herself, feeling unable to continue.
He did not seem to notice her hesitation. “Yes, what we call a nonpareil—quite a nonesuch! As I recall, he was used to drive a pair of grays in a perch phaeton he had. I have often coveted them.”
“All the driving men did so. I believe Sir Henry Peyton bought them when—You are a member of the F.H.C. yourself, I dare say?”
“Yes, though I am not very frequently in London. To own the truth, to be continually driving a barouche to Salt Hill and back becomes a trifle flat.”
“Yes, indeed, and always at a strict trot!”
“You drive yourself, Miss Rochdale?”
“I was used to. My father had a phaeton built for me.” Again she turned the subject. “You are a hunting man also, sir?”
“Yes, but I rarely hunt in Sussex. It is indifferent country. I have a little place in Leicestershire.”
She relapsed into silence, which was unbroken until she suddenly said, “Oh, this is absurd! I must surely wake up soon, and find that I have been dreaming!”
“I am afraid you must be tired indeed,” was all he replied.
She was so much provoked that she sat for some time cudgeling her brain to think of some remark that might disconcert him. She found it. “I am sure I do not know why you have forced me into this carriage, or why you are in such haste to bring me to your cousin, my lord,” she said, “for without a license I cannot possibly be married.”
“No, you are very right,” he replied. “I have it in my pocket.”
In a shaking voice she uttered, “I might have known you would have!”
“I dare say you may not have thought of it before.”
No adequate words with which to answer him presented themselves to her. She could only say, “I suppose you have even provided for the necessary clergyman to perform the ceremony?”
“We are going to halt at the parsonage on our way,” he said.
“Then I hope very much that the parson may refuse to go with us!” she cried.
“He will certainly crowd us,” he agreed, “but it will not be for very many minutes, after all.”
Her bosom swelled. “I have a very good mind to tell him that I am being constrained against my will, and have no desire to marry your cousin!”
“You have not the least need to tell him so; you have only to tell me,” he responded calmly.
There was another pause. “I suppose you think me excessively silly!” Elinor said resentfully.
“No, I am well aware of the awkwardness of your situation. You may be pardoned for feeling some irritation of the nerves. But if you could but bring yourself to trust me you would do very well. Do not be forever teasing yourself with thoughts of what is to happen next! I will take care of that.”
She was mollified, and although she would not for any consideration have acknowledged it, the prospect of being able to cast her burdens on his shoulders could not but attract her. She said no more, but ceased to sit bolt upright beside him, and leaned back instead, as though by this relaxation of her body her mind relaxed also. She still cherished a hazy notion that she must regret this adventure, but the night air was making her sleepy. It was pleasant to be bowling along with a light breeze fanning her cheek; the disagreeable necessity of confronting an irate employer no longer loomed before her; and it was fatally easy to allow herself to be carried into a fantastic dream wherein she was only expected to do as she was bid.
When he pulled up his horses before the parsonage gate, Carlyon handed the reins over to her, saying, “If I am gone above ten minutes, will you walk them, Miss Rochdale?”
“Yes,” she said in a docile voice.
She was obliged to do so, but she had not taken more than one turn when he rejoined her, this time with a stout little man at his heels. She wondered what arguments had been used to persuade the cleric into performing what must surely be an unorthodox ceremony, but she was not really surprised that they had succeeded. She made room for Mr. Presteign to sit beside her, and gave the reins back to Carlyon. He thanked her and said, “This is Miss Rochdale, Presteign.”
Mr. Presteign said how do you do in a flustered voice. He added, “Of course, if you have the license there is no objection on that score. But, you know, my lord, if either party should be unwilling, I could not, even to oblige your lordship—not that I mean to suggest that you would—for I hope I have too great a respect for your lordship’s benevolence to suppose—”
“My dear sir, you know the circumstances! Unusual they may be, but irregular I have taken care they shall not be. My cousin you will find—if we find him at all—very willing to do what he believes must spite me; the lady may draw back from the contract at any moment she chooses so to do.”
The parson seemed satisfied. Miss Rochdale could only reflect on the perversity of her own disposition, which made it impossible for her to draw back the instant she was offered the opportunity of doing so.
It was not far from the parsonage to the inn at Wisborough Green. Miss Rochdale was soon being ushered into a pleasant parlor, where a small fire burned, at which she was glad enough to warm her chilled fingers. Mr. Presteign joined her and she saw, in the full candlelight, that he was a jolly-looking cleric with rosy cheeks and a pair of rather innocent blue eyes, just now opened wider than their wont in an expression of mingled nervousness and curiosity.
A servant whom Carlyon addressed as Jem had received them. Elinor heard him say, with a strong Sussex accent, that the doctor was with Mr. Eustace in the best bedroom, and that it was a hem setout, surely, but in no ways Master Nick’s fault, as everyone, whether present or not, would testify to the crowner.
“Nonsense! Where is Hitchin?” Carlyon asked, stripping off his driving gloves.
“I’ll fetch him to your lordship,” replied the tapster, waiting to help Carlyon to take off his long, many-caped coat. “He should ought to be in the coffee room. Lamentable put about, he is. Well, surely, I disremember when we had such a setout at the Bull, and your lordship knows I’ve been with Mr. Hitchin a dunnamany years.”
The landlord, a respectable, middle-aged man whose ordinarily cheerful countenance was just now overlaid with gloom, came in at that moment. His brow lightened at sight of Carlyon, and he said, “I don’t know when I’ve been more glad to see your lordship. I’ve been thinking to myself it was a lucky chance I happened to see your lordship on the road to Highnoons, so it was, for poor Master Nick was in a rare taking, and small blame to him! But what I say, and will swear to anywhen, my lord, is that he never had no thought to go sticking my knife into Mr. Eustace! And as for the start of it all, I’ll tell the crowner to his head Master Nick was speaking comely as you please to Mr. Eustace, until Mr. Eustace went beyond what flesh and blood could stand, let alone a high-couraged young gentleman, which we all know Master Nick is!”
“Is Mr. Eustace alive?” demanded Carlyon.
“Oh, ay, my lord! He’s alive, but none so valiant, by what I hear from the doctor. Don’t you be afeard for Master Nick, my lord! I saw the whole, and there’s no crowner going to shake me.”
“The whole village will just about say as how it were Mr. Eustace as done the thing!” said the helpful Jem eagerly.
“I’ll go up to Mr. Eustace. Do you keep this fool, Jem, from ruining all, Hitchin! And bring coffee for the lady, and for Mr. Presteign!”
He left the room, the landlord at his heels, and strode up the short corridor to the staircase. Hitchin said, “I see your lordship’s brought Parson along, but asking your pardon, it ain’t a parson Mr. Eustace is in the mood to see, nor ever was. I misdoubt me Parson won’t like it, for he’s got no know, though a pleasant enough gentleman, and preaches a comfortable sermon, I’m sure. Howsever, it’s as well to have everything shipshape and aboveboard, I dare say.”