Even Mr Mimms was impressed by this, but he reiterated his desire to have nothing to do with Dukes. His brother paid no heed to him, but fixed Mr Shifnal with an unwinking stare, and demanded, in a rhetorical spirit, to be told why the Duke had gone to Hitchin. Neither of his hearers was able to enlighten him, nor, after profound thought, could he discover for himself any very plausible explanation. But since Hitchin, as he unanswerably declared, could not be said to lie on the road to London, he soon decided not to allow this trifling enigma to worry him. The Duke had directed the post-boy to drive to the Sun Inn, where it would seem reasonable to suppose that he meant to spend at least one night. His taking Belinda with him precluded the possibility, Mr Liversedge thought, of his having gone to visit friends in the neighbourhood.
Mr Mimms, whose uneasiness was rapidly increasing, brought his fist down with a crash on the table, and demanded to be told what his brother had in mind. Mr Liversedge glanced at him indifferently. ‘If Nat is willing to lend me his assistance,’ he replied, ‘I consider that it would be flying in the face of Providence not to make a push to capture this prize.’
Mr Shifnal nodded, but said: ‘How much money is there in it, by your reckoning?’
Mr Liversedge shrugged. ‘How can I say? Thirty thousand – fifty thousand – almost any sum, I daresay!’
Mr Shifnal’s eyes glistened. ‘Will the cove bleed as free as that?’ he asked, awed.
‘He is one of the richest men in the land,’ responded Mr Liversedge. ‘I have devoted much study to his affairs, for it has always seemed to me that for a young and inexperienced man to be the possessor of so large a fortune was a circumstance not to be overlooked or hastily set aside. But even so brilliant an exponent of the art of plucking pigeons as Fred Gunnerside – a genius in his way, I assure you, and one of whom I am not too proud to learn – has never to my knowledge succeeded in coming within hailing distance of him. In fact, poor Fred was sadly out of pocket on his account, for he expended quite a large sum of money in following him on the Continent. All to no purpose! He was closely attended, not only by his servants, but by a military gentleman to whom Fred took a strong dislike. I myself had abandoned any thought of approaching him, until my late little disagreement with the magistrates at Bath forced me to sharpen my wits. I again turned my mind towards Sale. I flatter myself that my research into his family history, and every circumstance of his own life, was at once thorough and profitable. To have laid a snare for his cousin was a subtle stroke, and one that must have succeeded but for a slight error which I freely admit to have made.’
Unable to contain himself Mr Mimms growled: ‘That after-clap won’t be nothing compared with what will happen if you meddle any more with a Dook! I tell you, Sam, the glue won’t hold!’
‘It might,’ Mr Shifnal said. ‘It might, Joe. By God, if there’s thirty thousand pounds in the game, it’s worth a push! Is it ransom you have in your mind, Sam?’
It was evident from the visionary look in his eye that large ideas were fast gaining possession over Mr Liversedge’s brain. He replied grandly: ‘I might consider the question of ransom. And yet who shall say that there may not be a still more profitable way of turning this Duke to good account? Had either of you ever looked beyond the narrow confines of the bare existence which you eke out in ways which I, frankly, consider contemptible, you would know that this Duke is an orphan, and one, moreover, who has neither brother nor sister to bear him company. His guardian, and, indeed, his present heir, is his uncle.’ He paused. ‘I have considered the question of approaching Lord Lionel Ware, and it may be that this is the course I shall decide to pursue. One cannot, however one might wish to, doubt that Lord Lionel – a very worthy gentleman, I daresay – is too stiff-necked, or possibly too bacon-brained to perceive where his best interests lie. He might, one would have supposed, have found the means in all these years to have disposed of his nephew, had he had the least common-sense. I am forced, therefore, to assume that for the particular purpose I have in mind, his lordship would be of little or no assistance to me. But his lordship has a son.’ He paused impressively. ‘A son, gentlemen, who stands next to him in the succession to a title and to vast wealth. I am not myself acquainted with this young man: it did not appear to me that there could be much profit in seeking him out. But the horizon has broadened suddenly. Immense possibilities present themselves to me. This Captain Ware is in the Lifeguards: I daresay an expensive young man: all guards-officers are so! What, I put it to you, might he be willing to pay to a man who would ensure his succession to wealth and honours which it would be idle to suppose he does not covet? Consider his position! – In fact, the more I consider it myself the more convinced do I become that in seeking merely a ransom I should be acting foolishly. He exists upon a paltry pittance; the future can hold little for him beyond an arduous military career; for he cannot doubt that his cousin will shortly marry, and beget heirs of his own body. He must think his chances of succeeding to the Dukedom so slim as not to be worth a farthing. Picture to yourselves what must be his sensations when suddenly a way is shown to him whereby he can be rid of his cousin, without the least suspicion falling upon himself! Really, I do not know why I permitted myself to waste as much as a moment on such a paltry notion as a mere ransom!’
