Past Crawley the road rose steadily to Pease Pottage. There was not much traffic to be encountered, and except for one of the leaders shying at a hen which scuttled squawking across the road, the next two miles were covered without any other incident than the overtaking and passing of a very down-the-road-looking man in a phaeton and three, who took one glance at Miss Taverner as she went by, and whipped up his horses in the vain attempt to catch up with her. A golden beauty driving a curricle-and-four down the Brighton road was, after all, no everyday occurrence.
But the phaeton was soon left behind, and Miss Taverner reached Pease Pottage, confident that she must have gained considerably on her brother. Beside the Black Swan inn a toll-gate, on the right, gave entrance to the road to Horsham, and on the left the superb beeches and hazel undergrowth of Tilgate Forest must at any other time have tempted Miss Taverner to draw rein. But her ambition was centered on overtaking Peregrine; she passed the woods with no more than a glance, and an exclamation of delight, and had the satisfaction, half a mile on, of seeing her brother’s curricle a few hundred yards ahead of her.
She had been easing her leaders, but she let them do their full share now. Peregrine glanced once over his shoulder, and whipped up his team. The two curricles raced down a straight stretch of road, the second slowly gaining on the first. A sharp bend came into sight; Peregrine took it at a gallop, lost control, and ran his near-side wheels into the bank. Judith saw Hinkson jump down and run to the horses’ heads, caught a glimpse of the sort of turmoil that not infrequently enlivened Peregrine’s journeys, and drove past him with a triumphant twirl of her whip over her head.
It would take Peregrine some minutes to set matters to rights, she knew, and once past him she steadied to a more respectable pace, and came presently into Hand Cross at a strict trot.
Hand Cross was not remarkable for its size or beauty, but its chief inn, the Red Lion, a gabled building with tall chimney-stacks and a line of white posts linked by chains, enjoyed a good deal of custom. A number of post-horses were stabled there, and it was whispered in knowledgeable circles that the casks of excellent brandy in its cellars were used to be delivered under cover of night, and had rendered no duty at any port.
As Miss Taverner drove up the street towards the inn, she saw only one vehicle drawn up under the shade of the two big trees that stood outside. It was a curricle with a tiger sitting up behind. Something in the tilt of his hat was familiar; in another minute a clearer view of the whole was obtained, and Miss Taverner recognized not only the tiger, but also the team of blood-chestnuts that were harnessed to the curricle.
She came up alongside, heard Henry cry in his shrill voice: “Lordy, guv’nor, if it ain’t that there Miss Taverner!” and saw her guardian standing in the doorway of the inn with a glass in his hand. She met his startled, incredulous gaze for a moment as she went by, bowed slightly, and proceeded on her way at an increased speed.
Judson twisted round in his seat to look behind. Miss Taverner, despising herself, was yet unable to refrain from asking what his lordship was doing.
“I think, miss, he means to come after you,” replied Judson ominously, “If I may say so, miss, his lordship doesn’t look best pleased.”
Miss Taverner gave a short laugh, and set her horses at a dangerous gallop down the hill. “I don’t mean to let him come up with me. He has to pay his reckoning before he can start. If I can reach Cuckfield and be away with a fresh team before he catches me—”