Tom’s eyes glistened enviously. He instantly demanded to be told the whole. It did not seem to him at all strange that anyone should desire to kidnap such an unimportant person as Mr Rufford, so the questions he eagerly asked were none of them embarrassing. He expressed his heartfelt chagrin at having had no hand in the Duke’s escape, and promised to guard him in future with all the might of his large fists. It occurred to him that Belinda might also have been kidnapped, and he began to make plans for her deliverance. But the Duke had made some enquiries about Belinda’s new protector, and he was obliged to dash Tom’s hopes. Mr Clitheroe, according to reliable report, was an elderly gentleman of impeccable morals, who lived with his sister on the outskirts of the town, and busied himself largely with charitable works. In what circumstances he had encountered Belinda the Duke could not guess. She had gone out after she had breakfasted that morning, and had returned quite shortly under Mr Clitheroe’s escort, to collect her two bandboxes. The landlord had been unwilling to allow these hostages out of his hands, but he seemed to stand in some awe of Mr Clitheroe. From what the Duke had been able to discover, that stern Quaker had severely rated him for admitting seducers and abductionists into his house, and had cut short all his attempts to explain that Belinda was travelling in the company of her brother and his tutor. ‘And what’s the use of me telling him she has a brother when he’s bound to ask where the brother may be, and all I can answer him is that he’s clapped up in the Round-house?’ demanded the landlord, justly aggrieved. ‘I’m sure I don’t know how you’ve got him out, sir, but if it’s all the same to you I’d as lief you didn’t bring him here! And –’
‘It is not all the same to me,’ had said the Duke, very gently indeed.
There was much that the landlord had meant to say, the chief item of information being that he would not harbour any of the Duke’s party in his house another night, but the air of hauteur which this rather insignificant young man could upon occasion assume made him uneasy, and he decided to leave it unsaid. He told his indignant wife that he hadn’t dealt with the Quality for twenty-five years without knowing when a high-up gentleman had entered his inn. ‘He can call himself a tutor if he so chooses,’ he said, nodding darkly, ‘but I never saw a tutor that wore a coat like that of his, nor one that looked at you as though you was twopenn’orth of nothing.’ He added philosophically: ‘Besides, he ain’t staying more than one night.’
So the Duke, who had now formed the intention of boarding the London stage on the following day, was allowed to remain at the Sun for one more night. Tom, delighted by this change of plan, promised very handsomely to behave with the utmost propriety, and at once began to make interest with his protector for visits to Astley’s Amphitheatre, the Royal Exchange, and other such places of interest. He was just confiding to him his burning desire to witness a bout of fisticuffs at the Fives Court, and the Wax Effigies at Madame Tussaud’s, when the door opened, and Belinda tripped into the parlour, carrying her bandboxes, and looking as unruffled as she was beautiful. She smiled blindingly upon the Duke, and said: ‘Oh, you are come back, sir! I am so very glad to see you again! Oh, Tom, I quite thought you had gone to Newgate!’
‘Much you would have cared!’ growled Tom, by no means gratified by her sudden appearance.
‘Oh, no, but I am so pleased Mr Rufford is here! It is beyond anything great! How do you do, sir?’
He had risen from his chair, staring at her. ‘Belinda!’ he exclaimed.
She untied the strings of her bonnet, and cast it on to a chair. ‘We have been in such a pickle!’ she informed him. ‘Only fancy! Tom was arrested for a highwayman, sir!’
‘Belinda, what became of you?’ demanded the Duke.
‘Oh, I was never so taken-in!’ she informed him mournfully. ‘For when you went away, sir, and Tom was put in prison, I didn’t know what I should do. And I must tell you that they were all in an uproar here, so that it was excessively uncomfortable. And the landlord was so uncivil to me this morning that there was no bearing it! So I went out after breakfast, to look at the shops – they are the shabbiest in the world, I am sure! I saw a quiz of a hat, and was in whoops! And just as I was looking into a window where there were all manner of trinkets, but none of them in the least pretty, a very kind gentleman came up to me, and made me a bow.’
‘Mr Clitheroe?’ interpolated the Duke.
