The landlord shook his head sadly; but one of the soldiers said: “There’s a house across the way, sir,—the Red Swan. I’m not sure you can get horses there, but ’tis there or nowhere if this house can’t supply them.”
Everell thanked the man, pressed a shilling into his hand, settled with his own postilion, and had his luggage carried before himself and Georgiana to the Red Swan. This was a smaller house than the one they had left. It had no driveway through the middle; the entrance to the yard was by a side lane. The travellers, entering by the front door, found a corridor leading to the bar—and to the landlady. Could one hire horses and some sort of light vehicle? Yes, to be sure; but not that night: all the horses and carriages in the town were taking people to the ball a few miles out. Everell looked blankly at Georgiana. The landlady could offer his Honour the best rooms in the house. On the morrow there would be horses a-plenty. They would be returning from the ball by midnight.
“Ah, then, if we wait till midnight, we may have the first horses that come in?” said Everell.
The landlady was not sure. She would have to ask John, who was now driving to the ball. When he returned with his horses, he might be willing; the cattle would be fresh enough, but John might not be. At this, Everell spoke so eloquently, despite his hoarseness, of rewards and of his confidence in the landlady’s ability to influence John if she would, and Georgiana supported him with such sweetly anxious looks, that the good woman thought she could almost certainly promise a conveyance and John’s attendance at midnight or thereabouts. As for the intervening time, it was decided that Georgiana should lie down dressed, while Everell should remain on the alert. He saw her to the door of a room at the head of the stairs, and returned to caution the landlady against acknowledging their presence to possible inquirers. He relied on the woman’s good-will and evident belief that they were an eloping pair fearful only of parental discovery. He then went by a rear door to stretch his legs in the inn yard, which he thought to find deserted.
The yard was for the most part in darkness, its only light being that of a lantern hung against the gate-post. To Everell’s surprise, a pair of horses attached to a post-chaise were feeding under the care of a small boy. Everell was promptly inquisitive, but the undersized hostler had no gift of communication, and could say no more than that the chaise had arrived awhile ago and would be going on pretty soon. Everell returned to the landlady.
“Oh, ay,” she said, in reply to his remark about the horses. “They belong to a gentleman with a toothache, who stops only long enough for supper.”
“You didn’t mention him before.”
“Why, sir, from his coming to this house instead of t’other, and from his ordering a private room to sup in, I took it he’d rather nothing was said of his being here. But, come to think of it, he might want to keep out of sight because of his face being swollen up—’tis all tied round with a yankerchief. Yet that wouldn’t account for his having his postilion eat in the same room with him, would it, sir? It looks as how he was afeard the man would say too much if let eat in the kitching. Well, I hope as I’ve done him no harm by what I’ve told your Honour.”
“Not in the least. I wish I had his horses. I would even accept his toothache, if I could have the horses with it.”
He entered the small public parlour, and dropped into a chair at the head of the long table. He had the room to himself, and could flee to the darkness of the yard if anybody intruded. Leaning forward with his elbows on the table, he lapsed into a drowsy state which seemed, in the circumstances, the state best calculated to cheat the time. He had remained therein for more than half an hour, when his ears, on the alert, informed him of a soft step outside the room. He rose, and beheld Georgiana in the half-open doorway. Finger on lip, she approached and whispered: