My companion, though outwardly civil, took my little pleasantries with so ill a grace that I was in a measure prepared for his words at our parting before the coach-office.
“Chevalier, you are a man of many charming parts; I trust you will long be spared to exercise them in quarters where they may fail to give offence to any one.”
“My dear Vicomte,” I replied, “Providence has bestowed on me only my poor talents, but has not granted me the power to provide appreciation in others. Still, if you should feel at any time that I am answerable for your personal short-comings, do not, I pray, let any false delicacy stand in your way. I should be complimented in sustaining such an argument.” At which he only bowed in his stateliest manner, and wishing me a safe journey, bent his steps towards St. James's Street.
I must confess such a quarrel would have been infinitely to my taste, but unfortunately there would have been no satisfaction to me, even had I pushed it to a successful issue. My way towards Margaret was stopped by a much more serious obstacle than any man who ever drew sword. Did the Vicomte but know this, possibly my connection with Lady Jane might not have appeared to him so radical a reason for keeping the peace between us. With these thoughts and others germane to them I whiled away the time until the coach was ready, and at the dead hour of two in the morning we rolled out of London on our way to Huntingdon, where we arrived at eight the following evening.
I put up at the Bell, which was comfortable enough, and made shift to employ my time through the long week before me in some manner that would reasonably account for my stay in a dull country town which offered no attractions to a man of fashion.
At length my letters reached me, and my gorge rose at the address:
Mr. Simpkin,
Lying at the Bell Inn,
Huntingdon.
Now it had never cost me a second thought to travel as a pedlar when making my escape from Scotland, but this wishy-washy nonentity of a name annoyed me beyond measure. Think you, did ever “Mr. Simpkin” salute at Fontenoy, or make a leg at Marly? I doubt it. Nor is it strange that a man, with no more vanity than myself, should find some little vexation at the perversity of Lady Jane in fastening this ridicule upon me. That it was intentional I could not doubt from her letter, for she rallied me upon it at every turn she could drag in. However, I had the consolation that I was to join her forthwith at Harwich, and my journey across the country over bad roads with a pair of wretched nags gave me more material discomforts to rail at, and by these means I brought myself to a frame of mind that I could at least imagine Lady Jane's enjoyment of her childish jest.
When I reached Newmarket, I found, to my disgust, it was impossible to go forward again that night, but was on the road bright and early the next morning; however, it was evening before I was set down at a decent-looking inn beside an arm of the sea, across which I saw the spires of Harwich twinkling a welcome to me in the setting sun.
Having settled with the post-boys, I desired the land-lord to attend me within.