LADY SUNDERLAND
IT was at night too, a week later, that Lady Betty’s coach rumbled up the long street at Newmarket. But no moon shone; instead, the rain came down in torrents and the wind dashed it against the glass windows and rattled and shook the heavy doors, while the horses slipped and floundered, knee deep in mud; the great coach itself lurched heavily out of one huge rut into another, and the postilions, dripping and profane, cracked their whips and shouted. Lady Clancarty and her attendants, Alice Lynn and the woman, Melissa Thurle, bounced about within the vehicle, coming now and then into collision with endless boxes and bundles, a part only of the countess’ impedimenta, the most perishable, and therefore gathered within the carriage to save it from the deluge, instead of being strapped on top with the heavier luggage.
Through the moist darkness lights began to twinkle. As they neared the inn these lanterns increased in numbers, their yellow radiance dimmed and blurred by the rain but showing in a broad circle of warmth before the tavern door. There, too, the water flooding the kennels had poured out, making a small lake in the courtyard. The coach went splashing into it and halted with muddy water rising to the hubs. The inn door was open, and the hall overflowed with noise and good cheer; lackeys and grooms came bustling at the sound of an arrival; and at the sight of a private carriage, with an earl’s crest emblazoned upon the door, mine host himself came hurrying forward but stood aghast at the puddle.
“Here, you varlets,” he shouted, clapping his hands, “a plank from the door to the carriage steps, or her ladyship cannot descend.”
Her ladyship’s roguish face was at the window as he spoke and she watched the men placing a board for her. As they opened the coach door the innkeeper bowed low, his broad back in the air, but stepping carefully on the plank and tottering uneasily, for he was a stout man and in terror of falling headlong into the flood.
“Who have I the honor to serve, my lady?” he inquired, all smiles in spite of his perilous position.
“Venus rising from the waves, sir,” replied Lady Betty flippantly, as she sprang lightly across the improvised bridge, scarcely touching his shoulder with her fingers and quite regardless of his open-mouthed astonishment.
“Look to it that my women are not drowned!” she added imperiously, as he retreated after her, leaving her attendants to climb out unassisted.
But the man was sorely perplexed by her ladyship’s announcement of herself, and he only stared at her, trying to place her in the gallery of a fertile brain well stored with great ladies; but this face—albeit one of the most charming he had ever seen—was not among them, and he stared, perhaps a trifle rudely, for Lady Betty’s eye, suddenly alighting on him, her chin went up.
“You will show me to my Lady Sunderland’s apartments,” she said in an icy tone, as she waved her hand toward the stair.