The Amateur Gentleman Part 85

"We are all going to Hawkhurst, at once, John," continued Barnabas, "so pack up whatever you think necessary--a couple of valises will do, and tell Martin I'll have the phaeton,--it's roomier; and I'll drive the bays. And hurry things, will you, John?"

So John Peterby bowed, solemn and sedate as ever, and went upon his errand. But it is to be remarked that as he hastened downstairs, his lips had taken on their humorous curve, and the twinkle was back in his eyes; also he nodded his head, as who would say:

"I thought so! The Lady Cleone Meredith, eh? Well,--the sooner the better!"

Thus the Bo'sun had barely finished his ale, when the Gentleman-in-Powder appeared to say the phaeton was at the door.

And a fine, das.h.i.+ng turn-out it was, too, with its yellow wheels, its gleaming harness, and the handsome thorough-breds pawing impatient hoofs.

Then, the Bo'sun having duly ensconced himself, with Peterby in the rumble as calm and expressionless as the three leather valises under the seat, Barnabas sprang in, caught up the reins, nodded to Martin the gray-haired head groom, and giving the bays their heads, they were off and away for Hawkhurst and the Lady Cleone Meredith, whirling round corners and threading their way through traffic at a speed that caused the Bo'sun to clutch the seat with one hand, and the glazed hat with the other, and to remark in his diffident way that:

"These here wheeled craft might suit some, but for comfort and safety give me an eight-oared galley!"

CHAPTER XLV

HOW BARNABAS SOUGHT COUNSEL OF THE d.u.c.h.eSS "BO'SUN?"

"Sir?"

"Do you know the d.u.c.h.ess of Camberhurst well?"

"Know her, sir?" repeated the Bo'sun, giving a dubious pull at his starboard whisker; "why, Mr. Beverley, sir, there's two things as I knows on, as no man never did know on, nor never will know on,--and one on 'em's a s.h.i.+p and t' other's a woman."

"But do you know her well enough to like and--trust?"

"Why, Mr. Beverley, sir, since you ax me, I'll tell you--plain and to the p'int. We'll take 'er Grace the d.u.c.h.ess and say, clap her helm a-lee to tack up ag'in a beam wind, a wind, mind you, as ain't strong enough to lift her pennant,--and yet she'll fall off and miss her stays, d'ye see, or get took a-back and yaw to port or starboard, though, if you ax me why or wherefore, I'll tell you as how,--her being a woman and me only a man,--I don't know. Then, again, on the contrary, let it blow up foul--a roaring hurricane say, wi' the seas running high, ah! wi' the scud flying over her top-s'l yard, and she'll rise to it like a bird, answer to a spoke, and come up into the wind as sweet as ever you see. The d.u.c.h.ess ain't no fair-weather craft, I'll allow, but in 'owling, raging tempest she's staunch, sir, --ah, that she is,--from truck to keelson! And there y'are, Mr. Beverley, sir!"

"Do you mean," inquired Barnabas, puzzled of look, "that she is to be depended on--in an emergency?"

"Ay, sir--that she is!"

"Ah!" said Barnabas, nodding, "I'm glad to know that, Bo'sun,--very glad." And here he became thoughtful all at once. Yet after a while he spoke again, this time to Peterby.

"You are very silent, John."

"I am--your valet, sir!"

"Then, oh! man," exclaimed Barnabas, touching up the galloping bays quite unnecessarily, "oh, man--forget it a while! Here we sit--three men together, with London miles behind us, and the Fas.h.i.+onable World further still. Here we sit, three men, with no difference between us, except that the Bo'sun has fought and bled for this England of ours, you have travelled and seen much of the world, and I, being the youngest, have done neither the one nor the other, and very little else--as yet. So, John,--be yourself; talk, John, talk!"

Now hereupon John Peterby's grave dignity relaxed, a twinkle dawned in his eyes, and his lips took on their old-time, humorous curve.

And lo! the valet became merged and lost in the cosmopolitan, the dweller in many cities, who had done and seen much, and could tell of such things so wittily and well that the miles pa.s.sed unheeded, while the gallant bays whirled the light phaeton up hill and down dale, contemptuous of fatigue.

