Miss Letty had to admit she was reaping the reward of past folly. Ruefully she reflected that if she had never allowed herself to become dazzled in the first place by Mr Markham’s wiles and compliments she would not now have been in a situation so gloomy and hopeless.
She had not been able to think of a way out of the difficulty. Her ideas of law and treason were very vague; she thought that incriminating letter of her father’s so fraught with danger that she dared do nothing but what Mr Markham told her, for fear of what awful things might happen. Before she could take any measures against him she must have the letter safe. She thought she might perhaps be able to steal it from him while he slept, for in spite of his talk of heading straight for Scotland she knew very well that he must break the journey sooner or later. It was a forlorn hope, and failing it she could shoot him, she supposed, if only there were a pistol to her hand.
She had never visited Vauxhall with so little pleasure before; it was as though the brilliantly-lit gardens, all a-hum with festivity, were a place of execution. It was easy — wretchedly easy, she thought — to slip away from the rest of her party. She drew her cloak around her, and hurried away down a walk lit by lanterns to the appointed meeting place. Mr Markham was there, and he showed relief at seeing her, and took her hand. It was withdrawn. “I may be forced to marry you,” said Letty acidly, “but at least you shan’t touch me till then.”
It was no part of Mr Markham’s plan to goad her to rebellion. He begged her pardon, and led her swiftly away down the winding walks till they came to an entrance to the gardens. He told her then to pull the hood over her head. She obeyed listlessly, and in a very short time found herself seated in a post-chaise beside her hated lover.
She drew far into her own corner. “You might at least ride beside the coach!” she said. “Can you not see how much I detest you?”
He had her safe at last; he cared nothing for her whims; he could even afford to be generous. “Bear with me, my dear. I won’t plague you with talk.”
“You had much better not,” said Letty, “for I should certainly not answer.”
This was not a very promising beginning, Mr Markham thought. When a haughty shoulder was resolutely turned on him he decided that Miss Letitia needed a lesson. His fingers itched to slap her, but he controlled the desire, remembering that there was a lifetime ahead in which to tame a refractory wife. Frightened for her father’s safety as she undoubtedly was she was yet quite capable of raising a disturbance if he tried her too far. So he sat back in his own corner and meditated with some satisfaction on the excellence of his plans, and the delightful time to come.
Letty’s thoughts were not so pleasant. The only food for comfort she could find lay in the pistol holster beside her. There was a weapon in it, large and clumsy for her little hands, but still a weapon.
Mr Markham observed the direction of her glance and smiled grimly. “Ay, you’re a violent piece, aren’t you? You’d shoot me if you had the chance, I’ll lay my life. The pistol’s not loaded. Yes, there’s another my side, but it’s in the same state. The only loaded pistol, my dear, lies snug in my pocket and there it will stay.”