“Somebody’s coming!” announced Jem at this juncture.
And then what a bustle and clatter ensued, what hasty packing of the hamper, what tremulous climbing into the chaise on the part of the “missus”; with what an air of firmness and resolution did the master straighten his hat and square his shoulders as though preparing to defy all pursuers. And after all it was only the mail cart bowling merrily along; and the driver gave the runaway couple a cheery good-day as he passed. Then, though they laughed long and loud over the false alarm, they realised that the time was getting on, and that it behoved them to hasten to their destination.
The little town of Branston was not yet very wide-awake when they did arrive at the Royal George, and Jem pulled up with a flourish, and threw the reins to a gaping stable-boy with as great an air as would have befitted a coachman in the palmy days when the Flying Stage used to change horses at Branston. The little old lady alighted demurely, her husband supporting her while she planted first one neat little foot, clad in a buckled shoe and clocked white stocking, on the step, and then its fellow, and lifting her off bodily, with much the same tender gallantry as that with which he had doubtless performed a similar office fifty years ago. At his request, Mrs. Bussell was conducted to the best private room; she seemed to have quite identified herself with those bygone days, and clung to his arm fearfully as they mounted the stairs; while in her husband past and present were pleasantly mingled. Thus, when, having deposited his fair charge in the George’s largest sitting-room, he strolled down to the lower premises to give certain orders regarding the horses, he made no ado about taking the landlord into his confidence.
“This ’ere is a runaway trip,” he remarked, with a jocular wink. “’Tis our golden weddin’ day, and the missus and me had a notion o’ spendin’ it quiet, just by our two selves. They’re makin’ a great to-do at our place—children and grandchildren comin’ from all sides, but we just thought we’d give them the slip, and keep the day here same as we done fifty year ago.”
“Ah,” put in the landlord, much interested, “I heard somethin’ about that. You and your lady run off, didn’t ye?”
“We did,” returned John. “Her father, ye see, old Sherren—they did use to call en Squire—she was the only child, and he reckoned on her makin’ a grand match, takin’ up wi’ one o’ the reg’lar gentry, ye know; but he wasn’t a bit better nor the rest of any of us yeoman farmers. Well, I wasn’t much of a match in those days—my father had a long family and not much to divide between us; but I liked the maid, and the maid she did like me, so we took the law into our own hands. My missus, she did use to go a-feedin’ of her chicken very early in the mornin’, so the folks got accustomed to hearin’ her get up and go out before daylight almost—and one mornin’ she did go out and she didn’t never go back.”
“I remember,” cried the other, “you tricked them wi’ an empty post-chaise, didn’t ye?”
“To be sure,” returned the old farmer chuckling. “’Twas Joe Boyt did that. He did ride for all he were worth, the wrong way. And me and the maid ran a couple of mile on our own legs, till we come to the high road where Jem was awaitin’ for us wi’ the very same old shay as we did drive over in to-day. I did swear I’d buy it if ever I had the chance, and I’d take Jem into my service. And I did both.”
“The old Squire came round before long,” remarked the landlord; “yes, I heard the tale often enough. There’s an old chap here as used to be ostler in the old days, and he minds well how you and the lady came here to hide, so to speak, till the coach came up.”
“That’s it!” cried old John delightedly, slapping his thigh to give emphasis to his words. “The coach took us to Bath and we had the job done there—licence, you know. And the missus and I, d’ye see, had the notion o’ stoppin’ here to-day in memory of that time, and makin’ believe we was doin’ it over again. Between you and me,” said John, poking the landlord in the waistcoat and winking knowingly, “I d’ ’low my old woman does truly believe she is back in the old times again. Women do seem to have a wonderful power of imagination. There, she was a-feedin’ her chicken this mornin’, if ye please, just as she done the mornin’ we made off.”