It needs not here to describe more fully this journey whose tedium was unnoticed by reason of good-fellows.h.i.+p. Nor of the meal they ate at the "Chequers" Inn at Tonbridge, and how they drank (at the Bo'sun's somewhat diffident suggestion) a health "to his Honor the Cap'n, and the poor old 'Bully-Sawyer,' Seventy-four."

And thus Barnabas, clad in purple and fine linen and driving his own blood horses, talked and laughed with a one-legged mariner, and sought the companions.h.i.+p of his own valet; which irregularity must be excused by his youth and inexperience, and the lamentable fact that, despite his purple and fine linen, he was, as yet, only a man, alas!

Thus, then, as evening fell, behold them spinning along that winding road where stood a certain ancient finger-post pointing the wayfarer:

TO LONDON. TO HAWKHURST

At sight of which weather-worn piece of timber. Barnabas must needs smile, though very tenderly, and thereafter fall a-sighing. But all at once he checked his sighs to stare in amazement, for there, demurely seated beneath the finger-post, and completely engrossed in her needlework, was a small, lonely figure, at sight of which Barnabas pulled up the bays in mid-career.

"Why--d.u.c.h.ess!" he exclaimed, and, giving Peterby the reins, stepped out of the phaeton.

"Ah! is that you, Mr. Beverley?" sighed the d.u.c.h.ess, looking up from her embroidery, which, like herself, was very elaborate, very dainty, and very small. "You find me here, sitting by the wayside,--and a very desolate figure I must look, I'm sure,--you find me here because I have been driven away by the tantrums of an undutiful G.o.d-daughter, and the barbarity of a bloodthirsty buccaneer. I mean the Captain, of course. And all because I had the forethought to tell Cleone her nose was red,--which it was,--sunburn you know, and because I remarked that the Captain was growing as rotund as a Frenchman, which he is,--I mean fat, of course. All Frenchmen are fat--at least some are. And then he will wear such a shabby old coat! So here I am, Mr. Beverley, very lonely and very sad, but industrious you see, quite as busy as Penelope, who used to spin webs all day long,--which sounds as though she were a spider instead of a cla.s.sical lady who used to undo them again at night,--I mean the webs, not the spiders.

But, indeed, you're very silent, Mr. Beverley, though I'm glad to see you are here so well to time."

"To time, madam?"

"Because, you see, I 've won my bet. Oh yes, indeed, I bet about everything nowadays,--oh, feverishly, sir, and shall do, until the race is over, I suppose."

"Indeed, d.u.c.h.ess?"

"Yes. I bet Cleone an Indian shawl against a pair of beaded mittens that you would be here, to-day, before ten o'clock. So you see, you are hours before your time, and the mittens are mine. Talking of Cleone, sir, she's in the orchard. She's also in a shocking temper--indeed quite cattish, so you'd better stay here and talk to me. But then--she's alone, and looking vastly handsome, I'll admit, so, of course, you're dying to be gone--now aren't you?"

"No," Barnabas replied, and turning, bade Peterby drive on to the house.

"Then you ought to be!" retorted the d.u.c.h.ess, shaking an admonitory finger at him, yet smiling also as the carriage rolled away.

"Youth can never prefer to listen to a chattering old woman--in a wig!"

"But you see, madam, I need your help, your advice," said Barnabas gravely.

"Ah, now I love giving people advice! It's so pleasant and--easy!"

"I wish to confide in you,--if I may."

"Confidences are always interesting--especially in the country!"

"d.u.c.h.ess, I--I--have a confession to make."

"A confession, sir? Then I needn't pretend to work any longer--besides, I always p.r.i.c.k myself. There!" And rolling the very small piece of embroidery into a ball, she gave it to Barnabas.

"Pray sir, hide the odious thing in your pocket. Will you sit beside me? No? Very well--now, begin, sir!"

"Why, then, madam, in the first place, I--"

"Yes?"

"I--that is to say,--you--must understand that--in the first place--"

"You've said 'first place' twice!" nodded the d.u.c.h.ess as he paused.

"Yes--Oh!--Did I? Indeed I--I fear it is going to be even harder to speak of than I thought, and I have been nerving myself to tell you ever since I started from London."

"To tell me what?"