The footman vanished on his errand.
The driver continued as if he had not been interrupted:
“Horses like to catch their death of cold, spite o’ two heavy blankets apiece laid o’ top of them.”
“I am sorry I can do nothing for your horses, but if you think any of the grooms might, just let them do it,” said Ran.
“No, sir. There can’t nobody do nothing for ’em here. And nothing will help them but a brisk trot back to Chuxton and a warm mash and good bed when they get there.”
The footman came out with a pewter quart measure of strong, foaming ale and handed it to the driver.
The latter took it with a “thanky” to the server and a bow to the master, and said:
“Thank you, sir. This saves my life. Here’s to a long and happy one for you and yours. Is the party inside ready to go back, if you please, sir?” inquired the driver after he had taken one long draught of the ale and stopped to draw a deep sigh of satisfaction.
“They are not going back. Charles, get the bags and other effects out of the carriage and carry them into the house.”
The footman obeyed, loading himself with two heavy bags, two rugs and a large umbrella, and took them into the hall while the driver was taking his second long pull at the ale.