VIII. HARRY NETTERVILLE AND TOM TANKARD APPEAR AT OUSELCROFT.
|Mrs. Calverley found Chetwynd in the library with the two young men, who bowed very respectfully as she made her appearance.
“What has happened?” she said to Chetwynd. “I thought you were staying with Sir Bridgnorth?”
“I have only just come from Charlton,” he replied. “We have got a strange business on hand, as you will admit when you learn what it is. You have heard me speak of an infamous scoundrel named Romney. Well, it seems that this daring libertine, who for some time has persecuted Rose Hartley with his addresses, has resolved to carry her off from Brackley.”
“Such audacity seems scarcely credible!” exclaimed Mrs. Calverley.
“It is, nevertheless, certain he is about to make the attempt this very night,” said Netterville. “My friend Tom Tankard discovered his design in a very singular manner, as he will tell you.”
“Yes, ma'am,” said Tom, with one of his best bows; “I went to get my hair cut yesterday by a coiffoor named Sigebert Smart, and while I was undergoing the operation, Sigebert, who is rather too familiar, says to me, 'Do you remember Rose Hartley, Mr. Tom' 'To be sure I do!' says I. 'And a very pretty girl she is. She has gone to Brackley Hall, in Cheshire, with Miss Barfleur and Miss Calverley.' 'But she won't remain there long,' remarked Sigebert. 'Why not?' says I. 'Don't she like the place?' 'Can't tell about that,' observed Sigebert. 'But there's a gentleman going to look after her.' 'Indeed!' says I, pricking up my ears—for I thought of my friend, Harry Netterville. 'It won't be any use if he does.' 'You're very much mistaken there, Mr. Tom,' says he, with a knowing look. 'I'm going with him!' 'You!' says I, in astonishment. 'Yes; and if we can't manage it, the deuce is in it!' 'Manage what?' says I. 'You don't mean to carry her off?' 'That will depend,' said he. 'There may be an enlevement. But I dare say she'll come willingly enough.”
“On hearing this, I said no more to alarm him, for I knew who he meant, and wished to catch the rascal. But I presently inquired, 'When do you set out on this expedition?' 'To-morrow,' he replied. 'We shall get down to Brackley Hall in the dusk of the evening. But don't go and talk about it—especially to Harry Netterville—or you'll spoil all.'
“I promised to keep silence, but had no sooner left the rascally hairdresser's shop than I took a cab, and drove to Gray's Inn to see Harry, and tell him what I had found out. At first, he didn't believe it.”
“I couldn't,” said Netterville. “The attempt seemed too wild; but Tom convinced me it would be made. We then arranged our plans, and having ascertained from Lady Thicknesse's butler, Higgins, that Mr. Chetwynd Calverley had gone to spend a few days with Sir Bridgnorth Charlton, we set off for Stafford early this morning, and saw Mr. Calverley, hoping he might feel disposed to accompany us, and he did not hesitate a moment.”
“No,” cried Chetwynd; “and I confess the intelligence you brought gave me the utmost satisfaction, for I felt that at last Romney had delivered himself into my hands. I judged it best to come on here, instead of proceeding direct to Brackley,” he added to Mrs. Calverley, “as I feared to alarm the rascals. But I shall send over a note to warn Rose, and give her some instructions. Romney must not escape me!”
“I should be very sorry for that,” said Mrs.
Calverley. “But it is rather unlucky that Mildred should have been taken ill this morning, and Rose is obliged to be in attendance upon her.”
“She is not seriously ill, I trust?” inquired Chetwynd, anxiously.
“No; and Emmeline can stay with her, while Rose leaves her for a time,” said Mrs. Calverley.
“Nothing more will be needful,” said Chetwynd.
Then turning to Netterville, and pointing to the writing materials on the table, he added, “Sit down and prepare a note to Rose, and I will send it off a once by a groom to Brackley, together with another letter from myself.”
So saying, he quitted the library with Mrs. Calverley, but presently returned for Netterville's letter which he gave to the groom, enjoining him to set off at once.
Meanwhile, Norris came to the library, and invited the two young men to come to the butler's pantry where a substantial repast was set out for then together with a bottle of claret.
“I say, Harry,” remarked Tom, as he discussed the pigeon-pie, and quaffed the claret, “I shouldn' mind an expedition like this every day, if I could insure such prog. And what a beautiful creature that Mrs. Calverley is! I declare I'm quite in love with her myself. How do you feel?”
“Very comfortable,” replied Harry. “I can think of nothing but Rose.”
“Oh, Rose! lub'ly Rose!” chanted Tom. “Take another glass of claret. That'll cure you!”