“Very well, then, I will take my courage in my hands, and drive you to Tideswell tomorrow, in the gig—that is, if you can leave the gate in Ben’s charge!”
“The devil’s in it that I can’t,” he said ruefully. “The wretched boy has informed me that he must muck out Mr. Sopworthy’s hen-houses tomorrow!”
“Oh!” She frowned over this for a moment, and then said: “It doesn’t signify: Joseph—that’s my groom!—shall keep the gate while you are away. The only thing is—” She paused, fidgeting with her riding-whip, the crease reappearing between her brows. Her frank gaze lifted again to his face. “The thing is that it is sometimes difficult for me—now—to escape an escort I don’t need, and am not at all accustomed to! But I fancy—I am not perfectly sure—that my cousin and Mr. Coate have formed the intention of driving to Sheffield tomorrow. You will understand, if I should not come, that I could not!” He nodded, and she held out her hand. “Good-bye! I will ride to Mrs. Skeffling’s cottage now. Oh! Must I pay toll? I have come out without my purse!”
He took her hand, and held it for an instant. “On no account!”
She blushed, but said in a rallying tone: “Well for you it is not thought worth while to post informers on this road!”
She picked up her skirts, and went out into the road. Captain Staple, following her, unhitched her horse from the gate post, and led him up to her. She took the bridle, placed her foot in his cupped hands, and was tossed up into the saddle. As the hack sidled, she bent to arrange the folds of her skirt, saying: “I mean to visit one of my grandfather’s tenants, so don’t look for me again today! My way will take me over the hill.”
A nod, and a smile, and she was trotting off down the road, leaving John to look after her until the bend hid her from his sight.
She was not his only visitor that day. Shortly before eight o’clock, the wicket-gate clashed, and a heavy knock fell on the toll-house door. Ben, who was engaged in whittling a piece of wood into the semblance of a quadruped, in which only its creator could trace the faintest resemblance to the Captain’s Beau, jumped, but showed no sign of the terror which had possessed him during the previous evening. Either he did not connect his father’s mysterious visitor with an open approach to the office-door, or he placed complete reliance on Captain Staple’s ability to protect him.
John went into the office. He had left the lantern on the table, and by its light he was able to recognize the man who stood in the open doorway. He said: “Hallo! What can I do for you?”
“Jest thought I’d drop in, and blow a cloud with you,” responded Miss Stornaway’s groom. “Stretching me legs, like. The name’s Lydd—Joe Lydd.”