Mr Shifnal, who had followed this speech with some difficulty, interrupted at this point. ‘Sam, are you saying as you mean to put that young cove away?’ he demanded.
‘That,’ said Mr Liversedge, ‘must rest with Captain Ware.’
‘I won’t have nothing to do with it!’ said Mr Mimms forcibly. ‘I got nothing to say against putting away coves as won’t be missed, but putting away a Dook is coming it too strong, and that’s my last word! Mark my words, Sam, you’ll catch cold at this!’
Mr Shifnal stroked his chin. ‘I’m bound to say it seems like a havey-cavey business to me,’ he admitted. ‘But there’s no denying Sam’s got big notions in his head, and it don’t do to let a fortune go a-begging. I’ll allow this Dook is a regular honey-fall, and if you don’t want your earnest out of fifty thousand pounds, and very likely more, if Sam works the trick proper, as I don’t doubt he will, it’ll be the first time I ever knew you to hang back, Joe Mimms! But though I sees as the game’s in view, it don’t do to act hasty. This Dook of yours, Sam, by what you tells us, has a sight of servants and suchlike hanging about him, and it ain’t to be looked for that they don’t know he’s in Baldock. If we goes a-putting of him away quiet, what’s to say we won’t have the whole pack of them – ah, and the Runners as well! – nosing around these parts a-looking for him? Joe wouldn’t want for them to come poking into his ken –’
Mr Mimms, who had been containing himself by a strong effort, here interposed to corroborate this reading of his state of mind with all the eloquence at his command. Mr Liversedge waited patiently until he paused for breath, and then said: ‘Very true, Nat, very true! I had myself given some thought to this matter. It is my belief that the Duke has escaped from his household, and that no one knows where he is to be found. You ask me why? For several reasons! If he had divulged his purpose in coming here, there must have been many persons who would have thought it their duty to prevent him. If he had not left town secretly, depend upon it he could never have shaken off those of his servants who invariably accompany him on any journey that he undertakes. I well remember poor Fred Gunnerside’s very moving words on this very point. The young man is surrounded by a set of elderly men who seem all of them to be devoted to his interests to a degree which one must consider to be excessive. No, I am strongly of opinion that the Duke has taken this journey, unbeknownst to anyone. Very likely he looks upon it as an adventure: young men are apt to take such fancies into their heads.’
Mr Shifnal, with the vision of untold wealth dazzling him, was not hard to convince; Mr Mimms continued however to be inimical to the project, and it was long before he could be brought to view the matter in a rea
sonable light. His companions wrought with him for quite an hour before he could even be induced to lend his cart for the journey to Hitchin: indeed, only the reflection that if he refused to enter into the plot he would forfeit all right to a share of the reward, caused him grudgingly to pledge a measure of support. The other two then laid their heads together, reaching certain decisions, prominent amongst them being one that Mr Liversedge should remain as much as possible in the background, leaving Mr Shifnal, who was unknown to the Duke, to undertake the preliminary encounter.
