No: I believe—aid me Apollo, and the Nine! I believe—though I have never dared, and shall never dare to ask—that Miss Gilchrist was doing her best to wink!
On the instant entered Master Ronald with word that the carriage was ready. I slipped to the door and reconnoitred. The crowd was thick in the ball-room; a dance in full swing; my cousin gambolling vivaciously, and, for the moment, with his back to us. Flora leaned on Ronald, and, skirting the wall, our party gained the great door and the vestibule, where Chevenix stood with an armful of cloaks.
“You and Ronald can return and enjoy yourselves,” said the old lady, “as soon as ye’ve packed us off. Ye’ll find a hackney coach, no doubt, to bring ye home.” Her eye rested on the two runners, who were putting their heads together behind the Major. She turned on me with a stiff curtsy. “Good-night, sir, and I am obliged for your services. Or stay—you may see us to the carriage, if ye’ll be so kind. Major, hand Mr. What-d’ye-call some of your wraps.”
My eyes did not dare to bless her. We moved down the stairs—Miss Gilchrist leading, Flora supported by her brother and Mr. Robbie, the Major and I behind. As I descended the first step, the red-headed runner made a move forward. Though my gaze was glued upon the pattern of Miss Gilchrist’s Paisley shawl, I saw his finger touch my arm! Yes, and I felt it, like a touch of hot iron. The other man—Moleskin—plucked him by the arm: they whispered. They saw me bareheaded, without my overcoat. They argued, no doubt, that I was unaware; was seeing the ladies to their carriage; would of course return. They let me pass.
Once in the boisterous street, I darted round to the dark side of the carriage. Ronald ran forward to the coachman (whom I recognised for the gardener, Robie). “Miss Flora is faint. Home, as fast as you can!” He skipped back under the awning. “A guinea to make it faster!” I called up from the other side of the box-seat; and out of the darkness and rain I held up the coin and pressed it into Robie’s damp palm. “What in the name——!” He peered round, but I was back and close against the step. The door was slammed. “Right away!”
It may have been fancy; but with the shout I seemed to hear the voice of Alain lifted in imprecation on the Assembly Room stairs. As Robie touched up the grey, I whipped open the door on my side and tumbled in—upon Miss Gilchrist’s lap.
Flora choked down a cry. I recovered myself, dropped into a heap of rugs on the seat facing the ladies, and pulled-to the door by its strap.
Dead silence from Miss Gilchrist!
I had to apologise, of course. The wheels rumbled and jolted over the cobbles of Edinburgh; the windows rattled and shook under the uncertain gusts of the city. When we passed a street lamp it shed no light into the vehicle, but the awful profile of my protectress loomed out for a second against the yellow haze of the pane, and sank back into impenetrable shade.
“Madam, some explanation—enough at least to mitigate your resentment—natural, I allow.”—Jolt, jolt! And still a mortuary silence within the coach! It was disconcerting. Robie for a certainty was driving his best, and already we were beyond the last rare outposts of light on the Lothian Road.