“I have been down to the shore already,” he said, “and had a talk to one or two skippers. It is quite impossible to set sail to-night, so every sailor assured me. No one,” he added, looking significantly at Marguerite, “no one could possibly put out of Dover to-night.”
Marguerite at once understood what he meant. No one included Chauvelin as well as herself. She nodded pleasantly to Jellyband.
“Well, then, I must resign myself,” she said to him. “Have you a room for me?”
“Oh, yes, your ladyship. A nice, bright, airy room. I’ll see to it at once. . . . And there is another one for Sir Andrew—both quite ready.”
“That’s brave now, mine honest Jelly,” said Sir Andrew, gaily, and clapping his worthy host vigorously on the back. “You unlock both those rooms, and leave our candles here on the dresser. I vow you are dead with sleep, and her ladyship must have some supper before she retires. There, have no fear, friend of the rueful countenance, her ladyship’s visit, though at this unusual hour, is a great honour to thy house, and Sir Percy Blakeney will reward thee doubly, if thou seest well to her privacy and comfort.”
Sir Andrew had no doubt guessed the many conflicting doubts and fears which raged in honest Jellyband’s head; and, as he was a gallant gentleman, he tried by this brave hint to allay some of the worthy innkeeper’s suspicions. He had the satisfaction of seeing that he had partially succeeded. Jellyband’s rubicund countenance brightened somewhat, at mention of Sir Percy’s name.
“I’ll go and see to it at once, sir,” he said with alacrity, and with less frigidity in his manner. “Has her ladyship everything she wants for supper?”
“Everything, thanks, honest friend, and as I am famished and dead with fatigue, I pray you see to the rooms.”
“Now tell me,” she said eagerly, as soon as Jellyband had gone from the room, “tell me all your news.”
“There is nothing else much to tell you, Lady Blakeney,” replied the young man. “The storm makes it quite impossible for any vessel to put out of Dover this tide. But, what seemed to you at first a terrible calamity is really a blessing in disguise. If we cannot cross over to France to-night, Chauvelin is in the same quandary.”