The chaise was very luxuriously upholstered, and there was a fur rug lying on the seat. Mary drew it over her, and leaned back in one corner. He had said she had a long way to travel. Could this mean the Scottish border after all? She suddenly thought that if Gretna was his goal, she had done her sister the greatest disservice imaginable.
She leaned forward, peering out of the window, but soon abandoned the attempt to mark their route. It was too dark, and she lacked the sense of direction that would have told her whether she was travelling northwards or not.
She had never ridden in a chaise so well sprung as this one. Even over the cobbled streets she was not conscious of any peculiar discomfort. She could catch no glimpse of her escort, and supposed that he must be riding behind. Presently a gleam of moonlight on water caught her eye, and she started forward to look out of the window once more. The chaise was crossing a bridge; she could see the Thames running beneath, and knew then that she must be travelling south. Gretna was not his goal. She felt a paradoxical relief.
Once clear of the town the horses seemed to leap forward in their collars. For a little while Mary felt alarmed at the wicked pace, expecting every moment some accident, but after a time she grew accustomed to it, and even dozed a little, lulled by the sway of the coach.
A sudden halt jerked her awake. She saw lights, and heard voices and the trampling of hooves. She supposed the time of reckoning had come, and waited, outwardly calm, to be handed down from the coach. The moon was visible, but when she tried to discover where she was she could see only a signboard swinging in the wind, and knew that the equipage had merely stopped to change horses. The door of the chaise was pulled open, and she drew back into the corner. Vidal’s voice spoke softly: “Awake, little Patience?”
She stayed still, not answering him. If she had the courage she would disclose her identity now, she thought. She shrank from it, visualizing the scene, at night on a windy road, with sniggering ostlers to witness it.
She heard a low laugh, and the click of the door as it was shut again. The Marquis had gone, and in a moment whips cracked, and the chaise moved forward.
She slept no more, but sat bolt upright, clasping her hands in her lap. Once she caught a glimpse of a rider abreast of the coach window, but he drew ahead, and she did not see him again.
They halted for the second time presently, but the change of horses was accomplished in a twinkling, and no one came to the chaise door. A cold grey light informed her that the dawn was approaching. She had not anticipated that her imposture would remain undetected for so long, and wondered uneasily how far into the day it would be before she reached home again.
As the light grew the ulterior of the chaise became dimly visible. She observed a holster within easy reach of her hand, and with calm forethought, possessed herself of the pistol it contained. It was rather large for her small hand, and having very little knowledge of firearms she had no idea whether it was loaded or not. She managed to put it into the big pocket of her cloak. It made the cloak very heavy, but she felt safer. The quivering alarm that had possessed her from the start of this queer journey began to leave her. She discovered that her hands were now quite steady, and felt that she could face whatever was to come with tolerable composure. She began to chafe at the length of the journey, and wondered with a kind of detached interest whether she had enough money in her reticule to pay for her return. She hoped she would be able to travel by the stage-coach to London. The hire of a chaise would be beyond her means, she was sure. That Vidal might convey her to her door again, never entered her head. Vidal was going to be far too angry to consider her plight.