“But to fire, of course!” replied Eustacie impatiently.
“Good God! What at?”
“Why, at anybody who tries to come into the house!” she said, opening her eyes in surprise at his stupidity. “And if you would let Sarah have one too, she could help me. After all, we may find ourselves in great danger, you know.”
“You won’t find yourselves in half such danger as you would if I let you have my pistols,” said Ludovic, with brutal candour.
This unfeeling response sent Eustacie off in a dudgeon to Miss Thane. Here at least she was sure of finding a sympathetic listener. Nor did Miss Thane disappoint her. She professed herself to be quite at a loss to understand the selfishness of men, and when she learned that Eustacie had planned for her also to fire upon possible desperadoes, she said that she could almost wish that she had not been told of the scheme, since it made her feel quite disheartened to think of it falling to the ground.
“Well, I do think we ought to be armed,” said Eustacie wistfully. “It is true that I do not know much about guns, but one has only to point them and pull the trigger, after all.”
“Exactly,” agreed Miss Thane. “I dare say we should have accounted for any number of desperate ruffians. It is wretched indeed! We shall be forced to rely upon our wits.”
But the morning passed quietly, the only excitement being provided by Gregg, who came to the inn with the ostensible object of inquiring whether Nye could let his master have a pipe of burgundy. He left his horse in the yard, and was thus able to exchange a word with Barker, who, with the fear of transportation before him, faithfully obeyed Sir Tristram’s instructions, and said that he had no chance yet to search for the quizzing-glass.
In the afternoon Sir Hugh, following his usual custom, went upstairs to enjoy a peaceful sleep. Miss Thane and Eustacie watched the Brighton mail arrive, but since it did not set Sir Tristram down at the Red Lion, their interest in it swiftly waned. They had begun to question whether they were to experience any adventures whatsoever when, to their amazement, Beau Lavenham’s chaise passed the parlour window, drew up outside the coffee-room door, and set down the Beau himself.
He alighted unhurriedly, took care to remove a speck of dust from his sleeve, and in the calmest way imaginable walked into the inn.