She laughed. ‘Good gracious, no, sir! I don’t know what his name was, but he was quite a young gentleman, and modish, too, and handsome! And he asked me if I would like to have a ring to put on my finger.’
‘And what,’ asked the Duke, with deep misgiving, ‘did you reply to that?’
‘I said I should like it above all things,’ said Belinda innocently.
‘Lord, I think girls are the stupidest things!’ said Tom, in disgust. ‘If he had asked me, I would have told him that I would rather have a pair of stilts, or something jolly like that! Oh, Mr Rufford, there was a man at the Fair, walking on a pair so high that I daresay he could have looked into all the upper windows in the town! If I had a pair like that, I could have such larks, and frighten all the old ladies in their beds by looking in at them! Will you buy me a pair, sir? I daresay there may be a shop which sells them, and I know I could learn to walk on them in a trice.’
‘No, I will not,’ answered the Duke, not mincing matters. ‘Belinda, didn’t I tell you you must not speak to strange men?’
‘Not even when they offer to buy me a ring?’ she asked.
‘Least of all when they offer to buy you a ring!’
‘But how shall I ever have a ring, or a silk dress, if I must not speak to any gentlemen?’ she asked reasonably.
‘If only you will be good, and mind what I tell you,’ said the Duke, ‘perhaps you shall have a silk dress!’
Belinda sighed. ‘That is what Uncle Swithin said, only he never gave it to me,’ she observed.
‘Well, never mind that now! What happened when you told this buck that you would like a ring?’
‘Oh, it was so sad!’ she exclaimed, her eyes filling with tears. ‘He said we should go into the shop, and he offered his arm, and I am sure I had not so much as noticed Mr Clitheroe, for why should I?’
‘Wait a minute!’ begged the Duke. ‘What has Mr Clitheroe to do with all this? When did you meet him?’
‘Why, just then, sir! He was standing on the other side of the road, though I did not notice him, for he is quite old, you know, and not at all handsome. He came smash up to us, and began to abuse the kind gentleman, and he said I should not go with him. But I would have gone with him, only that he went away, as red as fire! I thought it was so poor-spirited of him! And then Mr Clitheroe asked me where I lived, and how old was I, and all manner of things.’
‘Well, I call that a great piece of impudence!’ declared Tom. ‘You should have sent him to the deuce, only I dare swear you did not!’
‘Oh, no, how could I? I told him that I did not live anywhere, but that I was staying with you, sir.’
She smiled enchantingly at the Duke as she spoke, but although he found it impossible to be angry with anyone so lovely or so ingenuous, he was easily able to refrain from returning the smile. He said, in a tone of resignation: ‘Did you tell him that I was a very kind gentleman, Belinda?’
She nodded, and her curls danced. ‘Of course I did!’ she assured him. ‘And he said that he would like to meet you.’
The Duke shuddered. ‘I may readily believe it! I trust he may never have his wish granted!’
‘Oh, no! he is a dead bore!’ agreed Belinda. ‘Besides, I told him that you had gone away and left me, so he knew he could not meet you.’
The Duke sank his head in his hands. ‘Belinda, Belinda, if I do not speedily contrive to hand you into safe keeping I foresee that there will be scarce a town in England where I shall dare to show my face again! So you told him
I had deserted you! And what then?’
‘Then he said he should take me home with him, and give me something better than a silk dress, or a ring to put on my finger. And he said his sister would be very glad to take care of me. So I came back with him here, sir, and fetched my bandboxes, and he took me to his home. But I don’t think Miss Clitheroe was glad at all, for she seemed very cross to me. However, she said I might stay, and she gave me some fruit to eat, and a handkerchief to hem, and she did say that I set neat stitches. But I do not care for hemming, so when Mr Clitheroe came in I asked him what it was that he would give me, because I would like very much to have it. And I quite thought it would be something splendid, sir, for he said it was better than a silk dress! Only it was nothing but a take-in after all! He just gave me a Bible!’
Her face of chagrin was ludicrous enough to make her harassed protector burst out laughing. ‘My poor Belinda!’
