I AM LEFT FORLORN
At the extreme end of a narrow and somewhat dingy passage we came on a
door, from behind which proceeded a din of voices in loud
confabulation, together with much jingling of glasses, so that I
judged the worthies we sought were engaged upon what I believe is
known as "making a night of it."
This hoarse babel ended suddenly as, opening the door, Anthony strode
in, his whole person and attitude suggestive of that air I have
already mentioned as one of polite ferocity.
"Aha!" said he, feet wide-planted, Captain Danby's stout cane bending
in his powerful hands. "How far is it to Sevenoaks, pray?"
"Better nor seven mile!" answered the surly landlord, setting down his
spirit-glass.
"Ah, all o' that!" nodded the ostler over his tankard.
"Every bit!" added the postboy.
"An' 'oo might you be?" demanded an individual in top-boots, a large
man chiefly remarkable for a pair of fierce, black whiskers and a
truculent eye.
"Seven miles!" exclaimed Anthony, unheeding his interrupter. "I had
feared it shorter--oh, excellent! Now my lads, we require the
chaise--up with you, set to the horses and be ready to start in ten
minutes at most. Come--bustle!"
"Lord!" exclaimed Black Whiskers, "You'd think 'e was a nearl or a
jook to 'ear un--'oo is 'e?"
"Why, it's 'im as we was tellin' you of, Mr. Vokes!" quoth the
landlord.
"'Is werry own selluf!" nodded the postboy.
"The desp'rit cove as gie me the one-er!" added the ostler.
"Aye, Mr. Vokes," continued the landlord with unction, "this is 'im as
committed the 'ssault an' battery on 'is betters."
"Oh, is it?" said Mr. Vokes, nodding in highly menacing fashion.
"Ah!" nodded the landlord. "An' then goes for to make us go for to
nigh drownd the pore, unfort'nate genelman in my own 'oss-trough, an'
'im now a-sneezin' an' a-groanin' an' a-swearin' in bed fit to break
your 'eart. 'Ere be the desp'rit rogue as done the deed!"
"Oh, is it!" repeated Black Whiskers, scowling. "Why, very well,
then--'ere's to show 'im 'oo's 'oo!" and he reached for a heavy
riding-whip that lay on the floor beside him.
"Sit still, Mr. Vokes--remain seated, lest I pink you!" commanded
Anthony, saluting him with the Captain's cane as if it had been a
sword. The man Vokes stared, swore and rose up, whip in hand,
whereupon Anthony lunged gracefully, thrusting the cane so extremely
accurately into the middle of Mr. Vokes' waistcoat that he doubled up
with marked suddenness and fell back helpless in his chair, groaning
and gasping painfully.
"Now, my lads," quoth Anthony cheerily, as he picked up the whip, "the
word is 'horses'! Come, bustle now!" and he cracked the whip like a
pistol shot.
"Lord love me!" exclaimed the landlord, retreating precipitately. "I
never see no thin' like this 'ere--no, never!"
"That'll do, my lad, that'll do!" said Anthony, flourishing the whip.
"In six minutes or so I expect the chaise at the door."
"But I can't drive a hoss wot's cast a shoe, can I, sir?" whined the
postillion, his eye on the whip.
"You can get another, my lad."
"Theer ain't no other 'oss nowhere, except Mr. Vokes' mare!" quoth the
ostler.
"Then of course Mr. Vokes will be glad to lend us his mare, I'm sure."
But here Black Whiskers found voice and breath for a very decided
negative, with divers gasping allusions to Anthony's eyes and limbs.
Hereupon Anthony betook him again to his posture of _escrime_,
the cane-point levelled threateningly within a foot of Mr. Vokes'
already outraged person.
"Fellow," said he, "next time address me as 'sir'--and say 'yes'!"
For a moment the flinching Mr. Yokes paused to eye the levelled cane,
the ready hand and fierce grey eyes behind it, then spoke the desired
words in voice scarcely audible by reason of pain and passion; but
they sufficed, the cane was lowered, the whip cracked, and forthwith
into the yard filed landlord, ostler and postillion with us at their
heels. And here by aid of flickering lanthorns, amid wind and rain,
the horses were harnessed and put to, the chaise brought to the door
where stood one cloaked and hooded who, with Anthony's ready
assistance, climbed nimbly into the chaise.
"Anthony--your pistol!" and I handed it to him. "Take care," said I,
as he thrust it carelessly into his bosom.
"Tush!" he laughed, "had it been loaded I should have blown out what
brains I have days ago!"
"Good-bye, Anthony!" said I, and, or ever he could prevent, thrust a
guinea into his hand. For a moment I thought he would toss it in my
face, then he thrust it into his pocket.
"Egad, Perry!" said he, seizing my hand in his vital clasp. "You are a
devilish--likeable fellow and--d'ye see--what I mean is--oh, dammit!
Look for me at Tonbridge." Having said which, he sprang down the
steps, entered the chaise and banged to the door. But now at the open
window was a lovely face. "Good-bye--Peregrine," and with the word she
reached out her hand to me.
"Good-bye," said I.
"Barbara," she suggested.
"Good-bye, Barbara!" said I, and lifted the hand to my lips.
"At Tonbridge, Perry!" repeated Anthony.
"At Tonbridge!" said I, whereupon the postillion vituperated the rain
and wind, chirruped to his horses, and the chaise rolled away into the
tempestuous dark.
For them, rain and wind and darkness, for me such comfort as the inn
afforded, but of the three it was I who was desolate and forlorn.