John jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
“Horses put to?” inquired Mr Merriot.
“Ay, they’re ready to be off. The men are in the taproom — it’s dry they are after the great fire. There’s an ostler to the horses’ heads.”
“I don’t want that ostler there,” said Mr Merriot. “Drive the chaise past Stilton, John, and hide it somewhere where the gentleman won’t find it too soon.”
“Hide a chaise and horses, is it?” John growled.
“It is, John,” said Mr Merriot serenely. “Tell that ostler that I want a horse saddled on the instant. One of our own, if need be. I shall set the dear gentleman after you, John. God speed you.”
“Ah, it’s a mad couple you are!” said John, but he moved away to where the lights of the chaise shone. Mr Merriot heard him give the order to the ostler, and offer to hold the horses’ heads. He heard the ostler run off towards the stables and himself turned back into the coffee-room smiling placidly.
Miss Merriot had come downstairs again and was standing by the fallen Mr Markham calmly surveying him. “Well, child, is it done?” she asked.
The clatter of horses and the rumble of wheels on the cobbles answered her. John was off; they heard the chaise roll away down the road to London. Miss Merriot laughed and dropped her brother a mock curtsey. “My compliments, child. It’s you have the head, indeed. Now what to do for the poor gentleman? Water, my Peter, and a napkin. Observe me all solicitude.” She sank down on to the floor, and lifted Mr Markham’s head into her lap. Mr Merriot was chuckling again as he handed her the water, and a napkin.
The landlord came hurrying in, and stared in horror at what he saw. “Sir — madam! The gentleman’s coach is off! Oh law, madam! The gentleman!”