‘Well, I do think it was a great deal too bad of him, sir! The shabbiest trick! So I said I had a Bible already, and then I thought very likely you would have returned, so I would come back here to find you. And would you believe it, they would not let me! Oh, they did prose so!’
‘But what did they want you to do instead?’ demanded Tom.
‘I don’t know, for I didn’t listen above half. I quite saw that I must run away, and I made up my mind to do so when they should have gone to bed, only by the luckiest chance they went off to a dinner-party – or was it a prayer-meeting? It was some such thing, but I wasn’t attending particularly. So I didn’t say anything, but only smiled, and made them think I would stay, and as soon as they were gone from the house, I slipped out when the servants were not by, and came back to the inn. And, if you please, sir, I have not had any dinner.’
‘Ring the bell, Tom, and bespeak dinner for her,’ said the Duke. ‘I am going to find a coach time-table!’
‘Oh, are we leaving now?’ asked Belinda, brightening.
‘No, to-morrow, you stupid thing!’ said Tom.
‘Immediately!’ said the Duke, walking towards the door.
‘What?’ cried Tom. ‘Oh, famous, sir! Where do we go?’
‘Beyond Mr Clitheroe’s reach!’ replied the Duke. ‘Constables and magistrates I can deal with to admiration, but not – not, I know well, Mr Clitheroe!’
He returned to his charges half an hour later with the information that they were bound for Aylesbury in a hired chaise. Belinda, who was making an excellent meal, accepted this without question, but Tom thought poorly of it, and demanded to be told why they must go to such a stuffy place.
‘Because I find that there is a coach which runs from Aylesbury to Reading,’ replied the Duke. ‘We may board that to-morrow, and from Reading we can take the London stage to Bath.’
‘It would be more genteel to go in a post-chaise,’ said Belinda wistfully.
‘It would not only be more genteel, it would be by far more comfortable,’ agreed the Duke. ‘It would also be more expensive, and I have been drawing the bustle to such purpose this day that my pockets will soon be to let.’
‘Well, I would rather go on the stage!’ said Tom, his eyes sparkling. ‘I shall ride on the roof, and make the coachman give me the reins! I have always wanted to tool a coach! I shall gallop along at such a rate! What a jest it would be if we overturned!’
This agreeable prospect made both him and Belinda laugh heartily. The Duke sent him off to pack up his belongings, devoutly trusting that there did not exist a coachman mad enough to entrust the ribbons to him.
Nineteen
While these stirring events were taking place in Hitchin, Mr Liversedge was still knocking abortively on Captain Ware’s door. He gained admittance to the chambers at about the time the Duke and his two charges set out from the Sun Inn in a hired chaise, with Aylesbury for their destination.
The gin with which Wragby had so lavishly supplied him made Mr Liversedge feel very unwell; and a night spent upon the kitchen floor had given him, he complained, a stiff neck. An assurance from Wragby that a halter would soon cure this was received by him in high dudgeon. He spoke with great dignity for several minutes, but to deaf ears. Wragby recommended him to shut his mummer, and to make haste and shave himself, since the Captain would certainly refuse to take such an oyster-faced rogue up beside him in his curricle. Mr Liversedge said that he had no desire to be taken up beside the Captain. ‘In fact,’ he added austerely, ‘the less I see of a young man whom I find unsympathetic in the extreme the better pleased I shall be!’
‘You stow your whids, and do what I tell you!’ said Wragby.
‘It is a marvel to me,’ said Mr Liversedge, picking up the razor, and looking at it contemptuously, ‘that any gentleman should employ such a vulgar fellow as you.’
‘And don’t give me no saucy answers!’ said Wragby.
By the time the Captain was ready to set forward on the journey, Mr Liversedge had not only shaved, but had imbibed a cup of strong coffee, which revived him sufficiently to enable him to greet his host with creditable urbanity. His optimistic temperament led him to busy himself with the forming of various schemes for turning the present distressing state of affairs to good account rather than to waste time kicking against the pricks. The day was fine, and the cool air refreshing to him. It was not long before he was complimenting Captain Ware upon his horses, and his skill in handling the ribbons.
