“Which way can they be going? Who is she? If I could but learn where she lives!” said Everell.
“The knowledge would serve you little at present, I fear,” replied Roughwood.
“Those are the people whose talk offended her. One is her relation, she said. By Jupiter, I must find out!”
Ere his friend could stop him Everell had started for the yard, as if upon his own business, with some general idea of questioning the inn folk. Going near the travellers, he heard the two strange ladies and one of the gentlemen discussing how the party should be divided between the coach and the chaise. The taller gentleman was speaking to the landlady. The word “baggage” caught Everell’s ear, and he stood still.
“There are three trunks following by the wagon,” the gentleman was saying, “to be left here. You will have Timmins the carter fetch them to Foxwell Court immediately.”
Everell needed to hear no more. The party was evidently bound for Foxwell Court, which must be near if the baggage following thus far by regular wagon was to be conveyed the rest of the way by a local carter. And of course the place must be off the route of the stage-wagons—that is to say, off the great highway. Three trunks would have been small luggage for so numerous a party of such quality; but Everell saw baggage on the coach, as well. This, in fact, belonged to Lady Strange and her party. That about which he had heard directions given was of Georgiana and her uncle.
Everell was on the edge of the little crowd, and he turned about to look toward the midst of it, where he had last caught a glimpse of the young lady. To his wonder, he now beheld her close in front of him, her eyes meeting his.
“‘SAVE YOURSELF,’ SHE WHISPERED, RAPIDLY. ‘YOU ARE IN DANGER HERE.’”
“Save yourself,” she whispered, rapidly. “You are in danger here. A man is up-stairs who is hunting you—one Jeremiah Filson. For heaven’s sake, fly while you may!”