Thirteen
The Duke, serenely unconscious of the design being hatched against him, occupied himself for the greater part of the drive to Hitchin in coaching his young companions in the rôles he had decided they had better assume. He had no desire to run the gauntlet of any more criticism from innkeepers and servants, and he realised that the presence of a beautiful and unattended young lady in his company would need some explanation. The best explanation that offered itself to him was that Tom and Belinda, once more brother and sister, should be travelling to visit friends, under the escort of Tom’s tutor, and, of course, Belinda’s maid, who must have contracted some illness on the road, and been left behind. The idea of having Mr Rufford for a tutor struck Tom as so irresistibly humorous, that for some time he would do nothing but giggle; but when he had recovered a little he bethought him that as Hitchin was uncomfortably close to Shefford, where he had escaped from his real tutor, it would be best for him to adopt some name other than his own. He and Belinda thereafter beguiled the tedium of the journey by quarrelling over the various names that suggested themselves to them. A compromise had barely been reached by the time the chaise drove up to the Sun Inn.
The landlord of the Sun accepted the Duke’s story with only faint surprise. Possibly the sotto voce altercation which was still going on between Tom and Belinda helped him to believe that they were indeed brother and sister. The Duke bespoke a private parlour, and was just congratulating himself on having cleared the first of his fences, when Tom, who had wandered off to confer with one of the ostlers, came running in with the news that a Fair had come to Hitchin, with a performing bear, a Fat Woman, a dwarf, and all manner of attractions from pony-racing to bobbing for oranges. No sooner had she heard this than Belinda clapped her hands, and, turning her sparkling eyes upon the Duke, begged him to take her there, since never in her life had she been allowed to visit a Fair. It was in vain that the Duke reminded her of their errand in Hitchin; she cared nothing for Maggie Street while she could dance for ribands, or watch the sterner sex wrestling for a cheese. Tom added his voice to hers. ‘Oh, pray let us go, sir! It is a splendid Fair, the ostler says, with matches at single-stick, and jumping in sacks, and a grand firework display when it is dark! And we are quite safe here, because, only fancy, the ostler said there had been a stout gentleman here searching for me, and of course that was Snape! At least, the ostler didn’t say it was for me, because he did not know that, only I could tell. And the best of it is that he did not find me here, and so now he has gone, and why should he come back? It is a famous fudge!’
The Duke was quite unable to resist the pleading looks of his protégés, and very weakly agreed to let them visit the Fair while he pursued a strict search for Maggie Street. He enjoined Tom to take care of Belinda, and not to fail to return to the Sun in time for dinner at five o’clock; and allowed them to go.
The rest of the day was spent, as far as he was concerned, in a singularly profitless fashion. He was quite unable to discover any trace of Maggie Street, and when he returned to the inn to dine, he was obliged to hire a room there for Belinda, alleging as the reason that the friends to whom he had said he was escorting her were all too full of measles to admit her into the house. After that it soon became apparent to him that if he wished to see his young friends at the dinner-table he would have to plunge into the hurly-burly of the Fair to find them. He was feeling rather too tired to be amused by the noise and the fun there, and was forced to admit to himself that amongst the advantages of rank must be reckoned an immunity from being jostled by merrymakers who all seemed to be very much too hot, and by far too friendly. He found Belinda watching a blindfold-wheelbarrow-race, in which Tom was taking part for the guerdon of a whalebone whip. She was sucking a large lollipop, and closely attended by two rustic swains, who seemed to be acting as porters, since they carried a motley collection of ribbons, oranges, sweet-meats, and toys, which they made haste to deliver up to her as soon as the Duke joined the party. Belinda thanked them sweetly, and informed the Duke that she was enjoying herself very much, her only disappointment having been the disagreeable behaviour of Tom, who had offered to draw the cork of a kind gentleman who would have taken her into one of the booths to witness a theatrical performance.
‘Belinda,’ said Gilly patiently, ‘you must not – indeed, you must not! – go off with strange men just because they promise you silk dresses, or some such thing!’
‘He didn’t,’ replied Belinda, opening her eyes wide. ‘It was to see a play.’
‘Yes, that is what I mean.’
‘Oh!’ said Belinda, thoughtfully licking her lollipop.
The Duke could not feel that he had made much impression on her, but as her attention had become fixed on the closing stage of the race it was plainly of no use to persevere. She did not seem to bear Tom any ill-will, for as soon as it was apparent that he would win the blindfold race she dropped all her fairings to clap her hands in delight. He soon came over to them, brandishing the whip, and with his face smeared with the treacle which had coated a number of buns hung on strings for which competitors had been expected to bob. He said that it was the jolliest day of his life, and that he would come back to the inn as soon as he had collected his various purchases and prizes.
‘And we may come back to see the fireworks, may we not?’ he begged.
‘Yes, yes, and the dancing!’ cried Belinda, clasping her hands ecstatically.
With two pairs of imploring eyes fixed on him, the Duke found himself quite unable to say no, much as he would have liked to. He had seen many firework displays, and had not the smallest desire to see this one. He was tired from walking about the town in the search for Mrs Street; and he disliked crowds. He realised, with a slight feeling of shame, that between himself and Mr Dash of Nowhere in Particular there were several points of difference. He told himself that he was by far too nice in his tastes, and did his best to respond to Tom’s suggestion with becoming enthusiasm. Tom then darted away to retrieve his prizes, and the Duke drew Belinda’s hand through his arm, and led her out of the Fair-ground, towards the inn. Neither of them noticed the unobtrusive figure of Mr Shifnal; and this sapient gentleman took care never to place himself in the line of Belinda’s vision.
Upon reaching the Sun Inn, they found that the usual bustle attendant upon a private chaise’s arrival was in full swing. An elegant chaise-and-four had pulled up to change horses, and the fresh team was just being led out of the stable. Belinda, fondly clasping the Duke’s arm with both hands, gazed wistfully at this equipage, and said that she wished she might travel in a chaise-and-four, clad in a silk gown, and with a ring upon her finger. The Duke could not help laughing a little at what appeared to be the sum of her ambitions, but there was such a sad note in her voice that he was impelled to pat one of the little hands on his arm. Fortunately for his peace of mind, he was uninterested in the post-chaise, and did not so much as glance at its occupants, so that he failed to observe the strange effect the sight of himself had upon them. They were two ladies, one a stout dowager, the other a smart young woman, with crimped curls, and a high complexion, who no sooner clapped eyes on the Duke than she gave a gasp, and exclaimed: ‘Mama! Sale! Look!’
The dowager began to deliver a reproof to her daughter on the hoydenish nature of her behaviour in bouncing up in her seat, but the words died on her lips as she brought her hawk-like gaze to bear upon the Duke and his fair com
panion. ‘Well!’ she ejaculated, her pale eyes showing an alarming tendency to start from their sockets.
The Duke and Belinda passed into the inn. ‘Well!’ said Lady Boscastle again. ‘I would not have credited it! Not two days after that notice in the Gazette!’
Miss Boscastle giggled. ‘Poor dear Harriet! I wonder if she knows of this? Did ever you see such a lovely creature, Mama? Poor dear Harriet!’
‘One can only trust,’ said Lady Boscastle obscurely, ‘that it will be a lesson to Augusta Ampleforth, with her odious pretensions. I always said, and I always shall say, that Sale was entrapped into it, for I am sure no man would look twice at Harriet, for she is nothing out of the ordinary; indeed, a squab little figure of a girl, and with far too much reserve in her manner. What a shocking thing it would be if Sale were to declare off now!’
Both ladies dwelled beatifically for some moments on this thought. Miss Boscastle said inconsequently: ‘Well, we shall be seeing Harriet in Bath, Mama, for she is gone to stay with old Lady Ampleforth, you know.’
By this time the change of horses had been effected, and the chaise was on the move again, before Lady Boscastle had time to prosecute any enquiries at the Sun Inn. She resettled herself in the corner of the chaise, remarking that she hoped Harriet would not be found to be putting on airs to be interesting, and that Augusta Ampleforth would be all the better for a sharp set-down.
Meanwhile, the Duke and Belinda had mounted the stairs to his private parlour, and Belinda had cast off her bonnet, and run her fingers through her luxuriant ringlets, saying, with a grateful look at her protector: ‘I am so very glad you took me away from Mr Liversedge, sir! I wish you was my guardian! I am so happy!’