‘Devilish obliging of you to say so!’ said Gideon sardonically. ‘You are no doubt a judge!’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Liversedge, tucking the rug more securely round his legs. ‘I fancy I may be held to be so, sir. You must know that many years ago I was employed in the stables of a notable whip – quite a nonesuch, indeed! A menial position, and one from which I swiftly rose, but it enabled me to judge a horse, and a whip.’
Gideon was amused. ‘A groom, were you? And what then?’
‘In course of time, sir, I attained what was then the sum of my ambition. I became a gentleman’s gentleman.’
Gideon glanced curiously at him. ‘Why did you abandon that profession?’
Mr Liversedge described one of his airy gestures. ‘Various causes, sir, various causes! You may say that it did not afford enough scope for a man of my vision. My ideas have ever been large, and my genius is for the cards and the bones. In fact, had I not suffered certain ill-merited reverses I should not to-day be in your company, for I assure you that the business in which I have lately been engaged is wholly alien to my tastes – quite repugnant to me, indeed! But necessity, my dear sir, takes no account of sensibility!’
‘You are a consummate rogue!’ said Gideon forthrightly.
‘Sir,’ responded Mr Liversedge, ‘I must protest against the use of that epithet! A consummate rogue, you will allow, is a rogue from choice, and feels no compunction for his roguery. With me it is far otherwise, I assure you. Particularly have my feelings been wrung by the plight of your noble relative – a most amiable young man, and one whom I was excessively loth to put to inconvenience!’
‘You scoundrel, you would have murdered him at a word from me!’ Gideon exclaimed.
‘That,’ said Mr Liversedge firmly, ‘would have been your responsibility, Captain Ware.’
At this point, Wragby, who from his seat behind them had been listening to this conversation, interposed to beg his master to pull up so that he might have the pleasure of drawing Mr Liversedge’s cork.
‘No,’ said Gideon. ‘I prefer to hand him over in due course to the Law.’
‘I am persuaded,’ said Mr Liversedge, ‘that when I have restored your relative to you, as I am really anxious to do, you will think better of that unhandsome notion, sir. Ingratitude is a vice which I abhor!’
‘We shall see what my relative has to say about it,’ replied Gideon grimly.
Mr Liversedge, who could not feel that forty-eight hours
spent in a dark cellar would engender in his victim any feelings of mercy, relapsed into a depressed silence.
But his mercurial spirits could not long remain damped, and by the time Gideon stopped to change horses, he had recovered enough to regale him with a very entertaining anecdote to his first employer’s discredit. While Wragby besought the ostlers to fix out two lively ones, and made arrangements for the Captain’s own horses to be led back to London, he considered the chances of escape; but even his hopeful mind was obliged to realise that these were slim. However, he was a great believer in Providence, and he could not but feel that Providence would intervene on his behalf before the end of the journey. He had not yet divulged the locality of the Duke’s prison, and he had not been urged to do so. Captain Ware was taking it for granted that he would lead him to it. Upon reflection, Mr Liversedge acknowledged gloomily that unless something quite unforeseen occurred this was precisely what he would do.
Baldock was reached all too soon for his taste, and without the slightest sign of an intervention of Providence. Captain Ware reined in his horses in the middle of the broad street, let them drop to a walk, and said: ‘You may now direct me, Mr Liversedge. Unless you would prefer me to enquire the way to the nearest magistrate? It is all one to me.’
Mr Liversedge was irritated by this remark, and answered with some asperity: ‘Now that, sir, is a manifestly false observation! It is not all one to you – or would not be to a gentleman of the smallest sensibility! Nothing, I am persuaded, could be farther from your wishes than to create a stir over this business! In fact, the more I think on it, the more convinced I become that you and your noble relative will be very much in my debt if I contrive the affair without anyone’s being the wiser. Consider what must be the result if I compel you to call in the Law! Not only will his Grace –’
He stopped, for it was apparent to him that Captain Ware was not attending. The Captain, glancing idly at an approaching tilbury, had stiffened suddenly, and pulled his horses up dead. ‘Matt!’ he thundered. The next instant he had perceived that Nettlebed was sitting beside his cousin in the tilbury, and he ejaculated: ‘Good God!’