Thus adjured, the smith set to with a will.
“The groom’s walked on to Fawley Farm, my lord,” he ventured presently. “What will your honour have me say to him when he comes back?”
“Tell him to present Lord Rupert Alastair’s compliments to Mr. Manvers—who the devil is Mr. Manvers?—and thank him for the loan of his horse.” Rupert walked round the animal, inspecting its points. “Horse, is it? Cow-hocked bag of bones! A man’s no right to own a scarecrow like this! You hear me, Coggin?”
“Yes, my lord. Certainly, sir!”
“Hurry with that shoe, then, and fetch the animal up to the Arms.” Away went Rupert up the road again to the inn, where he found Fletcher awaiting him with a large pistol.
“’Tis loaded, sir,” Fletcher warned him. “Indeed, my lord, and are you sure your lordship is well?”
“Never mind! Which way did the coach go?”
“Making for Portsmouth, sir, as I judge. But surely to goodness your lordship isn’t of a mind to chase it?”
“What else, fool? I want a hat. Produce me one.”
Fletcher resigned himself to the inevitable.
“If your lordship would condescend to take my Sunday beaver——”
“Ay, ’twill suffice. Make out the reckoning and I’ll pay—er—when I return. Damn that fellow Coggin! Will he be all night at his work? They’ve nigh on an hour’s start of me already!”
But Coggin came presently, leading the roan. Rupert stowed his pistol away in the saddle holster, tightened the girths, and sprang into the saddle. The smith gave vent to a last appeal.
“My lord, Mr. Manvers is a testy gentleman, and indeed——”
“To hell with Mr. Manvers, I’m sick of the fellow!” said Rupert, and rode off at a canter.
The borrowed horse was no fiery charger, as Rupert soon discovered. It cherished its own ideas as to a suitable pace to maintain, and managed to do so for the most part, to its own satisfaction and Rupert’s disgust. Thus it was close on four in the afternoon when he came at last into Portsmouth, and both he and his mount were very weary.
He rode at once to the quay, and learned that the private schooner anchored there for the past three days had set sail not an hour ago. Rupert dashed Mr. Fletcher’s hat on the ground.
“Blister me, I’m too late!”
The harbour-master eyed him in polite surprise, and picked up the hat.
“Tell me now,” said Rupert, dismounting. “Was it a French scoundrel embarked?”
“Ay, sir, ’twas a foreign gentleman with red hair, and his son.”
“Son?” ejaculated Rupert.
“Ay, sir, a sick lad it was. The moossoo said he was suffering from a fever. He carried him on board like one dead, all muffled up in a great cloak. I said to Jim here, ‘Jim,’ I said, ‘it’s a shame to take the boy on board, ill as he is, that it is.’”
“Drugged, by Gad!” exclaimed Rupert. “I’ll have his blood for this! Taken her to France, has he! Now, what in thunder does he want with her? Hi, you! When does the next packet sail for Le Havre?”
“Why, sir, there’s no boat for the likes of you till Wednesday,” said the harbour-master. Rupert’s ruffles might be torn, and his coat muddied, but the harbour-master knew a gentleman when he saw one.
Rupert glanced ruefully down his person.
“The likes of me, eh? Well, well!” He pointed with his whip to a ramshackle vessel laden with bales of cloth “Where is she bound for?”
“For Le Havre, sir, but ’tis only a trading ship, as your honour sees.”
“When does she sail?”
“To-night, sir. She’s lain here two days too long already, waiting for the wind to turn, but she’ll be away with the tide soon after six.”
“That’s the ship for me,” said Rupert briskly. “Where’s her master?”
The harbour-master was perturbed.
“’Tis but a dirty old boat, sir, and never a——”
“Dirty? So am I dirty, damn it!” said Rupert. “Go find me the master, and tell him I want a passage to France this night.”
So off went the harbour-master, to return anon with a burly individual in homespun, with a great black beard. This gentleman eyed Rupert stolidly, and, removing the long clay pipe from his mouth, rumbled forth two words.
“Twenty guineas.”
“What’s that?” said Rupert. “Not a farthing more than ten, you rogue!”
The bearded gentleman spat deliberately into the sea, but vouchsafed no word. A dangerous light came into Rupert’s eyes. He tapped the man on the shoulder with his riding-whip.
“Fellow, I am Lord Rupert Alastair. You shall have ten guineas off me and for the rest I’ll see you damned.”
The harbour-master pricked up his ears.
“I was hearing, my lord, that his Grace has the Silver Queen anchored in Southampton Water.”
“The devil fly away with Justin!” exclaimed Rupert wrathfully. “He was always wont to have her here!”
“Maybe, sir, if you was to ride to Southampton——”
“Ride to hell! I’d find them painting her, like as not. Come now, fellow, ten guineas!”
The harbour-master took his colleague aside, and whispered urgently. Presently he turned, and addressed Rupert.
“I am saying, my lord, as how fifteen guineas is a fair price.”
“Fifteen guineas it is!” said Rupert promptly, thinking of the two crowns in his pocket. “I shall have to sell the horse.”
“Six o’clock we sets sail, and don’t wait for nobbut,” growled the captain, and walked off.
Rupert rode into the town, and by good fortune was able to sell Mr. Manvers’ roan for the sum of twenty guineas. The sale being accomplished he went to the inn on the quayside, and refreshed himself with a wash, and a bowl of punch. Thus fortified he boarded the sailing vessel, and sat himself down on a coil of rope, thoroughly enjoying the adventure, and not a little amused.
“’Fore Gad, I never was in such a mad chase!” he remarked to the sky. “Here’s Léonie spirited off by Saint-Vire, the Lord knows why, or where, for that matter—and myself hot on the scent with five crowns in my pocket, and the landlord’s hat on my head. And what am I going to do when I find the chit?” He pondered deeply. “It’s a plaguey queer business, so it is,” he decided. “Justin’s at the back of it, I’ll be bound. And where the devil is Justin?” Suddenly he flung back his head and laughed. “Damme, I’d give something to see old cousin Harriet’s face when she finds me gone off with Léonie! Hey, hey, here’s a pretty coil, to be sure, for, faith, I don’t know where I am, and I don’t know where Léonie is, nor she where I am, and at Avon they don’t know where any of us are!”
CHAPTER XVIII
The Indignation of Mr. Manvers
Madam Field was worried, for it was after six in the evening and neither Léonie nor Rupert had returned. Considerably flustered at length Madam sent a messenger to Merivale to inquire whether the truants were there. Half an hour later the lackey returned, with Merivale riding beside him. Merivale went swiftly to the withdrawing-room, and as soon as he entered Madam Field sprang up.
“Oh, Lord Merivale! Oh, and have you brought the child home? I have been in such a taking, for I never saw her after eleven in the morning, or maybe ’twas later, or perhaps a little earlier—I cannot say for sure. And never a sign of Rupert, so I thought mayhap they were with you——”
Merivale broke into the flood of words.
“I’ve not seen either of them since this morning when Rupert set out to come here,” he said.
Madam’s jaw dropped. She let fall her fan, and began to cry.
“Oh dear, oh dear, and Justin telling me to have a care to her! But how could I tell, for sure ’twas his own brother! Oh, my lord, can they—can they have eloped?”